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prince-toffee · 1 year

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Food and Scars

Pt. 2 of 2

Scars

A cyan doorway opened in Blaze’s bedroom lighting up the dim room. It was the middle of the night, full moon illuminating in the dark lands below. From the doorway emerged two figures. One cat and one hedgehog. To say they were exhausted would be an extreme understatement. Their legs were quaking, about to give out. Both of the heroes were clad in armour, traditional Solian armour, with personalised customised details for each. Blaze sported a purple cape bellowing from her right pauldron. Silver’s suit had hints of cyan paint all across it mimicking the patterns on his body. They were peppered with arrows lodged into their armour. Their armours were dirty and burnt and fractured, some pieces were missing. Their capes torn and tattered. Silver was missing half a quill as a rogue blade had sliced it off during battle. Another one of his quills was still on fire at the tip. Blaze snuffed the dancing flame out between her thumb and pointing finger. She then proceeded to flop onto her bed face first.

The doorway closed behind them. Silver just stood there, wavering from side to side, about to fall down. He was about to sit down on the floor leaning against Blaze’s bed, but Blaze patted a spot on her bed next to her. Silver immediately understood and took his place by her side. Still face first in the bedsheets Blaze’s hand slithered up his leg up to his chest. She scratched it at his chest plate. He once again understood. Silver’s markings lit up bright neon and slowly his armour dismantled and floated off his body. Unveiling his soft fluffy chest fur. Blaze’s hand buried itself within it and combed through it. Her hand eventually made its way up to Silver's cheek. He leaned into it. Closed his eyes, smiling, his markings were burning bright like a blush, they expanded across his whole body, including his face. Her hand explored his soft face, but it stopped. He felt it shake slightly. Silver opened his eyes to see Blaze’s worried face staring up at him. She rose swiftly, closing the distance between them, bringing her face next to his. “B- Blaze? What-“ Her golden eyes fell on his lips, and he suddenly felt like a fire was burning through his body. “Wha- What are you about to-“

“Silver.”

“Y- Yes? Blaze.”

“You have a scar. It runs across your lips, on the left.”

“Oh...” His neon blush faded slightly. His bashfulness faded, but he grew more embarrassed. “Oh, yeah, I think I got it a few days ago. Don't worry it's not infected, I had a healer treat it.” He replied with a smile trying to diffuse her worry. Blaze hadn't seen it as Silver had constantly worn a faceplate over the bottom half of his face along with a helmet to protect his large quills. Blaze had a matching faceplate. Which she took off in that moment.

She ran her thumb over the scar therefore his lips. “It's deep. Does it hurt?

“No, no, I'm okay, I promise.” He gently took hold of her hand.

“Why wouldn't you tell me? Silvy?”

“I don't know, there were more important things happening at the time. We were at war, on the frontlines for eight days! Plus, it's not a big deal, I get worse scars all the time.” As he finished the sentence, he realised he had made a mistake. He could tell from Blaze’s bewildered, almost angry expression.

“What?!”

“Umm.”

“When?! Where!?... Well!? Silver!?” He pulled back, stiffening up. He tapped his pointing fingers together; she began to sweat a little.

“I- I don't know, all the time, all over the place.”

“What do you mean? Silver, expound, explain! Immediately.”

Silver stammered, attempting to avoid eye contact, “Well, I timetravel to apocalyptic future timelines all the time; there are monsters, robots, dangerous landscapes. I get scraps and scrapes here and there, now and then. And then there's whenever we fight together to protect the Queendom against Eggman or whatever eldritch being he awakens that week. You're by my side most of the time, you never... I don't know, acknowledged it.”

Blaze sat up and scotched over to the grey hedgehog. “Show me.”

“W- What?” His markings began to burn bright once more.

“Show me the scars.”

“Well, alright, well, I mean they're all over the place,” he glanced over his chest, arms, and back, “They’re usually hidden under my fur. I guess the most visible ones are on my hands.” He removed his gloves and gauntlets and showed his hands to Blaze. The circular markings on Silver’s palms pulsated with light. His palm and fingers were covered in cuts and burns.

Blaze took hold of Silver’s hands. “Where are these from?”

“My powers are controlled through my hands, so they're usually under the most strain. I attack with them, block with them, channel my energy through them. Also, I'm sure some of these are paper cuts too.”

Blaze still seemed distressed, “Do they hurt?”

“No, these were a while ago.”

“So, none of them needed dressed?”

“No, the lip scar was the newest.”

“Anywhere else?”

“Yeah, all over.” He looked down over his chest. Blaze retracted her hands and move them over to Silver's chest, she began to comb through the belly fur. As she moved through the fur she found cut after cut. She was too focused on searching for and cataloguing every wound she found to notice that Silver was barely keeping it together. He was shaking. Holding his breath. As if that was going to stop his blushing. His hands gripped the bed sheets at his sides, crumpling them up. Trying his hardest to keep his telekinetic powers under control - as in times of elevated heart rate he'd have an involuntary response of levitating objects around his surroundings. Once when he was a kid, he got so excited about Blaze holding his hand that he accidentally tore the royal greenhouse they were playing in twenty miles into the air, a chunk of earth with it. Now, in his older age he had a greater grasp on his powers, but he did still slip up from time to time. Like right then and there, when Blaze’s hands made their way to his sides just above his hips. He practically forgot to breathe. His irises glitched. His cyan markings lit up in a bright red.

Blaze seemed to have noticed, “Hmm, I've never seen that before.” Her eyes met his as she looked up at him, “Are you alright?” His voice failed him, all he could do was nod and hum. He could swear she smirked, just slightly, and then just as quickly as it appeared it vanished on her face. “Silver.”

“B- Blaze?”

“You're doing it.” It was only then that Silver managed to tear his eyes away from Blaze and noticed that the wardrobes, vanity desk, nightstand, and various other objects were hovering above the floor encased in a cyan outline.

“Oh, s- sorry.” He breathed in and out, attempting to calm down. All the objects settled down on the carpeted floor.

“Excited?” He could almost hear a smile in her voice.

“W- What? About what? Heh, no, no.”

“Hmm.” Without warning, somehow, she managed to get even closer, she sat on his lap and practically hugged the timetraveller, and her arms wrapped around his back which her hands glided across. “There's more on your back.” She remarked looking over his shoulder.

“Uh, uh huh.”

She ran a finger through a gathering of notches on his shoulder blade, “I recognise these ones. Hailstorm of enchanted arrows at the battle of Arachnos. A few arrows got through your barrier. If not for you I would have lost an eye.” She felt his hands land on her back.

“I'd never let that happen.”

“Heh, I know.” She noticed another scar, a long trench, probably a slice from a blade of some sort. “But I don't recognise this one.”

“Ah, Future: DNF-138-15:34pm. A Metal Sonic reactivated while I was scouring an abandoned Eggman base. Moved faster than I could register.”

Blaze pulled back, placing her hands back on his chest, she looked up at him discombobulated, “Silver...” She narrowed her eyes at him, “Do you keep track of every scar? Do you catalogue every scar?”

“Well... yeah, I guess so.”

“This one?” She pointed to a mark on his belly.

“Future: CFA-276-17:28pm. Concealed dagger, Fang The Wolf.”

“The dark patch near the spine.”

“Future: SCM-889-09:54am. Sneak attack, Surge The Tenrec.”

“The burns on your sides and up your back, are those from Surge too?”

He paused at that one. “... No... Y- You don't remember?” Blaze didn't understand. “Ninth birthday. Birthday party. Ryan Dylanger. Royal castle garden. You were nine, I was eight.” Blaze narrowed her eyes, she didn't recollect facing a villain at such an early age. Ninth birthday… ! ... The synapses in her brain fired up. She realised something horrifying.

“Oh, lord,” She remembered, “It’s- It's me, isn't it?”

“Yeah. It was your birthday party, Ryan Dylanger tried to kiss you, and you knocked his front tooth out.” Blaze sighed and buried her face in his patch of chest fur. Shame and guilt gript her as those deeply repressed memories returned to her.

When the Princess was younger she had... let us say; Troubles controlling her powers. Her pyrokinesis had always been a difficult challenge to overcome. It often felt like instead of controlling it, it controlled her. That fire within her was alive, unpredictable, hungry, and gluttonous, with the power to spread and consume all it touched turning it all to dust and ash. She was always afraid of her powers, of hurting others. When her powers had manifested, she had isolated herself from everyone, any kids her age, out of fear. Even occasionally ignoring Silver in the corridors. It was lonely, but it was for the best. She often snuck out to The Castles Vault at night and pleaded to The Sol Emeralds for them to take the power away from her. But they never did.

Her mother, the stern and cold Queen Ember had often told young Blaze that it was The Sol Emeralds themselves who had gifted Blaze with her fire, at birth, and that she had a responsibility to master it and utilises it as a tool to protect their Queendom, and to smite those who opposed them. It was of course her mother who had hammered the lesson of discipline into her over and over again. Taught her how to suppress her emotions and through that leashing her abilities and allowing her to channel them effectively. It's so the Blaze we all know now was born.

But her father, King Sear, was a far kinder and warmer soul. He proposed that suppressing Blaze’s emotions was not the right path forward, that it was unhealthy for her. Claimed that the fire could only be correctly utilised with open emotion, not as a tool, but as a friend. The Sol Emeralds asked for respect from their wielder and guardian. It was him who pushed for Blaze to meet with more kids her age, to open up to others. All he wanted was for his daughter to have a normal life.

Unfortunately, the King passed away when Blaze was still young, never had the chance to guide his daughter into any brighter path. And she missed him, she missed him dearly. All that emotion boiling just under her skin, until it was unleashed at the birthday party. It was all too much to handle, the little cat burst into tears, and her skin burst into flame. She covered her face and crawled up into a foetal position, a cyclone of flame swirled around her, burning the garden around her. All the guests had scattered. Some of the castle guard attempted to get closer, but the heat was too much, they were getting burns from metres away. Gardon was the one who got the closest. He pleaded to young Blaze, hoping his voice would soothe her anguish, but the flames had consumed her whole, she couldn't hear the voice of the only father she had left through the roaring of the fire. The guards had to drag the elder koala away before he could suffer from heatstroke. The panic and sorrow in Blaze’s heart faned the flames. But as the guards retreated, they noticed a figure that wasn't retreating. A small boy, his fur a greyish white.

With a pout of determination on his face. A cyan aura surrounding him, Silver charged into the flames. His psychokinetic shield he created over himself managed to protect him from harm, but even through it he could feel the immense heat. Silver wasn't stronger than Blaze, he never believed that he was. Her flames burned through his energy fast, the force was pushing him backwards. But he would not give up, he pushed forward and up to the hovering Blaze. He screamed her name. He cried her name. The boy eventually made it to the fiery cyclone Blaze was encased in. He placed his palms against the constantly shifting form of the tornado. Even through his barrier he felt the stinging. But it didn't matter to him. He pushed forward. He slowly began to breakthrough into Blaze’s firey cocoon.

She needed him. He had to help. Not because he thought he needed to stop her from hurting people. But because his friend needed him. His friend was scared and alone. And in that moment, she needed a friend more than ever. And so, the stinging didn't stop him. “Blaze!” He cried. She heard it. She turned to the hedgehog, her hands uncovering her face, unveiling her pure white eyes, with no pupils, with an orangey red outline. As well as that, her whole body was littered with markings much like his, stripes glowing in a neon orange light. She panicked; the tornado grew.

“No, no, no, no, Silver, you're not supposed to be here! You need to leave before I hurt you. Before-“

“You won't, it's okay.” He smiled his silly smile. He embraced her in a warm hug. Shock permeated through her whole body. “You can't hurt me.” His hug only tightened as he spoke softly to her. She quickly hugged back, wrapping her arms around his back. She buried her face in his shoulder. The fire soon faded away and the two slowly descended to the earth still in an embrace. They touched down on the charred grass. Silver promised to clean up, to quell the Queen's rage about the damage on the castle grounds. That spotted eventually became his own personal garden where he spent most of his days, with Blaze often helping to tend to the flowers and vegetables at his side.

Back in the present, on the bed Blazes eyes suddenly began to notice more and more burns across Silver's body. There were more burns. There were more. “By the Emeralds. I did this. All of this. I did this to you.” She began to shake.

Silver took hold of her hands to steady them. “No, no, no stop that. You couldn't hurt me.”

“But I did. All these burns, they're all from throughout our childhood.”

“I don't blame you for anything. I love you all the same.”

“But how could you?! I've hurt you so much. Why would you ever want to be around me?”

“Because you're my friend. You're friendly, kind, compassionate, strong, pretty, you have always been there for me all my life, protecting me, you played with me, fixed me up, if not for you your mother would have tossed me out onto the street. You stood up to bullies to protect me. You make me feel safe, like I have a safe home to come back to after experiencing all the horrors the future holds. Blaze, you're my anchor. You have done so much for me, and I always feel like I never do enough for you. All your life you struggled with this power, this great burden. This burden that you've been dealing all on your own, I know you feel like you’re alone. I know how that feels. But I'm here to show you that you're not. You struggle so much; I just want to help you carry the weight of the world. You could have left me, considered me not worth your time, but you didn't. And I'm never going to leave you to deal with this alone. You never scared me or hurt me because you could never truly hurt me.”

“Oh, Silver.” She bowed her head avoiding eye contact, “You're so naive.” She smiled slightly. “I have constantly told you that you do not owe me anything.”

“I know, but I just want to help. You deserve the world and more.”

“Oh, please I'm hardly as perfect as you describe.”

“You're the best. I would move mountains for you.”

“Oh, stop it. My fire is my responsibility not yours.”

“Yeah, but you always helped me when it came to my power. I want you to know that... I don't know, if you need someone to talk to, to help, I'll always be there for you. I don't know if I want to call our abilities... ‘conditions’, but, you know, we-“

“We are the same.”

“Feel any better?” Silver asked tilting his head down looking for her eyes as he rubbed circles across her back, massaging her.

She was still looking down, not at him, “A little. But-”

“I look up to you, every day. You’re my hero, Blaze.”

Her eyes shifted back to meet his. Both their eyes were slightly watery at that confession. She once again leapt into a hug and buried her face into his chest. He returned the hug, of course. And they stayed like that for a moment; her listening to his heartbeat, while he placed his chin on top of her head and listened to her purr softly.

“Ugh, this is too much emotion for this late at night.” She murmured; her words muffled through his thick fur.

“I'm sorry.”

“Stop apologising... You help a lot.”

That remark made him smile. “You want me to go?”

“No, stay overnight.”

“Want me to do the same?”

“MmHmm.” She simply murmured, getting comfortable on him, ready for sleep. She had a busy day, and an early morning tomorrow. He encased the two of them in a cyan aura, lifting them into the air slightly. He laid down allowing Blaze to lay down on top of him. Using his powers he pulled back the bed sheets and he floated underneath them. And then covered both of them up. With Blaze generating a steady wave of warmth under the sheets the two fell into slumber quickly, but not before Blaze spoke up one last time, “Whenever you get hurt, whenever you get back to me, tell me these things. I don't like you getting hurt so far away where I can’t protect you. Okay? Promise- Just promise me you’ll be safe. Or allow me to come with you, allow me to protect you wherever you go. Okay?”

“Okay.” He pulled off her hair band, freeing her hair, and nuzzling into it.

#silvaze #blaze the cat #silver the hedgehog

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mioneslovefanfiction · 3 years

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Raindrops and snuggles

Hermione x femme reader

Prompts:

51- “Your hair is really soft after you wash it.”

58- “You’re comfy”

59- “You’re very endearing when you’re half-asleep”

67- “Aw, you’re blushing.”

76- “Wait, don’t pull away…Not yet.”

79- “No, like…It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”

Third person point of view

Y/n loved her girlfriend. Y/n’s girlfriend loved her. And they both loved spending time with each other.

Today was no different as the rain pattered against the window pane of their shared dorm, the sky overcast and grey, a faint glow streaming dully illuminating the room. The girls stayed holed up in their dorm on this rainy Saturday, grateful they didn’t have class on the weekends. Y/n watched, content as her eyes followed a raindrop sliding down the glass window, gracefully, slowly getting larger.

It was late morning and the couple had spent the day until then snuggling under the thick bedsheets, trying to block out the drafty February weather, despite being indoors. That is, until one of them decided to freshen up with a morning shower.

Hermione stepped out of the bathroom, steam wafting out with her, as well as many sweet smells. Her hair was wrapped up in a towel, and she was clad in

(y/h) colors. It took Y/n a moment to realize Hermione was sporting her quidditch hoodie. Trying not to let the creeping smile rise to her lips show, Y/n turned her attention back to the purring Crookshanks on her lap.

The cat despised most people, but had come to like his owner’s girlfriend. Hermione stood in front of their shared vanity and took her wet hair out of it’s towel before running a comb through it. She bustled around the room for a minute, tidying for the week to come, putting homework next to school bags, capping ink wells and collecting quills. The girls had stayed up late knocking out their homework in anticipation for a relaxing weekend together.

Hermione moved into the bathroom, cleaning up after herself and her morning shower. While she did all of this Y/n had amused herself by pulling out a book while simultaneously stroking the cat curled up on her chest.

Hermione emerged once more from the bathroom, her hair significantly dry for how long she’d been out of the shower. Waving her index and middle finger, Y/n dried it the rest of the way, glancing up at her girlfriend with a warm smile to see her reaction. The girl smiled somewhat shyly before crawling onto the bed and towards her lover.

“What is it, love?” Hermione asked half-teasingly. “Crookshanks got your tongue?” She joked. “No, like…It’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes,” Y/n confessed, suddenly serious.

Hermione’s smirk fell as she realized Y/n was unhappy. “I always thought you would end up with Ron, or some guy better for you than me.” Y/n refused to meet Hermione’s concerned eyes, instead watching her hand caress the cat’s fur. She wiped her cheek with the back of her hand quickly, erasing the tear that fell, before Hermione could take notice. Of course, it didn’t work, and Hermione frowned, drawing her girlfriend in close against her chest, rubbing back and forth over the upset girl’s shoulder, comfortingly.

“But, love, you’re best for me.” Hermione smiled. “Really?” Y/n asked, looking up, smiling hopefully through tears. “Truly,” Hermione answered, giving her girlfriend’s lips a peck before tucking herself in against her. Y/n then moved the book over so they could read it together.

Hermione’s head was buried under Y/n’s chin, her fresh, clean hair beneath her nose. Raising a hand to run her fingers through it, she marveled at the fluffy texture. “Your hair is really soft after you wash it,” Y/n stated, adoringly. Hermione’s lips rose into a small smile, and her freckled cheeks gained a light hue. “Aw, you’re blushing.” Y/n cooed, Hermione now squirming further into her girlfriend’s side, making her laugh. Y/n ever so gently placed a kiss on the girl’s forehead, before turning back to the book.

They lay there for a while and after some time Hermione drew drowsy. The purring of her cat, the pitter-patter of rain against the glass, the crisp turning of book pages, her girlfriend’s steady thudding heartbeat under her head lulling her slowly and gently to sleep. Y/n eventually noticed how heavy Hermione’s head had gotten on her shoulder and closed the book before pulling the covers up further to warm the two of them. Eventually Y/n’s heart sunk up with her sleeping girlfriend, and their slow breaths matched, Y/n drifting off under her beloved.

…

Blinking sleep from her eyes, Y/n roused. She looked down to see Hermione asleep on her shoulder. A warm, loving smile made it’s way onto her face as she watched her.

The longer she observed her girlfriend the more adorable things she noticed about her. She noticed how Hermione’s lips were pursed.

Y/n loved how Hermione’s nose (sprinkled delicately with freckles, one of her many cutest traits in Y/n’s eyes, who had a two roll parchment list.) twitched every few minutes. She leaned forward and placed a delicate, loving kiss on Hermione’s soft forehead.

Thinking Hermione had rested long enough, Y/n raised a hand to run it through the sleeping girl’s long curls. After a minute, the Gryffindor started stirring. Her delicate eyelashes fluttered open slowly and hesitantly. She squinted in the sunlight pouring in through the window; the rain had cleared while the girls were dozing.

Hermione’s tired dark brown doe eyes looked up to meet Y/n’s. Y/n smiled lovingly down at her, making Hermione blush, hand still running through her mane. Hermione leaned up to attach her lips to Y/n’s, but missed due to fatigue, kissing under her nose. Y/n laughed, “You’re very endearing when you’re half-asleep.” Hermione rolled her eyes, “Shut up and kiss me, Y/l/n.” Sarcastically making a strained sigh Y/n complied, “Yes ma’am.”

Y/n captured Hermione’s lips for a solid minute before separating and trying to get up to go to the bathroom. “Wait, don’t pull away…Not yet,” Hermione’s whined, her eyes pleading. “Flower, I’m just using the restroom.” Y/n laughed, but Hermione pouted. “So rude. I just want to snuggle with my wonderful girlfriend.” “Oh so I’m wonderful?”

Y/n raised a teasing eyebrow. Hermione huffed before adding, “This is homophobic.” Y/n rolled her eyes before going to the bathroom.

…

Returning from the bathroom, Y/n got settled in bed again, pulling Hermione close, on top of her chest. Kissing her girlfriend with force, Y/n said, “How’s that for homophobic?” Hermione giggled before nuzzling her face into the other girl’s chest, squeezing her with her arms wrapped around her lover’s body. “You’re comfy,” Hermione muttered, voice muffled by Y/n’s hoodie. Y/n laughed, “I love you, ‘Mione,” she said, adoringly. Hermione raised her head to smile lazily at Y/n. “I love you too, darling.”

The girls had been dating for several months, but Y/n still felt butterflies rush to her stomach at Hermione’s words. After all this time being her’s, Y/n still marveled that she got to call Hermione her own. She was still becoming more and more beautiful, and Y/n still became flustered around her at times. She was just grateful for what she had.

Hermione raised her hand to cup

Y/n’s face. Her hand was balled up inside Y/n’s hoodie sleeve, so the cloth met

Y/n’s cheek, warmly.

Hermione kissed Y/n gently before sighing, “I guess we should get up now.” Both girls looked disappointed before meeting eyes. “Or..” Y/n started. “We could stay in all day and cuddle and read,” Hermione finished hopefully, voice high, wide eyes, bright. Y/n laughed placing a light kiss on the very tip of Hermione’s freckled nose, making her scrunch it, cutely in pleasure. “Sure,” she answered.

Hermione squealed with excitement smothering Y/n’s face in kisses on every spot of exposed skin she could find, making Y/n giggle uncontrollably.

That was how the couple spent the rest of that wet Saturday, giggling between covers, reading, and exchanging kisses. They could’ve joined the others out in the common room, but it wasn’t worth being apart. They didn’t feel the need to be anywhere else or with anyone else. They belonged together, and were more than fine making it that way.

A/n: This gave me so much seratonin lol. I live for this dream. U got needy Hermione, comforting Hermione, silly Hermione, and snuggly Hermione. Hope u enjoyed this as much as I did!<333

-mioneslove

#hermione fanfiction #hermione x reader #hermione fic #hermione granger x reader #hermione granger #hp fanfic #hp fanfiction #hp girls #harry potter fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction

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thegodthief · 2 years

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Dreamt there was a stray dog that always came to this one park bench on certain days and times to wait for his human friend that would never sit there again. Everyone knew about the dog but let him be since there was nothing they could do.

A woman who had often tried to buy the dog from the man now decided there was no one who could stop her and did her best to capture him. Eventually, she succeeded but the dog turned into a large towel the moment she laid her hand on his fur.

She found out I was traveling through the town and brought the oversize towel to me to be transformed back into a dog again.

I looked it over. The towel was the size of a bedsheet but it was shaggy the way a comforting towel straight from the dryer is shaggy. It smelled like sunshine and kept warmth in its folds. But there was no hint of the dog it once was. "Sorry, there is nothing I can do. The spirit has left and all that remains is a token of affection for what he had for the man."

She took my inability to conform to her wishes as a personal insult and said many disparaging things about my appearance and abilities. None of which contribute to this telling other than to explain why even if I could have restored the dog, I absolutely would not have. It would have been a terrible wrong to leave any sentient being in this woman's care, embodied or not.

I knew enough of the story about the dog and the man that I felt leaving the towel at that one park bench was the right thing for me to do. It was a place of comfort after all, and the towel would certainly provide comfort to whomever it was wrapped around, so why not leave the towel at that spot for the next person who needs care?

When I got to the wood slat bench, there was a palm-size frog sitting under it. The frog seemed to have just completed its transformation from tadpole to frog. It was a cloudless day with very little wind. The frog had folded itself to fit in the shade of a seat slat. I laid the folded towel such that it not only provided more shade to the frog but also shielded it from sight of predators. When I stepped back, I saw the frog had unfolded its legs a bit to a more relaxed position in the now larger puddle of shade.

Smiling, I turned away to leave but my attention was caught by a small ribbit that is too deep to have come from the tiny frog.

I looked back and see that the frog, now the size of a basketball, had pulled the towel off of the bench. It was now struggling to get into the folds of the tightly folded cloth. It tried to nudge into a fold once more before turning back and looking at me with very pleading eyes.

"Well, hang on, lemme help."

I lifted the towel and completely unfolded it by shaking it gently over the frog which was jumping in a way that reminded me of kittens at play. Once completely unfolded, I was going to make a standing tent from the thick cloth large enough to accommodate the new size of the frog. But as I brought the two ends together, suddenly there was a carved wooden pole inside of the fold. The pole, as thick as my body, was elaborately carved to resemble a large tall frog on a stump. The face of the wooden frog was even with my own.

The pole appeared in such a way that it looked like I was draping the large towel around the pole as a ritual covering. I took the hint and followed through with the suggestion, folding and tucking the towel so that it remained in place without any clasps and looking like the frog statue was wearing a very comfortable and thick cloak.

"There. Now you look comfortable. I'm still not sure what's going on, but I'm quite sure that this is better than what would have happened with that woman!"

The carved eyes of the standing pole did not move but I felt a confirming warmth from them just the same. Satisfied, I turned away from the standing pole and the park bench only to be surprised by the quiet crowd of people that had assembled behind me while I was fussing with the towel.

"Are you the new Reader, Miss?" An old man stood with his family and an increasing number of onlookers. "We've been waiting to see who the dog would choose since that fella was the last of his line."

Voices from the crowd spilled over him. "When that woman declared herself the next Reader, we told her that she had to get the dog's approval. If the dog didn't accept her, neither would we."

"And that's why she tried to trap the dog! But we know that's not just a dog. But she spent so much on traps and bait and even tried to hire a dog-catcher!"

"We didn't know how to stop her. Or how to approach the dog ourselves. So when the dog became that cloth and she brought you in to unmake it, we were worried. We ain't never heard a story like this before and didn't know what to do."

I was at a loss how to answer them as I haven't heard a story like this either. But a detail picked at me. "You said 'Reader', not 'Speaker'. What was the previous Reader reading?"

The old man spoke up first. "We don't know. It was something only he could see and only when the dog was with him. You would come up to him and ask him a question and he would put his hand on the dog and look through you like you weren't even there and he would speak the answer he was reading. You could see his eyes move and track like he was reading a sign, but what he saw, only he knew. He would only speak the answer and not how he got that answer."

I gestured to the standing pole. "Do you see this?"

"Yes, Miss."

"What does it look like to you?"

"Like one of them carved poles you see up in the north by the Pacific, Miss."

"Is there something carved on the top? Can you tell me what it looks like to you?"

I could see in the old man's face that he did recognize something on the pole, but he was very reluctant to say it. When I looked to the crowd, most everyone else had that same reaction.

"It's a frog, lady!" The child's mother quickly hushed them and apologized for their rudeness.

"It's not rude when I'm asking for an answer. See, I see things differently from most people. I need to know what is obvious to everyone here so I can sort out what's not. If I were to ask if the stove is hot, it's because I don't want to get burnt!"

The crowd murmured an embarrassed agreement.

I was going to ask more about how their town's tradition of a Reader when I looked back to the standing pole and saw that the towel had not only been absorbed into the pole, but that the pole was now a carved stone slab standing several feet taller than I and wider than I could grip. The cloth had become something like engraved scales that made a decorative border around an unmarked, mirror polish front. The scales extended to the [animal head] crowning the slab. Without looking, I knew that the scales completely covered the back of the slab.

"Sir, kid, anyone. I need someone to tell me what they are looking at. I need to know if this stove is hot, please."

I heard the crowd murmuring behind me again. Something was bothering them but it would have been rude for them to leave because of it. A child's whisper floated out from the noise. "Mommy, can I tell her it's still a frog? That nothing changed?"

"Still a frog, you say? And the towel?"

Emboldened by my response, the child loudly shouts how nothing has changed and to tell me that their mother also tells them when the stove is hot so maybe the pole isn't hot also.

We adults collectively chuckle at the child's advice, but we adults also recognize that I wouldn't be asking that question if I saw the same as them. The crowd stands silently behind me, waiting to see what happens next.

"Miss, what do you see?" It was the old man again, standing closer this time so as not to shout. "I ask, because you have that same look on your face that the previous Reader had. What you are seeing is not anything here with us."

What am I seeing? The carved eyes look at me without moving and the mirror surface darkens into a vertical pool of shadow. The shadow deepens and brightens, like an LCD screen without input. I reach out and touch the surface, feeling nothing, but something happens. The shadow shows an image that settles into an image of a cave, and in the cave there is a cube of white stone, and on the cube of stone there is a book, and the book has a title, and the title reads…

"Lineages and Traditions: Their Ebb and Flow."

I did not realize I had spoken of what I was seeing until I heard the old man remind me of my question about titles. "Now you literally see why we called him our Reader. He was reading what we could not, just as you are now. If you can, read more, Miss."

I reached back to touch the slab as if it were a touch screen on the hunch that the interaction would be based on what the person had experienced in the waking world. I fell through it instead and caught myself on the cold edge of the sharply worked stone. I winced as the perfect edge cut into my palm drawing a thin line of blood.

I was in the cave, with the stone, with the book.

But I also felt the breeze in the park blowing across my neck, and the body heat from the old man who was now very close to me in the park. I understood that somehow I was in two places at once and that this division would not last very long.

I stood, put my bleeding hand behind me so as not to leave a stain on anything here, opened the book with my unmarked hand, and began to read what I saw out loud with hopes that the assembled crowd in the park would hear me.

As I read, the personal implications of what was written attacked my internal view of myself. I did not want to hear what I was reading, but I was unable to close my mouth or to turn away. The pages had seized me and I would read what was written until there were no further words to read.

The chapter now finished, I regained control over myself. I closed the book and the book melted into a shadow that was absorbed by the white stone cube. The cube suddenly glowed bright like sunlight and I felt myself stumble under the assault of pervasive light.

I opened my eyes. I had fallen to my knees before the stone slab and was resting one hand on the smooth surface to steady myself. The surface had become as polished stone, reflecting a heavy image of those assembled behind me. At the top, the [animal head] remained unmoving, even as I knew that those carved eyes were still focused on me.

"Did you hear what I read, Sir?" My mouth was very dry and I was almost too tired to speak.

"I did, Miss. We all did."

"So, what is the answer to your question if I am your town's Reader?"

"You're not, Miss. You are a Reader, but you're not our Reader. We have to raise up one of our own instead of waiting for the spirits to pick one for us. That tradition crumbled long before I was born and we haven't been proper about trying to find out what to do for ourselves now that things have changed so much."

"Here then, is a start. Those who would think themselves worthy of becoming your town's Reader should come here and present themselves to this… standing… the same way I have done. If they have ears to hear and eyes to see, they will be shown what to do. If nothing changes, then nothing has changed with them, and they are not yet worthy." I struggled to my feet as I spoke, continuing to keep a hand on the stone slab as I regained my balance. I wasn't sure if I was testing the stone or myself.

The old man grabbed and held my free arm to help steady me. "And what does a person have to do to become worthy, Miss?"

I looked at the [animal head] crowning the stone. I thought about the words that were still deboning my self-image. I thought about my responsibilities in the waking world and all I have done to come through this, that, and the other.

"Be willing to die."

The crowd that had made itself so thick with anticipation of being chosen now gasped and moved back slightly. I watched their reaction in the stone's reflection and barely kept myself from openly laughing at them.

"A Reader will be given words they do not want to say. They will see things that will hurt to reveal. They will be stripped of their pride and be laid bare before Life and Death. A Reader will be courted in public and shunned in private. Everyone will want to be known as the friend of a Reader because that will give them power, but no one in their right mind will want to be a Reader because they will cease being a person to everyone else."

I pulled my hand away from the stone and gently took my arm away from the old man standing beside me. I pulled my gaze away from the reflection and looked back at the crowd directly. There, in the middle of them, was the woman that thought herself the Reader's Successor. I did not give away that I recognized her. Instead I let my sight sweep over everyone before returning to the old man.

"Who becomes your next Reader will be a result of your town's collective conversation with whatever is on the other side of this standing. This is your town's interface now. If someone declares themselves to be your next Reader, test them! Anyone can throw words on the wind, even me."

I looked back at the stone and saw it was the carved frog standing pole again but the towel was now part of the carving. I touched it. The wood was warm from the sun but did not react in any way. The spirit within it was silent and I knew it would tell me nothing more.

I'm not the town's Reader, after all.

I closed my eyes and the image of the [animal head] at the stop of the stone slab looked back at me from the depths of my personal darkness.

I turned bodily away from the standing pole and faced the old man squarely.

"Would you know more?"

The old man shook his head silently. The crowd also indicated that they had heard enough and "out of respect", lowered their gaze so I could not look directly upon their face.

"Then I leave in search of pancakes, as there are none to be had here and I think I deserve a treat."

I took a step to leave the park and completely exited the dream entirely.

----

I did not intend to write this for public view, but the dream would not leave me in peace until I had done so. Yes, things were redacted. No, I will not explain what or why.

Make of that, what you may.

#dream #Will likely not go on the main.#I remember the words from the book.#They are engraved upon my psyche.#I cannot be anything other than what I am.#But what do you do when you are not prepared to accept all of what you are?

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heytherejulietx · 3 years

Text

Gold - Bughead

@riverdalepromptathon week 10

Masterlists

Read on AO3 here!

Requests are OPEN!

Prompts;

Daydreaming.

Gold.

Notes - ten weeks in and this is my first time taking part in the promptathon… oops. i’m glad i started though because this fic was so fun to write and i love it so much. though i swear i’ve got like three fics that end the same way this does. oh well, i still like it. enjoy. :)

Warnings - N/A.

Word count - 1.7k.

Riverdale tag list - @bucky-j-barnes @adorably-sweet-hufflepuff @kpopgirlbtssvt @booksmusicteaandanimals @cheryllclayton @jesso80 @dietbreadloaf @thebluetint @lilireinhartsimp @camiczzzz @bitchy-broken @crazyninjalight @literarygetaway21 @bc-jh22

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A hand in hers. Lips pressed to her hair. A cold golden band slipping over her ring finger. The thoughts swirled around in her barely-coherent mind as Betty attempted to wake up. Her eyelids fluttered underneath the gentle sunlight that peeked through the curtains to lay across her face and she had to turn her head to the left to get the light off of her eyelids. With a quiet yawn and a stretch of her arms she blinked her eyes open with a gentle smile when she saw her snoozing boyfriend buried underneath their light copper - almost gold - bedsheets beside her.

Betty propped herself up against the headboard and sighed, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her palms for a moment. The memory (or was it her imagination?) of the golden ring made her look down at her hand, though no ring could be seen. She closed her eyes and let her head lean back against the headboard behind her. Had she been dreaming that Jughead had proposed to her?

Just the thought of him proposing made her smile warmly to herself. Betty and Jughead had been together for a good few years again after their high school sweethearts phase had ended for seven years. They had their own house, they had a cat, they both had stable jobs and things to do; far from old worries of serial killers and cults and aliens. They were finally living normal lives. Or, as normal as it could get for them.

The icing on the cake would be to get married to Jughead. It would be the perfect addition to their lives. Of course, eventually Betty also wanted children, though she knew how Jughead felt about that topic. After everything with his dad, he needed to be one-hundred percent ready before he could even think of going through with that next step in their lives, and Betty completely understood that. They had their whole lives ahead of them for that.

Jughead shifted in his sleep beside her and she opened her eyes to look at him with a soft smile. He looked so peaceful when he was asleep. There was a time in their lives when the only peace either of them could get was when they were asleep in each other’s arms, and Betty was glad that they didn’t have to live like that anymore. No worry of serial killers or solving murders or devastating breakups. Just them. And their cat, of course.

Almost as if Toffee knew that Betty was thinking of her, a meow could be heard beside the bed before the fluffy creature jumped up onto the bed with Betty, meowing as she climbed into her lap.

“Good morning,” Betty mumbled with a soft smile as she scratched the back of Toffee’s neck, leaning her head down enough to allow the fluffy white cat to nudge the end of her nose with it’s own. With a fond smile towards the creature she ran her hand down her back and stopped at her tail, dropping a kiss to the top of her head. “Want some breakfast?”

At the mention of food Toffee meowed again and Betty smiled, waiting for Toffee to jump off of the bed so she could get up too. Shuffling into her slippers she slipped on one of Jughead’s shirts before she followed a meowing Toffee out of the bedroom, letting Jughead sleep for a little longer.

Toffee zigzagged between Betty’s legs on the way to the kitchen, meowing loudly on the way. Managing not to trip over her cat by the time she got there Betty reached up towards one of the cabinets in the kitchen and pulled out a tin of wet food, scrunching her nose up in disgust at the smell as she emptied it into Toffee’s bowl before she sat it back on the floor.

With her cat now eating happily Betty moved around the kitchen, gathering what she would need to make scrambled eggs for breakfast. Though as she moved around the room she still couldn’t help but think back to her dream. Of course they had spoken about marriage before; when they had gotten back together again they had both agreed that they wanted to spend the rest of their lives together, and that certainly included marriage, right?

If they got married then she would no longer be Miss. Cooper - she would be Mrs. Jones. The thought alone had her smiling widely at the frying pan in front of her as she sat it on the stove, an egg in her other hand. It would officially make her a part of his family, although she already knew how welcome she was into the Jones household. Betty was well aware that Jughead welcomed her into his household with open arms from day one when he was living at the trailer, though over time - through staying at the trailer some nights and then living in the same house as them - she grew close with his family too. Jellybean seemed like a little sister to her, even if she took some warming up to, and FP was like a father to her - more so than her own. After everything that had happened with Hal (she refused to refer to him as dad) FP treated her just as his own. And when she saw the man for the first time in seven years he greeted her like she was his daughter. A smile and open arms to hug her immediately. A kiss to her head and a mumble of “I missed you so much, Betty.” He liked her for who she was, not just for Jughead.

If they got married would FP walk her down the aisle? Would he dance with her at the reception? Would he gladly accept her as his daughter-in-law?

Getting along with Jughead’s family would be important, of course, but simply just having Jughead as her husband would be amazing in itself. They already acted like a married couple, but she knew life with him as her husband would be perfect. She could imagine small things like him referring to her as “Mrs. Jones”, calling her his wife and not just his girlfriend, always wearing matching wedding rings so they have something to connect to even when they aren’t together. Holidays together in a secluded cabin, slow dancing at parties, anniversary celebrations; she wanted it all.

She wanted to be married to him.

“You know,” a pair of arms snaked around her waist and held her into an embrace, bringing her out of her daydream. “If you want to cook the eggs, you have to crack them into the pan and not just stare at them.” His voice, though groggy with sleep, held a teasing undertone to it, and she smiled fondly to herself as she shook her head.

“I was just daydreaming. Got away from myself.” Betty mumbled, closing her eyes with a soft sigh as she felt kisses being placed to the back of her neck and wherever her shoulder was exposed.

“Was it about me?” Jughead teased again, and moved his hands to her hips to spin her to face him with a smile.

“It was actually.” Betty giggled, slipping her arms around his waist to tuck herself into him properly, shutting her eyes again as he dropped a kiss to her temple.

“Oh yeah? I’m flattered,” Jughead held her tightly against himself, his hand running across her back underneath the shirt she was wearing. “Can I ask why?”

“I had a nice dream about you.” Betty said softly, smiling to herself as she held onto him a bit tighter, tilting her head upwards slightly to leave a gentle kiss to the bottom of his jawline.

“A nice dream or a nice dream?” He teased, and chuckled as she gently nudged his side.

“A nice dream. It was very sweet. I don’t remember much about it but I know it made me really happy.” Betty said softly.

She looked up at Jughead as he hummed and leaned back slightly, and she leaned into his hand as he lifted it to rest against her cheek. It was moments like that when she knew that being married to Jughead would be perfect. They didn’t need to go on dates all the time or do fancy things to be happy with each other. Just having each other’s company was enough for them. All they needed was each other.

His hand cupped her cheek as he leaned in to kiss her and Betty smiled against his lips as her hands gently gripped onto his shoulders. They stood there for a few minutes, enjoying gentle touches and soft whispers between each other which only they would get, before they both felt fur brushing against their legs and an impatient meow following.

Betty pulled away with a pout as she looked down at Toffee who was looking directly at Jughead. “She likes you more than me.” She complained.

Jughead chuckled as he leaned down to lift Toffee into his arms, letting the cat nudge his face as she started purring. “I am very likeable.” He joked.

Betty fondly rolled her eyes and turned away from him and back towards the stove to turn it on, actually starting to fix their breakfast that time without getting distracted. “Of all people you don’t have to tell me that.” She pointed out, and heard him laugh behind her as he pressed a kiss to her head.

“Good point.”

As she focused on the eggs, she didn’t see Jughead move across the kitchen to where he had left his work bag on the table from the day before. She missed his hand reaching into one of the side pockets from which he pulled a velvet ring box. She didn’t see the sun reflecting on the golden band as he opened the box to check it was still inside. As Betty stirred the eggs Jughead slipped the ring box into his jacket which was hanging on one of the coat hooks by the door way; the jacket he’d be wearing out later that day when he took her out for lunch at their favourite restaurant. Where he would hopefully quite literally make a dream come true.

#amber’s writing #riverdalepromptathon #riverdalepromptathonweek10 #fyeahbughead #riverdale #bughead #bughead fluff #bughead one shot #bughead fanfiction #bughead fic #bettycooper #betty cooper #betty cooper x jughead jones #jughead #jugheadjones #jughead jones #jughead jones x betty cooper

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kibleedibleedoo · 3 years

Note

What would you do if you went to sleep in your bed but woke up in a large, opulent bed, surrounded by silks, fur and gold, and a maid would enter your room say: "Your husband, his majesty Thorin Oakenshield, has just returned from his trip and asks whether you'd like to break your fast with him, my queen?"

Ooooooh I love this! I'm gonna be slightly indulgent and write a self insert. 😏

This week had been stressful and tiring, each day seemed worse than the last, and everyday you collapsed into bed. Brushed cotton bedsheets perfect for the autumn nights kept you warm and cozy, soothing your budding tension headache.

"My lady?" You grumbled annoyed at being woken by this noise. It must be the TV though you don't remember leaving it on. Did you forget the remote in the covers again? With another groan you roll over wrapping yourself in the covers, eager to return to your blissful sleep, but something felt wrong. These weren't your covers. No. They were heavier and colder, silky almost and your face could feel the heat of something burning nearby. In an instant your grogginess flashed away though a splitting headache only added to your growing confusion. This wasn't your bed, nor your room and that noise came from no TV.

"I'm sorry to wake you your highness, his majesty Thorin Oakenshield King under the Mountain has returned safely and asks if you would like to join him for breakfast this morning?" The small woman watched you waiting for your answer. The room was dim even so you could tell there was no one else she could be speaking to. Everything felt so familiar and so strange all at the same time, the cloud of confusion still thick in your mind. "I know you asked us not to tell him about your injury but I believe his majesty might become suspicious if you decline."

"it's fine really Angharad" her name fell from your lips without a second thought, you knew this woman you knew her well. The pounding in your head never ceased but the fog that clouded your memory was shifting into a mist. With a sigh you began to get out of bed. The air was cool and the stone floor even colder but the heat from the fireplace staved off any shivering.

Raking your fingers through your hair you came across your courting braid, expertly woven far surpassing your braiding skills. Small chunks of memory were returning. Last night wasn't last night at all. It was over a year since you had last been in that bedroom. This was your new bedroom, your new life, one that you shared with your adoring husband. Tying your hair into a quick French braid you felt the lump that was the source of all your confusion

"Are we eating in the dining hall?" You recalled how he often ate among his people. Despite his title he was used to a simple life and with his dragon sickness vanquished he was keen to keep it that way. Lead by example and take care of the herd were phrases that you recall uttering frequently. In an argument with a lord he had once said "a king should not be judged by the life of his richest citizen but by his poorest" and you knew he meant every word. Even after long journeys and despite your longing to see each other Thorin felt his duty lay first with ensuring his guards were well fed and rested.

By the time you were finally dressed Angharad had sent word that you would indeed be joining the king. "How's your head your highness? You took quite a thump yesterday. I'm surprised you even remember anything" you let out an awkward chuckle. No one would ever know that you nearly forgot the past year of your life, nearly forgot your husband, his love. No not even Oin would learn this secret. You made that vow to yourself as you made your way into the dining hall.

"Charlotte. Amrâlimê" before the doors were even fully open he stood before you. Your ruggedly handsome king beaming with a smile he saved for a precious few. Flinging your arms around him, his strong arms immediately encircling your waist. Neither caring about the blatant show of affection you were displaying to a crowd of onlookers. A brief kiss was all you were blessed with though his forehead remained pressed against yours as he pulled away "I've missed you so much my queen, I feel as though I can't remember the last time I held you like this."

"I feel exactly the same my love. I'm so glad you've returned to me."

Post writing comment - I may have taken this and ran so sorry its long I hope you enjoy ❤️

@fizzyxcustard @linasofia @bitter-sweet-farmgirl @xxbyimm @thewarriorandtheking @i-did-not-mean-to @lathalea

#kilby writes #thorin oakenshield #king thorin #king under the mountain #thorin oakenshield imagines #thorin fic #kilby asks

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sparklingchan · 4 years

Text

Taste of Spring || Han Jisung (Stray Kids)

Pairing : Reader (fem.) x Han.

Word count : 2.4k+

Warnings : Cuss words, slight mentions of heartbreak, not proof read. .

Genre : Fluff, slight angst , best friends to lovers AU.

Description : For Jisung, the world is either black or white - friendship or love. You happen to find yourself stuck in the grey.

A/N: Haven’t written an skz drabble in a while so yeah, here it is(whatever this is lol) and I’ve had this in my drafts for a whole month now. Damn. Sorry, Jisung.

I hope y’all like it <3

Enjoy!

You had not seen your best friend in what felt like ages when in reality it had only been two weeks or so. But you often find yourself missing him at odd hours ,at the most random moments these days.

"I'll be back before dinner. Take care of my cat. Please." You call out to your sister who sits on the couch , sipping some cucumber induced water that apparently burns calories, and watching a very brutal, violent TV show that you wouldn't even want to ask her about.

"Say hi to Jisung for me." she replies with a quirk of an eyebrow, her lips curving into a sly grin. You roll your eyes but the heat has already tinted your cheeks and ears red by the time you exit your house and are walking down the street towards Han Jisung's abode.

As you continue on the road, you feel the taste of an incoming Spring in the air, sweet and full of love. You didn't know why or how or even if it were at all possible in the first place, but you could feel spring knocking on the door ,waiting to be welcomed in.

An old couple walks past you, hand in hand and eyes focused on each other and you inevitably catch yourself thinking about Jisung for some reason. You've both made a lot of fond memories during your spring breaks - you were both inseparable back then.

Even now you are inseparable but things are different.

He was your best friend and nothing more ,yet you find yourself questioning your true feelings towards the boy these days more often than not ,all whilst wondering when you had crossed over the line of wanting to be friends to something more.

"Oh,y/n! Come on in ,honey." Jisung's mother has been nothing but sweet to you throughout all 18 years of your life and you honestly blamed her for making you want to visit their place more often.

But then again, maybe it's not really the mother's hospitality that pulled you in, maybe it is her son's tooth decaying sweetness that brings out the deepest desires from your heart.

You walk into their house , a sense of familiarity washes over you just how it does whenever you walk into your own house too.

"He's in his room ,as usual. Go on. I'll send some snacks in for you." She adds, patting you softly on the shoulder.

Jisung's room is almost always a mess and sometimes one might even find the boy leaving a trail of garbage everywhere he goes, so you aren't surprised when you find a few crumpled piece of paper lying just outside his door. Clumsy little Han.

"Ji-" your words are cut short when you hear his voice from inside , as loud as ever, probably speaking to one of his friends who he also lovingly refers to as his babies(he sometimes calls you baby too ; on purpose or by accident, who knows?) But he seems very into the conversation right now - almost serious which you find rather unlikely for Han Jisung who has very proudly nicknamed himself as Comedian Han since eight grade.

It's the semester break and spring is around the corner - two things Jisung loves the most in the world so there should be no apparent reason for him to be having this deep of a conversation, especially early in the morning. However as his voice grows louder and more frustrated , you cannot help but wonder if there is actually something seriously troubling him.

Curious , you peek into the room through the small crack of the door.

"I know I'm being a coward Changbin but I can't do that to her. She's all I have ,man." he speaks into the phone , leaning down on his rotatory chair.

You freeze in your spot,your heartbeat resonating from every inch of your body. Who's he talking about?

"What? Are you out of your mind? I cannot tell her what I feel. That's the whole point of this damn phone call ,you fucker!" he yells.

You focus harder on their voices , trying to make out the gibberish Changbin replies with from the other end of the call.

Your body aches from standing so soundlessly, leaning half against the wall and half against the wooden door but you tell yourself to bear it for a little longer.

"No. No way. I can't. I can't do this to y/n!" Jisung hisses into the phone and then with a big pop, your bubble bursts -a bubble that you'd been building since you both were kids , designed carefully with dreams and hopes of a happy ever after with the boy in front of you. But you were weaving these dreams out of nothing but thin air. There never was anything to begin with and you always knew that.

Of course he has another girl in his life. He doesn't owe anything to you. You have no right to feel these strong emotions of jealousy and anger. You are just friends, right?

But imagining him with another woman was a poison you didn't put too much thought into until this very moment. You should have been prepared, really.

All hopes have left your side.

You turn around and walk out the same way that you came in , ignoring his mother's questions and concerned gaze.

You want to be alone right now. Alone and away from everything that ever connected you with Han fucking Jisung.

***

He is a peculiar man, your best friend , loud yet calm , talented yet humble,his songs make more sense than his words ever could - but he intrigues you so much. It would take you a lot of time to figure Han Jisung out and you had only hoped to solve this puzzle before.. well , before he chooses to hold someone else's hand in the walk of life while you just watch from a far.

And now, you've finally run out of that borrowed time. Without even finishing half of the puzzle . The last tick of your time together has tocked.

That night, as you let the arms of grief and heartbreak pull you in , your cat(also called Snowflake) cuddles right beside you, staring at you as if it understood you.

Maybe it did. Because even you couldn't understand yourself anymore.

***

"Y/n, wake the fuck up! Come on,open the door." Your sister bangs on your door while simultaneously throwing words at you that were extremely inappropriate for an early morning conversation.

Annoying bitch. She's never cared to wake you up in the morning all your lives. Why is she changing her ways now?

You groan into your pillow, "Go away! I'll be out when I want to."

Your eyes barely find enough strength to keep themselves open. Your body aches and the bedsheet creases on your skin show evidence of a very good night's sleep in contrary to the misery you were subjected to just a few hours before that.

A heavy heart induces a good sleep , you conclude.

"I literally do not care about what you want ,y/n!" She yells against,her fist pounding against the door with more force now than from a while ago,"Come out. Right this instant."

Snowflake - who was chilling on the floor, playing with her toys - jumps on the bed ,pressing her fluffy body against your chest ,eyes glazed with fear.

"Fine. Fine. Can you stop yelling? You're scaring my baby." You reply, taking Snowflake into your arms as you run a soothing hand through her white fur.

Forcing yourself out of bed , you waddle towards the door.

"What do you want?" You unlock the door and with hooded eyes , yell at your sister, "Can you not be so fucking annoying this early in the morning?!"

Instant regret is what you feel the moment your sister steps aside, and you see the blurry figure of Han Jisung in front of your bedroom door.

Pure terror seizes you ,as your brain loses all its ability to form any response in that moment, “Hi, y/n. Can we please talk?" Jisung says, his mouth twisted into a sad smile and his puffy eyes looking at the floor.

Has he been crying?

He wears his favorite black hoodie and a pair of grey track pants along with his SpongeBob flip flops. The bird nest on his head looks even more disheveled today, even so you find your heart beat fasten seeing this domestic look on him.

No matter what, Han Jisung is pretty.

Really pretty.

And if you were given a coin everytime you acknowledged it, you'd be a millionaire by now.

"Aw, Jisung honey, don't ask. Just walk into her room. I'm sure she's glad to see you too." Your sister replies in your stead ,sending glares towards you as if to say 'You better listen to him.'

And you're too shocked to react when he politely brushes past you and walks inside your room, settling himself at the edge of the bed. You make sure to shove a middle finger up in front of your sister's face before following suit .

Jisung's enquiries start the moment you step inside.

"I was so worried, y/n. You left my house without saying anything to anyone. Your phone was off. I wanted to come here but mom said you looked upset and that I should wait until the morning. " he sucks in a deep breath , "Y/n, baby, what the fuck happened?"

There's that word again. That damn word which has the ability to set your whole body on fire even on a cold morning like this one.

You hate the affect he has on you. You hate the affect his words have on you.

"Nothing." You mumble.

Snowflake wiggles out of your arms, and towards him.

Betrayer.

"Don't even lie to me. I am not that stupid." Jisung argues as Snowflake settles in his lap, "Y/n, have I not made it clear that I will be here for you, no matter what?"

You want to laugh. He really thinks you trust him so much that you'd tell him everything going on with you.

He's delusional - you can't possibly tell the boy you are in love with that he is the boy you are in love with. It's completely mental.

"I'm not in the mood for this conversation right now. Go home, Sungie." You say , sitting down on the bed, as far away from his warm body as possible.

Jisung sighs, "Not happening. You can call the police for all I care but I'm not moving my ass before you tell me what happened."

Snowflake snuggles into his tummy, Jisung's fingers giving her soft belly and ear rubs.

So this is what your life has come down to - you are jealous of your cat who is getting more affection from your best friend slash crush (who is interested in someone else) than you ever did. Brilliant.

"I fucking love you , you dumb fuck. Why do you never notice! "

Jisung's lips widen into a smile. Of course Jisung knew. He has always known. Only a blind person would not notice your not very subtle efforts to win his heart and make him fall for you. Maybe it was you who was a dumb fuck because you never figured out how much Jisung loves you too even after being best friends for so long.

"You hear that, Snowflake? You heard what mommy said? She said she loves me! " Jisung's eye's glint with happiness as he picks up Snowflake, peppering her with smooches, "Your mommy loves me!"

You stare at him , confused beyond anything.

Jisung turns to you, his big signature grin fixated on his lips , " Is that why you ran away yesterday? Because God decided to punch you with the realization that you are in love with me?"

You scoff, "No, I left because you and Seo Changbin were talking about the other girl who you referred to as 'all you have '. I didn't want to know what else you refer to her as."

Jisung laughs , his shoulders vibrating with the action and his hands finding their way towards yours(Ha! How's that Snowflake!)

"You said that you heard me talk about some other girl so you must have heard some name too ,right?" He questions you , his fingers clutching your hand as if he were afraid of you running off again.

"Yeah, of course I did!" you clap back , "I heard the name - " Your heart drops as the crystal clear memory from yesterday flashes into your mind.

Jisung raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin adorning his face, "Yes? What's that?"

Oh.

"You had said my name." you whisper.

You divert your gaze from him and focus on your clasped hands and how perfect they look together - like the sole purpose of their creation was to hold each other.

Jisung shifts closer to you , your mattress dipping under his weight.

"Yes. I said your name." He tucks a few strands of hair behind your ears , "I said that I couldn't lose you because you're all that I have. And I didn't want my romantic feelings toward you to change anything between us."

Your breath gets stuck in your throat when he leans toward your face.

"So y/n, Will you please stop assuming things and be my girlfriend ?" Jisung asks.

You free your hand from his and slide them around his torso, hugging him.

"Yes, yes." you whisper, "A thousand times yes."

He engulfs you in the warmest hug possible, his hand rubbing your side comfortingly while he whispers sweet nothings into your ears.

"Sungie look, its a butterfly." You break away from the hug momentarily to point at the yellow and blue winged butterfly that settles down on top of Snowflake 's head.

Snowflake snarls at it , trying to chase it away with her paws while you and Jisung giggle. With arms secured around the other.

"Spring is on its way, isn't it?" He asks you ,"You know what it means?"

"More green vegetables?"

"Shut up ,y/n, you're so unromantic!"

You guys giggle a little more.

"No, but seriously ,what does it mean?" you ask , looking up at him from his chest.

Jisung presses a sweet, heartwarming kiss to your head , "New beginnings. Blossoming of New things."

Hs stares at you like he's trying to say something to you without using words and you like to be believe that you are able to get what he wants to say ; it's a new beginning for you guys.

Because you've finally crossed over this border line of friendship and stepped into the zone of no return, exiting the grey area you disliked so much.

And you know every second of it will be beautiful.

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lluvguts · 3 years

Text

Cool Blue ; Chapter Four

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

hold you here, my loveliest friend

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

☽ warnings: none

☽ fic masterlist

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚۰˚☽˚⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡˚

The air in Alberto's room was stuffy and filled with the uneasy smell of the sweat his bare skin on the sheets left after a fitful sleep. He flung an arm from the blankets to fiddle with the window latch until his sluggish muscles threw it back and open, letting fresh ocean air inside.

He opened his eyes. His face was covered by the white bedsheet like a dead man or just a boy realizing his mistakes much too late and he quickly threw that off of him, too. With the window open and the bottom of the frame just inches from Alberto's nose, nothing stopped the sunlight streaming across his feverish skin in beams and the shadow of the white chipped frame to cast a thin shadow as relief to his sleepy eyes.

The sleep was thick in his green eyes, as he suffered through an uncomfortable dreamless night spent mostly staring at the ceiling with Luca's face burning a hole behind his eyelids.

Oh, God. Luca.

A quick glance at the nightstand was all it took. The polaroid photos were undeniably there. Their white corners, their colored reflections in the daylight. Making those feelings from the night before stir again.

"Alberto? Are you awake yet?" Massimo had his hand splayed flat to the door and knocked.

He jumped at the sound of his father's voice behind the door. Alberto cursed himself for not having a clock in his room, even though he was fervent on the opinion that they were useless and dumb and didn't look nearly as stunning as the sun overhead to tell the time. But now, with the sky streaming in and more worried knocks sounding through the thin walls, Alberto ran a hand through his hair and guessed it was nearing noon. Why hadn't Massimo woken him at dawn with Giulia, to begin the day's tasks? It wasn't like him to allow Alberto to sleep in...

Alberto rolled out from the sweaty confines of his bed and stood, wobbly, to respond.

"Uh, yeah, Papa? Sorry, was I supposed to be up earlier?" He said as he went to the door to open it for Massimo. He saw his father, fully dressed and looking hesitant while Alberto was still in his pair of thin cotton shorts and an equal expression of confusion.

Massimo swapped his worried frown for a quick smile, and affectionately ran his hand across the top of Alberto's messy curls.

"It's okay, son. I figured you, uh," His hand fell back to his side, fidgety, uneasy. "...Needed the rest."

"Yeah..." Alberto let out a high, nervous laugh. His voice was still groggy and dry from sleep, coming out sounding wrong. He coughed, only making their already thick silence even thicker, then stared up at Massimo. He desperately needed a glass of water and maybe a shirt just to top things off.

"Why don't we...uh..." Massimo tried again, searching for the right things to say in the wooden floorboards. "...Have breakfast? Go get dressed and I'll start the coffee."

"Okay," Alberto placed one of his feet behind the other, still standing there awkwardly. Wasn't it a little late for breakfast?

Machiavelli slipped through the gap in the door as Alberto closed it, unprompted, and left Massimo to get the coffee grinder. He sighed against the door frame, scooping up Machi though the cat had his protests.

"Santa Mozzarella..." He breathed, burying his sunburned nose into Machiavelli's neck. The phrase reminded him immediately of Giulia and he smiled around the cat's fur.

He carried Machi in one arm as he, in his dazed, barely awake state, yanked open dresser drawers looking for a shirt and, finding none to his liking, slammed them half-shut.

His head felt too heavy to teeter above the rest of his body, like all of the empty dreams he'd had that night were really just static filling up his brain. The cat growled at the sharp sound of the dresser, and equally at Alberto's annoyance so early in the morning.

"What am I gonna do, huh?" Alberto set the Machiavelli down on his bed and pulled on a customary tank top. Machi burrowed into his sheets, letting out all sorts of odd noises.

He growled deep as he sniffed the bed, then pawed angrily at Alberto's pillow, looking so cross at the linen for no apparent reason until it clicked.

"I know you smell him," Alberto bent down and stroked Machi's raised fur to calm him down. "I can't get it off."

The cat glared at Alberto out of the corners of his orb-like yellow eyes. He continued to paw and swipe at the pillow, hissing and huffing the whole time.

"That's Luca," Alberto kept his voice low and pointed at his bedsheets. "What you're smelling? Yeah. That's all sea monster."

Machi blinked slowly and stopped for a moment. His tail had been lashing wrinkles into the sheets but it hovered, flickering his interest. Then he returned full force to his havoc and dug his claws into the mattress.

Sighing, Alberto left the cat to destroy his bedsheets and went into the kitchen. Massimo was humming gently a tune Alberto didn't know with his back turned, the coffee maker grumbling and gurgling to his right while he sliced oranges with his hand. He had a cookbook propped to one side of the orange to steady it as he brought the knife down.

Alberto stepped in to help him, pulling the book away and holding the half of the orange.

"There," Alberto said, smiling.

Massimo chuckled and handed Alberto the knife. "Thanks. How about you cut the rest of these up for us, and I'll pour the coffee?"

"Sounds good to me."

Massimo shuffled around Alberto in the small kitchen space, grabbing coffee mugs off nailed-in hooks and pouring out generous amounts into both of their espresso cups.

Alberto tried to focus on cutting up the fruit but he was still stuck on the fact that Massimo, who woke up with the sun and couldn't spare a moment to rest, let him sleep through the early-morning fishing?

But Massimo broke the silence before he could ask. He slid one cup over to Alberto, then pat his back, motioning for the dining table.

"Listen, figlio. I already did the fishing for the morning. All we'll have to do is check the nets in a few hours."

Alberto arranged the orange and grapefruit wedges into little rows on his plate, then bit his lip and re-arranged them. "I figured that much."

Massimo grunted and took one of his oranges. "Do you know why we're sitting here, Alberto?"

"Uh...no?" He said in that annoying high keen again, unable to keep his voice level. He really didn't know why Massimo wasted his own time doing all of the work himself...just to have a late breakfast with him? Was he in trouble?

"Am I in trouble for something, Papa?" Alberto voiced his internal worry. The grapefruit flesh he'd torn from the rind was splayed flat and bitter on his tongue.

"Oh, no. Of course not." He smiled through his moustache, a bit of citrus juice clinging to the bottom of it. "I just wanted to tell you that I understand. And that I'm here for you."

He blinked. "Understand what?"

Massimo didn't miss a beat--even though Alberto knew that under the table his hand was clenched. "I understand that...you're getting older, and as you get older there are some...changes, and that's okay. You don't have to tell me about her unless you're ready."

Alberto inhaled the espresso wrong and he felt it burn through his nostrils. He coughed harshly, holding one hand to his throat and spluttered. "What?"

Getting older? Changes? Most of all, girl? Was he walking around blindfolded? He might have only been born with one arm...but he certainly had two fully-functioning eyes.

Massimo put his hand back on the table and took his mug, dainty in his large grip. "I should have seen the signs a long time ago. Never home...the weird smell...how nervous you are at dinner...I see it now, Alberto. So, tell me about her, yeah?"

Alberto paled. With Massimo, there was no way around this. What he said was final, so if he thought Alberto had a female love interest, then he had a female love interest.

"I...uh, she's--" Alberto took another scalding swig of coffee to distract himself. He felt a blush creep up, in the least delicate way possible, on his cheeks. "She's really great."

"What's her name?" Massimo picked at the fruit on the table, eyes flickering from the plate to his squirrelly son.

"Lucia!" Alberto blurted out, chest tight. Massimo barked out a hearty laugh and squeezed Alberto's trembling hand across the table.

"Don't be nervous, my boy! This is great news! And what does she look like?"

He felt like a fish out of water, which made him think of Luca, which made his cheeks redden, so he was stuck with his lips parted, completely stunned.

"She um...has really pretty...uh, eyes?" Alberto tried.

Massimo's dark gaze sparkled with joy for his son and his hold on Alberto's knuckles tightened. "That's okay, Alberto. Don't worry. I won't tease you over your lovely Lucia..."

Oh, God. Alberto gulped and scanned the room for something, anything to look at other than Massimo. The orange rinds. The coffee stain on the napkin from a previous breakfast. Giulia's sock left balled up in the corner by the humming ice box.

"...We'll have to meet her!" Massimo laughed. He'd been talking while Alberto was panicking, and his green eyes widened in horror as he took in the words.

"Oh, I don't think that's the best idea--"

"Nonsense!" Massimo stood from the table, collecting their plates. "Any girl who likes mio figlio will have to meet the rest of the Marcovaldo family! But, Alberto,"

He set the plates down again in his burst of excitement, leaning with serious eyes and a serious, but equally scary hard set of his mouth. "You two aren't...you know--"

If there were more espresso to drink in Alberto's mug, he would have gratefully choked on it.

"--Because if you are, son, I should know about it."

Was this nightmare ever going to end?

"T-That's okay Papa, because that's never g-going to happen!" Alberto almost shouted.

"Oh, I wouldn't say never. It all will happen in it's own time--"

"May I be excused...?" Alberto glanced up wildly at his father, blushing and sweating and hating every additional second this conversation lasted. "Please? I...I have to get something in town! Flowers!" What was he thinking? "Uh...yeah! Flowers for Luca--Lucia!"

"Oh, well..." Massimo straightened up, some of his cheeriness dampened. "Okay. Be sure to grab some for the house too, yes?"

Alberto made a beeline for his bedroom. "Yes, Papa."

"Girls love roses, Alberto. Get her some roses."

"Roses! Got it," Alberto cataloged that information away into his brain for never-use. He felt unexplainable guilt for stringing Massimo on like that, but what else was there to do? Try and convince him that, just like he was born missing an arm, Alberto was born attracted to something....different? And, just as daunting, being made another way didn't mean it was wrong?....Right?

Machi peeked his head out of the mound he'd created of Alberto's sheets, mewling when he examined the worry that creased his brow. He grabbed his wallet on the nightstand, making a pointed effort to avoid looking at the photos. Knowing they were there made him acknowledge the fact that whatever he was feeling was there, too. It was real. He was real.

"Yeah, Yeah. Soak it up while you can," Alberto waved an arm at Machiavelli now curled up around Luca's smell, then shut the door. "Little traitor."

/ / /

With the sun rising higher in the sky, it was the perfect time to sit outside the thin streets of Portorosso to smile and relax--unless you were Alberto. Who, after finding a bouquet of wildflowers for the kitchen window at the negozio di fiori, was sitting in a patio chair overlooking the fountain with his knees pulled to his chest. The flowers sat on the circular table next to him, catching the sun's warmth and sparkling through the clear plastic they were wrapped in. Alberto sighed and let the side of his cheek rest on one knee, twiddling with the metal holes grated into the table. A finger brushed the thin petals, muttering to himself and replaying the conversation he'd had with Massimo for the last hour. He didn't want to admit it, but he missed Luca. Maybe after he dropped off the flowers at home he could go see him again.

"Waiting for your special someone?"

Alberto jumped and sat upright, looking at the shadow that had intermingled with the honeycomb of the patio table, then back up at the voice. It was an older woman, who despite the heat had a thick shawl draped along her shoulders, smiling around greying brown hair.

The woman was fixed on Alberto with a knowing glance at the flowers.

"Oh! Uh--yes, signora." He dug one hand nervously into the back of his hair. The streets were next to empty a half-second ago...

She reached down to take Alberto's hand. "Signora Aragosta."

"Alberto Marcovaldo," He shook her hand, surprised by her skin unmarred by sun or wrinkles, and the thin sheen of sweat that beaded on her knuckles. Signora Aragosta let out a small laugh, still bent down to stare at Alberto.

She sniffed the air, dark eyes flickering around at the buildings behind him.

"How long have you known the sea folk?" She asked him in a hushed voice, covering the side of her mouth with the shawl so as not to draw any attention to herself.

"S-Sea folk?" Alberto leaned back in his chair, not at all enjoying where this was going. Did she work with Ercole's parents? Did she somehow find Luca...?

She tapped Alberto's bare shoulder, freckled and tanned. "Don't think you can fool me, sweetheart. I could smell him on you from a mile away."

"You...can? Is it really that, uh, obvious?" Alberto whispered back while gaping at the old woman. "And how did you--you know it's a him?"

Signora Aragosta giggled to herself. "Relax, boy. To everyone else," She ironically gestured to the empty street. "The scent is just regular old fish. The smell of a male's scales is much stronger, more potent. Not as sweet as a female's...But I'm a bit surprised that I've found it again, after all these years."

"Found what again?" Alberto couldn't help but ask, knowing it was private but this woman had decided to share anyway.

She kept her gaze low and ruminative, looking to the flowers as she spoke. "I almost forgot what they smelled like, so strong it burns your nose, no?" She laughed a bit and playfully flicked her own nose. "I miss her every day."

"Your own...friend?" Alberto said carefully.

Signora Aragosta steeled herself and tipped up her chin, looking stern. But perhaps all Alberto did was mistake her graveness for grief. "My wife."

"And she's? You're--?" Alberto couldn't get the words out he was so startled by this news.

"Oh, hush. I'll just tell you," She pulled out the chair opposite him and settled in.

#luca #luca movie #luca fanfiction #luca and alberto #luberto #luca x alberto #alberto scorfano #luca paguro #luca 2021 #disney luca #luberto fanfiction

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ficsnroses · 4 years

Text

Prompt Fic #25

Prompt[s] : “holding their hands when they are shaking” & “lightly kissing the top of a freshly formed bruise”.

Summary : When John comes home bruised and shaken, you help calm him down and soothe him, despite his efforts in keeping you from seeing him this way.

Warnings : fluff! mentions of blood.

Word Count : 1.6K. requested by some of my favourite ladies, @omg-imagine & @ meetmeinthematinee 🖤 I combined two requests as they were quite similar!

It’s a quiet night in the house, the trees out the bedroom window shade in large silhouettes, the gentle hum of the evening breeze purrs at the glass frames. John hadn’t made it home yet, leaving you discontent and worrisome. Each time John left for a job, you’d sense the seams of your heart tear, as if part of you would leave with him, desperately hoping he’d bring it back-

that he’d be back.

John is efficient, frighteningly capable in his field; yet the thought of him, alone and fighting, murder wringing his fingertips, left you less than at ease. The wallowing dark outside threatens to fall deeper, the pitch, shadowy dim a mirror to your qualms. Sucking in a deep inhale, you feel your temple pulse with a shivering ache, John’s wellbeing never parting your thoughts. Dog sits at your feet, head of his matted gray suit fur tucked under his paws, silently glooming the hallow of the room. He felt it as well; he missed John each second he was away from you both, too.

“Up, boy.” You sweetly coo, patting the vacant spot beside you on the edge of the silken bedsheets. When a yearning whine escapes his mouth and his tail ceases to wag, your hand rakes through his coat, gentle assurance coated, knit into to your touch. “I know, baby. I miss him too.”

Just as a dull & empty exhale emits your breath, the mild turn of the bedroom door catches your ears in a perk, heart springing well known, that John had finally made it back. Yet, as you catch the first glimpse of his weary boned frame, cautious of a slight limp on his left leg, your heart tumbles into a trench again; tears forming before the remains of your mind had even registered the scene.

John shuts the door behind, and with his thin lips offers you a small smile, dreadfully endeavouring to hide his wilted stance. A slash, gushed of mahogany red clears to the left of his pec, the slice in his suit coat and dress shirt frighteningly nerve-wracking. “Hey, sweetheart.” He offers, a rasp to the tip of his tone. To the look of terror shading your eyes, he draws closer. “I’m alright.” A white lie, covered by a searing wince. “Nothing some sleep can’t fix.”

In disbelief, you bite back a whimper to the sight of him, bruised and battered in front of you, yet his vanity proves strong, striving firm to keep himself presentable to you; to make you not worry.

If anything, John wants you to never worry about him. She doesn’t deserve this, he thinks to himself, doesn’t deserve to wrangle over his misfortune, wallow in the sin that is his life. She’s better than that. She’s more than that.

Yet, in the midst of the endurance, John often forgets, that he too, hurts.

John hurts; a never-ending scald left to perverse through each vein of his frail body. John bleeds, John bleeds plenty. But for you, he shields it. He keeps that part of him shielded away, in hopes that you’re never left to fend in his calamities.

Nevertheless, John often also forgets the headstrong of your nature. You’re compassionate, and for John, you’d face any ruin. Hold his hand each step of the way.

With your movement slow, calm and collected, you fight back the scorch of tears that threatens the gleamed corners of your eyes, a gentle hand placed to his shoulder, with your other finding place to the small of his back as you guide him to your shared bed. Eyes holding a desperate weep break back, you divert all the negative reveries that capture at your mind, blinking away each cynic thought of harm to your John.

With your hands holding a slight quiver, you fight back the urge to hold him right then and there, stipple each inch of his face with loving kisses, assuring him that you’d nurse him back to health from any length. But right now, in this moment, you needed to be swift – tend to his injuries before any nasty taints made home.

“Y/N, I’m fine.” John argues, gentle movements, heaviness of his palms pushing your hands away as you try to strip him of his suit jacket. Through half attempted gestures to shield you away, prevent you from seeing this part of him, John utters a little louder than intended, the tense to his forehead carving lines of distress to already dreary features. “Y/N, stop. I’m fine.”

Fingers unsteady through a tremble, you reach your breaking point, astonished at his dominance to keep you away. “John!” You yell, connecting your eyes with his much deeper, burnt sienna returns.

He looks fearful.

You see right through him.

“John, please let me help you. Please.” You empathize, watching his coffee gaze falter, complete, utter sadness to his soft features. “I need this. I need to help you.” His shoulders barely fall, weary frame crumbling in front of you, defeat evident in his collected measure. Your eyes move down, tracing his hands that rest on his lap, shaking, trembling.

“Baby,” You allow to fall off your lips, your own eyes softening with hurt. “Your hands are shaking.” Whispering, your gentle hands move to hold his, secure, in a firm grasp. You bundle his bruised knuckles, thumbs gently grazing the calloused skin of his touch. “You don’t have to hide it from me, John. I’m going to be here with you, each step of the way. But you need to let me in. You need to trust that I’ll be okay.” you contend, words assertive, yet holding a delicate care. He merely nods, refusing to meet your eyes.

He’s ashamed that this, is how you have to see him.

Gently soothed to the skin of his shaking hands, your smaller, softer ones trace inch by inch, his palms, his wrists, his fingers. You often hold John’s hands, ensure he remembers the feeling of being touched with love, with adoration. With fondness, and care.

You never let him forget the feeling of being touched. Something so simple, yet so impactful, delicate for a man who hadn’t known the power of human touch, until he met his one person. You.

Stroking softly, you sit with him, skin touching delicately as you offer a firm, yet uniquely assuring hold to his hands, carelessly peppering in a few gentle, subtle kisses to his knuckles as you please. Eventually, John’s shaking nerves calm enough for you to remove his suit jacket off his arms, buttons of his dress shirt undone in your fingers. He watches you intent, gaze downcast in infamy. Dark eyes hold pools of regret, a river of gloom, shame.

Noticing his plight, you dot a kiss to his beard coupled cheek, lips staying put a tender moment longer to remind him that you’re there. “Baby, it’s just me.” You assure him, his cheek cupped in your hand. “I want to be here for you.” Promising, you peck a small kiss to his lips, offering him a gentle smile.

As you peel off his shirt, a small, yet fairly audible gasp enticed your lips, and much to your attempts at the opposite, your expression falls stoic; before reverting to a frown. He lingers there slightly, shivering, looks soft and hesitant. Ashamed that this is what he has to offer; bruises. Cuts. Impurities. This is all he felt, all he was.

A reminder of the dark that won’t let him go.

John’s chest is peppered in bruises, a delicate mix of deep black and purple hues adorned on his skin. The freshly formed cut of today’s job falls small, much to your joy. He won’t need stitches, thankfully. Yet the thought of the pain he must be feeling pricks tears at your eyes, as you fight back a sob. With a knowing sigh, John’s orbs cease, lowering his gaze yet again.

He didn’t want you to see him. Not like this.

“Does it hurt?” You bite back a flow of tears, index finger so softly, so gently smoothing over a bruise to his pec. John’s head returns a gentle response of ‘no’, taking hold of your hand now, executing his best attempts at biting away all traces of pain to his features, for you. “Not at all, sweetheart.” His hoarse voice promises. You chuckle lightly at your own question, suddenly feeling silly.

Of course it hurts. He’s been cut, beaten to shreds.

Gently, your fingers smooth over a fresh bruise, intently glossing your eyes over the shaded discoloration, reverting your curious orbs to his when he lets out an exhale of contentment. He sighs, melting further into the touch of you skin. John loves your touch dearly; his favourite antidote. You move in slowly, full, rosy lips brushed against the deep mauve bruises on his chest, each kiss filled to the brim with love, all the love he deserved,

Whether he’d acknowledge it or not.

Your hands stay held to his, and you feel him relax into your touch, earthy orbs drifting shut to the feel of you against him. You move deliberate, leisurely, making sure to softly drench each bruise with pure love for him, let him know you’re here, with him, in this moment, and you’d be always. As long as the skies allowed.

Finally, you bring his hands up to your lips, planting small kisses to his palms, voice soft and comforting into the evening light. “Let me help wash you up first, then I’ll bandage you up, alright?” you ease, cupping his bearded cheek again. He nods, placing his rough palm over yours that rests on his face, as he pulls you in to his chest, ignoring the slight buzz of pain it brought to the bruises.

To feel you close, he’d endure any pain.

His embrace was a cocoon of security, shelter and love, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything. Tonight had been a milestone in your relationship, and John felt closer to you now, than ever. Found himself deeper fallen in your wholeness than before; if even possible. Tonight, John felt sure. And he knew, without doubt,

You were it for him.

With the hum of his chest a gentle reverberation to your skin, you hear his voice as he strokes gentle soothes up and down your back, mindless kisses placed to your hair as you hold him, sure to avoid his wounds. And though, John was a man of few words, there were three he’d never falter to express to you, three you’d hear until the breath in his lungs would cease. “I love you.”

#john wick x reader #keanu reeves x reader #John Wick #Keanu Reeves #john wick x you

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be-ready-when-i-say-go · 4 years

Text

Gonna Be Home Soon

Time’s passed and things don’t feel better. It’s like settling, accepting, the new normal. But sometimes exceptions can be made to the rules.

My fingers slipped. Part 2 of Away for a Moment.

Enjoy my masterlist

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When Calum’s phone rings at 8:05 am, he doesn’t waste a second to answer it. He’s been anticipating this call ever since the two of you talked last night and you mentioned errands you needed to run in the morning. And there you are, grinning into the camera, the morning sun bright behind you.

“Morning,” you chirp.

“Morning, love,” he returns, falling back into the mass of pillows on his bed. “Waiting for the bus?”

“Nah, the store’s not too far and I’m already half way there.”

He nods, a hum falling over his lips. Your breathing is a little heavy. He can hear the pants as you walk. There’s a bit of a hill on the way there, if his memory serves him correctly. “Sleep okay?”

You shrug, ducking under a tree to take a short cut up to the concrete steps that lead you into the tiny shopping center. “Slept alright. Woke up in the night sweating my ass off.”

“What about your fan?”

“It was on. I had just cocooned myself and got to hot that’s all. What about you? How’d you sleep?”

Calum starts to answer but like his body knows, a yawn interrupts him. “ ‘Cuse me. Slept okay. Still trying to wake up even though I’ve been up for a while.”

“I’m sorry, love. I can let you go. You need rest.”

“No, no, I’m okay.” He doesn’t it say it but you know just by looking at him that even if he were dead tired he’d answer your call. And you know it’s because of the two incidents you told him about while just out. Approached once by men who was too chatty for your comfort—asking too many questions about you personally. And then someone asked for directions which wouldn’t have been weird but they never got off at the stop that you gave them directions for. So when you got off at your stop in front of a gas station you marched right into it and lingered until you were sure the bus had passed.

You don’t regret telling Calum about these strange encounters. And Calum knew you could defend yourself but he didn’t want you to have too. He didn’t like that you had to be on alert and that you were always looking over your shoulder. He knew you would and did still do it in LA with him. He knew all the times you had gone out without before. But he had always been close by. And now he’s not. He’s miles away, across state lines and though he’s not too far it’s still far enough for him to worry more than he did before.

You walk into the Wal-Mart and grab a basket, cradling your phone in one hand. “Wow, it’s kinda quiet in here.”

Calum remembers previous how packed the place was when he helped you move and how you recounted going on a Saturday and immediately regretting it.

“Better hurry,” he teases, looking to Duke who’s now waiting at the edge of the bed. His ears are perked up. Calum picks him up and sets him on his chest.

Your screen when you glance back down is full of Duke’s face and his fur hiding away Calum. But that’s perfectly fine by you. “My boy! Is pops treating you well?”

Duke barks in response to the question. His snout pressing into the screen almost as if that will bring you closer to him. You don’t even realize tears are welling until one falls and hits your screen. “Love you Duke.”

He barks again at the sound of your voice, leaping off Calum to unearth your sweatshirt he buried into the sheets.

“Oh Duke gets tears but I don’t? I see how it is.”

You quickly wipe at your cheeks. “Shut up. I didn’t realize how much I missed him until just then. I know I miss you.”

“Hey, no, I’m just teasing. Is too soon for a visit?”

Calum knows it’s only just over a month. Maybe a full month and a half since the last time he visited. He’s not really sure. All he knows that the days are long. All the clothes you’ve left behind have lost all your scent. Big’s too big and most nights Calum falls asleep on the couch. You text him though well before he falls asleep to make it to the bedroom. You beg him really, knowing that it’s better to have a healthy sleeping schedule. Sometimes he makes it, even sends a selfie from underneath the covers, pouting of course.

In the studio, things feel normal. He can focus on the tasks at hands. And he still can crack jokes. The guys know though. They can all tell that Calum lingers around his phone more so than usual. He takes every call, even the ones that he’d normally ignore because he can tell they’re probably spam. But he takes them know because he can’t be sure it’s not you. Sometimes, he wishes it was you, instead of some bullshit car insurance scam.

The other guys can tell Calum’s a little down in the dumps because when they ask him if he wants to join for dinner, he declines. And it’s not like he couldn’t shoot you a text saying that he’ll have to push back the FaceTime until later, or just hold off until tomorrow. It’s not like you’d flip your shit. But instead, he holds to those FaceTime dates. He holds for the times even if he’s writing, he can glance to his phone and see you riding the bus or walking into your classes.

It’s the new normal and though Calum misses the way it used to be. It’s his new normal that keeps him mostly sane. It’s this new normal that helps Calum orient his days. Monday you text early in the morning to head into your office and you message at every stop too. And then around 2 he can call, after you’re done with one stint of classes. On Tuesdays, you morning starts early but he can call during your morning commute. Wednesdays he knows that it’ll mostly be a text day, you have meetings all in the morning and then classes well into the afternoon. Thursday start to lighten up and you can FaceTime most the day of the day minus the tutoring hours you’re putting in. And Fridays, Fridays are Calum’s solace. He can wake early, knowing you’re up early too, and he can be there for just about everything. It’s your reading day too. So you two talk mostly in the morning while you run errands.

Like today, as you pull out your grocery list, Calum watches you smile at the folks passing you by. “What’s on the list today, love?”

“Batteries. Restock on the veggies and figure out what’s for dinner for the next couple of days. I found these two recipes that I want to try. Just can’t decide on which one.”

“What are they?”

“One’s a chili recipe. Other one is a one pot spaghetti recipe.”

“I vote chili. You can freeze part of the portion for next week.”

You nod, with a hum. “Smart call. Knew I kept you around for a reason.”

Calum laughs, scooping Duke back up into his arms. “Not my devilishly handsome good looks.”

“You’re hot, don’t get my wrong. But it’s what? Two years in now? Good looks don’t make a relationship. But they do help.”

“I see, loving me for my brains. I can’t say I’m upset with that.” The aisle aren’t clear as you walk down. But you pause. Calum can’t really see where, thinks it might be the clothes or close to it. You hold up a cartoon sports bra, wiggling your eyebrows. Calum whistles. “Hot.”

You snort. “I’ll pair it with my school sweatpants.”

“Doubly hot,” Calum snickers.

As you wonder about, you show small things to Calum, laughing together as you goof about in Wal-Mart. You show Calum a T-shirt that says ‘I can’t people today’ stating that you need that saying tattooed to your forehead. Even though you’ve gotten into a routine it’s still hard some days just to deal with any other human being. Calum’s always enjoyed watching you, even if it’s just you reading the ingredients lists on the back of box. And you do it out of habit now, taking the time to make sure nothing has changed in the ingredients list. Depending on what it is, sometimes there’s a recipe.

“How many bags of mango slices do you go through in a week?” Calum asks, watching the package fall into your cart.

You duck your head, speeding down the aisle even though you’re reaching back for another bag. “We do not talk about that.”

“You’re going to have a whole mango budget!”

“At least it’s better than you and your Oreos,” you sass back, waiting for the elderly couple to cross in front of you. “How many packs are you up to in a week?”

“Two,” he states through a mumbles. “But I’m cutting back!”

The giggles dissipate and you warn Calum that you’ll have to put him in your back pocket while you check out. It’s not a bad haul and you’re glad for it. You’re trying to keep the weekly grocery spending low, since the rent’s a little high at your place. With all your groceries bagged, you find your reusable bag and then head for the bus stop. Though it’ll take it a little far out of the way, it beats hauling your groceries up two hills and reduces it to one.

The morning’s growing warmer and Calum can see the beads of sweat as you walk down to the stop. He knows he ought to get up too. He should think about getting grocery, and washing the bedsheets, and scrub the bathroom. He doesn’t want to. He wants to wrap his arms around you and bury his nose in your neck and inhale the smell of your shampoo and body wash.

Once you’re safe into your apartment grocery sitting on the counter, you say your goodbyes. It’s in Calum’s eyes. The way the tears don’t fully form but they do glaze over his eyes and you know. It’s going to be a hard day. And if it weren’t for the 200 pages you had to read between your classes, you would’ve stayed longer on the call. You almost ask if he wants to stay on as you read. It almost crosses your lips.

But Calum sighs. “Guess I gotta let you go, but we’ll talk throughout the day?”

You don’t know if he’s got a busy day or not. It’s Friday and while it’s your easy day, Calum might be buried in some work. So you nod. “Of course.”

The groceries are easy to put up. You settle down for the first half the reading, pen and highlighter at the ready. Calum drops the phone into the sheets and turns onto his stomach, face buried in the pillows. The day will be long if he stays like this. But he can afford himself a little misery, a little grace so that he can sigh about how much he misses you but eventually get his own ass into gear.

Between the grocery, scrubbing the bathroom, three loads of laundry, Calum doesn’t even realize more than half the day is gone and there’s nothing much else to do. But that ache of saying goodbye to you finally comes back and he took today off from the studio. Which might’ve been a mistake. But it’s too late now, so Calum walks into his own office and picks up his acoustic guitar.

He was only going to send it to you. But he didn’t want to inundate you with the same old sad sentiments. And sure, this one was a little different, him strumming as his voice is just above a whisper, to let himself finally release the yearning. But still, he didn’t want to bother you. The texts were less consistent than normal but he also understood when you had reading days you were focused on nothing else but the readings.

Your phone buzzes an alert to let you know about an email. You check it, not sure if it was a student making an appointment for tutoring, but it’s just from the school’s bookstore. “Fucking, now I have anxiety about my email,” you chuckle to yourself.

Then your fingers wonder, you exit the mail app and tap onto instagram. Right in the bubbles up top is Calum’s icon. You tap onto it and see, or hardly see the lamps illuminating him. And it’s dark back at home much like it is where you are. His voice is soft as he croons, his cry out for a return. The semester is halfway done and you know even though you’re going to be soon buried in work for midterms, though mostly for the tutoring and teaching and less of midterms for you, you text Calum.

Gonna be home soon. Just for the weekend. I’ll book a train ticket.

Almost immediately after sending the text, your phone buzzes with a phone call from Calum. “I can come to you,” he rushes out.

“Well, it’s not home.”

“Home’s not a building, not a place,” Calum whispers. “And I know some people are going to say it’s not smart to find home in other people. But it’s too late for me. You make me feel at home.”

“Literally, I’m crying into my books,” you return, wiping your cheeks.

“What time are you free on Thursdays? After 6 is good, right?”

You nod, “Yeah, after 6 I’m free.”

“I’ll see you then. We can try that Indian place you pass on the way to class. And I’ll be there to remind you to drink water when you’re grading.”

A soft exhalation of laughter escapes you. “I definitely need that. See you Thursday.”

#calum hood #calum hood fanfic #calum hood fic #calum hood imagine #calum hood blurb #calum hood x reader #calum hood x reader insert #5sos #5sos fanfic #5sos fic #5sos imagine #5 seconds of summer #5 seconds of summer fanfic #5 seconds of summer fic #5 seconds of summer imagine #h writes #away for a moment #gonna be home soon

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maevesdarling · 3 years

Text

Take me home tonight

Sooo, I decided to post chapter 1 of the story @unicorn-cloud and I have been cooking up for a while. This plays post series in an alternative universe. There’s mentions of gore and canon typical violence in both this and the second chapter, basically Walt is not dealing with things as good as he thought... I’m not sure how many chapters this story will have, probably around 3 to 4, also please be kind to me it’s been a long time since I uploaded my works to Tumblr, thx!

Chapter 1: The Call

Later, after he put his gun and badge down and moves further away from the border, Walt gets a call from an unknown number. He contemplates not picking up. It's been years since Kiki's death and operation Leyenda. He thinks, for a moment, that it could be Miguel Angel, calling him from his jail cell to taunt him, but no, he's not important enough to that man and besides, Miguel Angel doesn't wield as much power as he used to.

There are others. New players in this fucked up game, Walt knows that. He saw them rising on the horizon like a looming thunderstorm, ready to destroy the earth in it's path. But for now, he decided to enjoy his peace. His back's been bothering him more as of lately and he's got a few more grey hairs. He quit smoking about a year ago, after his doctor told him to do so. He's had a few setbacks since then, a half finished pack is always hidden underneath his kitchen sink, just in case he needs a fix. But overall, he's trying to stay away from the cigarettes and eat more healthy, even though the microwavable dinners at the supermarket look damn tempting, especially since it's only himself he's cooking for.

He's up in Colorado these days. The DEA was kind enough to leave him with a nice sum of retirement money, probably to shut him up after all the shit he pulled of during his career and to be fair he doesn't blame them.

He buys a nice enough house on the outskirts of town, with some additional property, a rundown barn and an old apple tree orchard that he has no plan on using. The weather's less hot, and there's a few lakes where he can fish, but otherwise, it's pretty much like any other town he's lived in. The dark red sandstones dotting the farmland remind him of Mexico. Of sitting in the hot sun and watching a small airfield in the distance, with a pair of binoculars in his hand. Sal's voice next to him asking about their next move. It's nostalgic in a way.

The first day, after he finished dropping off his stuff in the small, rundown house, he sets off to drive around, get familiar with the place. He finds a shabby bar, a small supermarket, a post office, a family owned diner and a few farms, with cows and hundreds of chickens roaming the surrounding fields, that sell local products. Over time, he ventures out further and discovers some more bars, supermarkets and, to his surprise, a gay club.

It's well hidden, two cities over, wedged between an antique bookstore and a barbershop. It looks nothing like a club from outside, and from the inside, it's hardly distinguishable from any other bar Walt has ever set foot in. But he knows where to look, it's something you learn over time.

The first time he orders a drink, his eyes fall on a guy sitting on the other end of the bar. Dark hair and dark eyes, with a bristly moustache. He's wearing a black cowboy hat and a jeans jacket, it's not what he would have worn. Plus he only looks a slight bit like Sal, his face is much older, more weathered from years of hard work in the sun, but it's enough for Walt to give in to his yearning.

He buys Not-Sal a drink and they fall into an easy chatter. Two hours later, Walt is driving him back to his house. Not-Sal is more experienced than Walt had thought when he starts undressing him with steady hands, his fingers touching in all the right places, he's already prepared, as if he'd been expecting this to happen, and doesn't mind it when Walt accidentally let's Sal's name slip at the height of his pleasure.

They lie together afterwards, sharing a cigarette between them, neither of them ready to leave yet. Walt is slowly falling asleep to the feeling of another person combing their hands through his hair. When he wakes up the next morning, the house is empty. There's a note on his kitchen table, a short thank you message, that's it. Next time he's at the club, Not-Sal is gone. He finds someone else. A different man, with dark hair, dark eyes and a friendly face, and then another and another. Some of the men he brings over are kind, they'll stay the night and sometimes even the morning, to share a quick meal with him before they move on, others leave almost immediately after they finish. Some of them yell out Walt's name as they come, others don't. And some yell out another man's name, but that's okay because so is Walt.

He's careful with the company he keeps. Always making sure that no one sees him leaving the club with another man, driving different routes back home and of course he's always stocking up on enough condoms because he's not stupid, he knows how important protection is.

Even though he's had a few men over, none of them return for longer than a couple of times. Its fun, to fill the mornings with senseless chatter, and to fall asleep in another person's arms. But they're not Sal.

He's longing for him. Even after all those years he's still longing for him. It's been three, almost four years since he last heard from Sal. He was moving to San Francisco. The DEA wanted someone new up there and Sal was growing tired of the shit hole they had placed him in after Mexico. They had called each other almost everyday, sometimes they would even meet each other, for a quick chat and an even quicker fuck. There was never enough time.

Sal wanted to call him back, he promised, once he was in San Francisco, to call him every day. Write a postcard. But nothing came. The telephone was silent for two whole months and Walt was desperate. First, he checked the newspapers for any missing or recently deceased people, when that search came up empty, he started to search the phone book for Sal's new address but of course that came up empty as well. He kept buying new phone books, just in case and by now, there was a small bookcase filled with old phone books in his house, and not a single one held an address for Sal Orozco. It was almost like he never exited. Only Walt's memory kept him from going insane. The fading photos on his wall, the one he kept in his wallet, next to a picture of Greg and his family. One of Sal's shirts he forgot in Walt's apartment in Texas, it had long stopped smelling of him, but nevertheless, Walt would pick it up and inhale deeply, thinking that the ghost of Sal's smell was still there, etched into the fabric. He slept with the shirt, on those nights when he woke up drenched in sweat, screaming and with a thundering heart. He wrenched his eyes open but he saw them anyway, Amat, Ossie, Danilo, sometimes even Kiki. He saw them die, he saw their bodies, bruised, burned, riddled with bullets, standing in front of his bed, he could hear them calling out his name. "You killed us, Walt." They'd point at him, blood dripping from their fingertips onto his bedsheets. Those nights were the worst. Sometimes they could only be stopped with an entire bottle of whiskey.

The dreams had gotten better since he found the dog. The dog didn't have a name. He was a stray, with dark, golden fur and dirty white paws. He picked him up on his way home from an unsuccessful night at the club, the dog was covered in ticks and fleas, one eye had been badly bruised and he was tied to a tree by the side of the road. Clearly abandoned. He expected the dog to bark at him, or worse, bite him, when he kneeled down beside him to untie him, but instead, it sat down in front of Walt and started wagging it's tail, as if he'd known Walt all his life. He took the dog in and gave it a bath, making sure that no ticks or fleas survived, before driving him to the vet the next morning to check out his eye. The vet couldn't save it and so Walt decided to take him in, just another broken thing keeping his company.

He put a collar on the dog and called him his, they slept in the same bed and sat on the couch together, watching football games and stupid action movies. The dog went fishing on the lake with him, even though he was no big help in catching the fish, he also liked to run around the orchard and sit on the front porch to sleep, and Walt liked to sit beside him and think, scratching behind his fluffy ears. Sometimes he wondered if Sal liked dogs. What he'd say if he met his dog.

The other animals were intentional. Walt bought a couple of chickens to sell their eggs at the local farm, and to keep himself busy. Then he renovated the old barn as best as he could and bought three goats to sell their meat, but once he saw them in their pen, he decided they weren't going to the slaughter house and kept them for their milk instead. He also fixed up the orchard as best as he could and started collecting the apples. Soon the onslaught of apples was too much for him to handle and so he collected them in a few boxes, along with the chicken eggs and sold them to the nearest farm. Surprisingly, the people around town started knowing him once he started visiting the farm more frequently. He would have regular conversations with some of them and at some point, even started looking forward to see them. He didn't go to the town hall meetings, or to Sunday mass, and the people had been weary of him, but once they saw him with his dog and the boxes of apples in his trunk, they warmed up to him.

He enjoyed his new life. It wasn't luxurious, but that wasn't what he wanted for himself anyway. He was no Miguel Angel. He didn't need a fleet of private planes and a couple of hotels to be happy.

The phone rang again and reminded him of his current situation. The dog had stopped wagging it's tail on the couch beside him and was looking at him with his one eye, almost as if he was saying "what are you waiting for?"

And so Walt picked up the phone, fully expecting Jamie or Ed or someone else from the DEA to yell at him to get his ass back to Mexico.

"Hello... is this Walt Breslin?" The phone slipped from his grasp and fell, he caught it in his suddenly sweaty palms, pressing the shell back against his ear. Three years silence could not erase the memory of that voice. Hushed conversations between them, hiding behind a parked car as they watched over a suspect, a gasp and then a low moan, while Walt kept hitting that one spot inside him, that set Sal's body on fire, a chatty conversation over two mugs of steaming coffee in a diner that ended with both of them laughing hysterically. Walt had enough memories for an entire lifetime with that voice, he would recognize it anywhere.

"Sal-" He breathed, rearranging the phone against his ear.

"Is- Walt is that you? Oh my god- fuck- I found you!" There was a short pause on the other end of the phone and for a moment Walt thought he was imagining things, then Sal's voice returned. "I- I'm sorry, Walt. I'm so sorry-" He sobbed, apologizing over and over.

"Sal- How did you find me? Wh- Are you alright? Is- do you need help?"

"No, no, I'm fine, Walt. I am. I just- fuck- I missed you so much. Where are you? I called you're old address so many times- I thought something happened to you…"

"Shh, I'm okay. I'm in Colorado. Small town near Denver. I'll give you the address… That is… If you want me to…"

"Yes! I mean... yes I want- I want to see you. If that's okay. I need to- need to know you're okay."

He contemplated with himself wether to ask this or not, but in the end, Walt did it anyways. "It's been three years, Sal. Why did you never call? What's changed?" Another sobb from the other end of the line. "I'll tell you. In person. Friday? Is that okay for you?" Walt squinted at his calendar. Friday was in two days, he needed to clean the house, buy some groceries and pack the car for Sunday's apple delivery.

"Yeah, Friday works."

"Alright. I'll see you on Friday… Walt… I missed you."

"… Missed you too Sal."

He put the phone down slowly, feeling like he was still in a dream. The dog had noticed something was off about his behavior and was staring at him in concern. " 's alright bud, I'm just… surprised, is all. We'll meet a friend of mine on Friday. I hope you'll like him…"

Lost in his thoughts, Walt began his evening routine, closing the chicken pen, checking on the goats and refilling the dogs food in case he got hungry during the night, only when the brown cibbles hit the kitchen tiles did he notice his thoughts slipping off. The only thing on his mind was Sal. Sal with his kind face and the warm, dark brown eyes, Sal wrapping an arm around his hips and pulling him closer, Sal whispering into Walt's ear. A hushed love confession neither of them dared to talk about. So, so many memories they shared between them, how was he supposed to wait any longer to see him again?

Friday couldn't come soon enough.

#narcos mexico #walt breslin #sal orozco #My writing #fingers crossed I find the time to finish chapter 2 soon

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jlalafics · 4 years

Note

PLEASE DO that roommates idea 2 where they try to find something in the trash!!!!!

I hope you enjoy, Anon. I was feeling a little fluffy and soft so I went with it. Happy Reading!

_____

Summary: Sometimes, the simplest things hold the biggest memories. Post-Mockingjay. From Katniss’ and Buttercup’s POV.

Ribbon

It is time to clean house.

I tell myself that as I stare into what was Prim’s bedroom. It stands frozen in time, a shrine that was never meant to be. There’s still an imprint of her on the quilt that rests on the empty bed. I can almost see her there, legs curled and looking over her book of medicinal plants and herbs.

She would’ve turned 15 this year.

Breathe.

Tightening my grip on the cardboard box in my hand, I step carefully into the room, trying to hold it all in and telling myself that this is for the best.

“You okay?” Peeta is standing in the doorway, smelling of sugar and drenched in flour. I raise a brow at his appearance and he smiles. “A certain favorite cat of yours decided that he wanted to help with the welcome loaves.”

“The little jerk,” I quip, trying to lift my sinking mood. “I should’ve skinned him when I had the chance.” I go to Prim’s desk, setting the box down. The whitewood desk is caked in dust and I looked to the discarded pencil…the pile of books…the papers with notes written in her delicate cursive…

“I know this isn’t going to be easy.” Peeta is suddenly standing beside me, concern in those blue eyes. “I know that you said you didn’t need help, but I’m here if you just need someone to just…be.”

I turn to him. “What about the welcome loaves?”

“I have two working legs—one and a half, actually—and I have great nose for burnt bread,” Peeta tells me. “I can run down, if needed. Also, I kind of suckered you into doing this.”

Peeta is referring to the welcome packages that we volunteered to work on for the new citizens of District 12. The town is just getting back to its original state as we had to build from the ground up. Our winnings have provided the supplies to build the general store, the grocer, a few new homes in what used to be the Seam, and the new Mellark Bakery.

We have five new families coming to District 12. Two of them have girls that are around Prim’s age…or the age she was. My sister’s closet is full of clothes she never got to wear and the books on the desk look like they are unopened.

She barely got to enjoy what I could give her before the bombs came and tore her from new home.

“I think I need to do this myself.” Peeta nods in understanding, placing his hand on my shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze. I place my hand over his, avoiding his gaze. He doesn’t need to see how flush I am. “But maybe you could just stay in the doorway? In case?”

“Of course.”

I make my way around the room, taking the books and placing them in the box for the general store. I fold up the bedsheets so they can be laundered then given to one of the families. I go through her closet and drawers, pulling out clothes for the girls though I stop when the faint scent of Prim hits my nostrils.

Peeta is here immediately, arms reaching around to pull my back against his chest. After living with me for almost a year, he knows that I prefer that no one see me cry. Instead, he just takes slow, solid breaths as the tears roll down my face. He waits as my breaths shudder through my quiet sobs.

When I am done, Peeta steps back and lets me continue.

We are seamless when it comes to these small hours; these pockets of time that are so painful that we can barely breathe. He knows when to retreat and I know when to step up if needed.

Soon I am finished. The clothes are packed and Peeta has brought a bag for trash. Soon, there is only the vanity where Prim got ready for the day. Where she decided to go from two braids to one. Where she watched the remnants of her childhood fade and saw the bloom of womanhood begin.

I throw out the bar of soap, too old for use. I store her hairbrushes away to send to my mother—she would appreciate them.

The one thing I keep is a single white ribbon.

That I set aside for myself.

“I’m done,” I tell him wearily.

Peeta reaches to squeeze my hand.

“Let’s go have some tea.”

I nod and my nostrils catch something sharp in the air.

“Tea will go well with burnt bread,” I tell him.

Peeta nods cheerfully…until he realizes what I just said.

He rushes down the hallway and I laugh—a rarity in this household—as he attempts to save his scorched loaves.

I look around the empty bedroom and with a final sigh, I close the door behind me.

“I miss you, Prim,” I whisper into the air.

Then, I join Peeta downstairs.

++++++

I peek out of the corner; the dark-haired one is heading downstairs to her mate. The house smells like fire and flour; if only Yellow Head let me help him.

Now, we’ll all have burnt bread for dinner.

Padding down the hallway, I press my paw to the door and then butt it with my head. She didn’t close it properly, too distracted by sadness to notice that the door didn’t click.

When I step inside, I’m shocked to discover the room is spotless. Little Flower’s bed is empty, there are no clothes for me to burrow myself into…

Jumping into her mattress, I look around trying to find traces of her. Sometimes, I can still remember how she used to cuddle against me and burrow her face against my fur. Dark Hair tells me that she has gone away. It makes me sad to think that she’s left me behind.

I was good companion, wasn’t I?

Little Flower has left Dark Hair, too.

Sometimes, I hear her crying in the night, calling out my owner’s name: Prim…Prim…

On those nights, I go to her…pass her mate’s room (it’s strange that they do not sleep together—how will they breed?) and join her in her bed. She has a spot ready for me, right in the crook of her legs.

I lay my head down and she sleeps.

The next day, we pretend it never happened.

Dark Hair and I are not the affectionate types.

My eyes and nose catch it at once—it’s her! Little Flower!

Hopping off the bed, I go to the table with the mirror and spot the ribbon immediately.

I remember Little Flower playing with me…whirling the ribbon around as I try to capture it…

Immediately, it’s in my mouth and I am prancing to my little spot in this dusty home.

I’ll keep it safe until Little Flower comes home.

++++++

Where is it?

I look behind the vanity and then on the floor beneath it. The door was open when I came in since Peeta had taken the clothes and boxes to town. He had also taken out the trash bags we collected—

“Oh!”

I’m already running down the stairs and out the door to where our trash cans are. There are three large bags of things we’ve collected around the house. I immediately go to the bags, falling to my knees and tearing them open.

It’s like a needle in a haystack as I search through the knickknacks and papers of the first bag. It isn’t there and I feel something in my chest begin to rise. Gulping in another breath, I go for the second bag—

“What are you doing?”

I look up to find Haymitch and Peeta standing in above me.

“I can’t find it,” I tell them. “I left it in her room…” My gaze goes to Peeta. “Did you see it this morning? The white ribbon?”

Peeta stops for a moment, his gaze searching as he tries to recollect.

Finally, he shakes his head.

“I’m sorry,” he tells me. “I don’t remember if it was there.”

Then, Peeta is kneeling next to me and opening the next bag, tearing through, and removing what looks like rotting fruit.

Haymitch scowls at the smell. “I’m going inside your place to look…what am I looking for?”

My eyes water at the stench…at least, I think it’s just the stench.

“A white hair ribbon,” I sniffle pathetically. “It was in Prim’s room yesterday and now it’s gone.”

Our mentor nods before disappearing into our house to search the rest of the place.

I’m aware of Peeta’s stare at the crack in my voice as I find nothing in the second bag.

He continues looking through his bag, arm deep inside as he pulls out the trash. The grey sweater he wears is now stained and reeks of old food. The tan slacks he wears have two mud spots as he kneels next to me.

“We’ll find it,” Peeta assures me as he stands up and lifts the lid of our metal garbage can. “Don’t worry, okay? These aren’t the only spots to look.”

Something hard settles in my stomach as I find that the bag I’m searching does not contain the ribbon.

Peeta closes the lid and then looks to me. “I’m sorry. I don’t see it here either.”

Though my legs feel like jelly, I straighten up to stand.

Part of me, however, feels like I’ve lost her all over again.

“Peeta—” He stops and turns to me, eyes full of worry. “—it’s gone.”

“No,” he replies adamantly. “It can’t have just disappeared!”

I shake my head. “It’s fine. I’m just going to go take a walk, okay?”

“Katniss—" His cheek is streaked with dirt. “There are other places in the house.”

Reaching, I brush the bit of dirt away from his face. “You’ve ruined a perfectly good shirt and pants.”

“I don’t care about my clothes,” he tells me. “I care about you and that ribbon is important to you—”

“I’m going to take a walk,” I say. “Don’t worry. I’ll be back by sundown.”

As a sob wells up, I turn and head out of Victors’ Village.

++++++

The house is a mess.

Old Grey came tearing through the house and I quickly ran to hide. Sometimes, when his scent is strong, he starts to act strange. Once, he almost fell on top of me. Thankfully, Yellow Head caught me in time.

Speaking of Yellow Head, he has torn apart our house, searching for something. Every chair has been lifted and looked under, all the little metal cans where they throw away dirt and food have been searched through and both he and Old Grey looked through Little Flower’s room once more.

I have no idea what for, but Dark Hair will be very upset about the mess.

“We’ve searched everywhere,” Yellow Head tells the Old Grey. “I’ve never seen her so upset. It’s the one thing that she kept from Prim’s room.”

“I understand, Peeta,” Old Grey replies kindly—a rare tone for him. “You’ve done everything you could.”

“She’s going to regret letting me stay here.” Yellow Head is sitting on the couch as I hide behind an upturned chair. “I’m the one who pushed for us to do this whole Welcome Wagon thing. She was perfectly fine with leaving everything as it was—”

“She has to move on,” the other man argues. “Don’t go blaming yourself for trying to bring some change into your lives. Katniss needs it; she’s been living with too many ghosts…all of us have.”

“I know,” Yellow Head mutters to himself. “I’m trying very hard not to be a burden on her.”

“You’re not a burden,” Old Grey assures him. “You care for her and want her to be happy. Though you’ve given yourself a mighty task taking on The Mockingjay.”

“It’s worth it because it’s her.”

Poor Yellow Head—maybe I can give him something from my basket.

Stepping towards him, I purr and rub along his ankle to get his attention. He noticed immediately, patting my head and scratching that spot behind my ear.

“Hey Buttercup,” he greets me. “We haven’t even fed you, have we?”

I circle his legs in affirmation.

“Looks like he has more than enough stuffing,” Old Grey say with a rough laugh.

I hiss at him immediately.

“Don’t tease the cat. Let’s get you fed,” Yellow Head replies. Standing, he goes to the kitchen and I trail after him. My bowl is right by the sink and next to my treasure spot. I wait patiently as the man prepares a simple dinner of rice and chicken. “I’m sorry it’s leftovers. I haven’t had a chance to even think about dinner.”

He places the bowl in front of me and I eat eagerly.

“That ribbon meant a lot to Katniss.” Yellow Head pulls out a chair for himself as he watches me. “Worst of all, I know she won’t tell me why it’s important.”

I meow in response. Dark Hair is too sad over Little Flower to see what’s in front of her.

Her mate.

“You have any ideas on how to make her happy?”

Looking up from my bowl, I look to the man and decide to show him my treasures. Maybe he can find something for Dark Hair so she doesn’t disappear and come back smelling like tears. I meow at him to follow and hop over to my little space next to the sink.

Yellow Head smiles as he stands to follow.

“What do you have here?” He kneels next my little alcove and I proudly present him with the trinkets I’ve collected since we moved to this new house. The man looks inside carefully exploring my things. A feather from the first wild turkey that Dark Hair caught…bark from our old home…a bar of soap that smells of Little Flower…a picture of Dark Hair and Yellow Head that Little Flower had on her desk—

“Where did you get this?” Yellow Head asks as he takes it out. “A promotional photo from The Victory Tour…Katniss sure does look pretty…I much prefer as she is though.”

That is a sign of a true mate.

Only someone who absolutely loves would see beauty in scowling Dark Hair.

“Oh my God…” Yellow Head pulls out my latest find, his blue eyes full of shock. “…you had the ribbon?”

I meow, bowing my head.

Of course, I do. It belongs to Little Flower.

“Katniss has been looking all over for this,” Yellow Head says. He looks to me, his blue eyes sad. “You must miss Prim, too.” His hand reaches to the to top of my head, caressing gently. “I’m sure I can find something else. Maybe a blanket of Prim’s? In exchange for the ribbon?”

A blanket with Little Flower’s scent…it will be like she’s still holding me.

I acquiesced with another nod of my head.

“Well, let’s clean up and I’ll look through the sheets that we still have…”

Yellow Head walks off in happiness while I remain in the kitchen.

There is no way I’m cleaning his mess.

++++++

Stepping onto the porch, I wearily sit down on the porch bench and look out at the orange sky. After leaving Peeta behind, I stomped childishly into the forest, lamenting Prim’s ribbon and smelling of trash before falling asleep against a tree.

My dreams are a mixture of my old life and new life…I can hear my Dad’s laugh…the sound of my Mom preparing healing herbs in our old kitchen…Prim singing to herself…they intermix with the sound of Haymitch’s geese…of our Mentor’s creaky door as he steps onto his porch for a quiet day…of Peeta’s uneven gait as he tries not to wake me as he passes my bedroom…

When I awoke, my face was wet.

I hear Peeta step onto the porch, sitting next to me as I look up at the streaks for the sunset. This is his favorite time of day and he loves to end the day with a cup of tea.

I smell the lemon scent from his mug immediately.

“I brought one for you, too,” Peeta says as he presents the thick mug to me.

“Thank you.” I take the mug and move to give him room on the porch bench. “I’m sorry I left you to clean up the mess.”

“It’s okay,” he assures me. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Do I ever really want to talk about it?” I retort before sitting back. “My Dad gave that ribbon to my mother. She would gather it underneath her hair and make a bow on top then kind of move it, so it looked like a headband. My mom stopped wearing it that way when he died but I always thought her hair looked so pretty that way. She gave it to me on my first reaping day; used it to tie my braid—in hopes that I wouldn’t be picked. On Prim’s first reaping day, I gave it to her for good luck.”

“And she got picked,” Peeta says, smiling wryly. “And the rest is history.”

I can’t help but snort. “For the books.” I take another sip of my tea. “Before the Rebellion, Prim started wearing the ribbon, and she’d tie her hair in a single braid. I remember thinking when we came home, ‘When did two braids become one?’ I missed her grow up—and then I was gone again for the Victory Tour…and everything after. Then, she was gone!” I turned to his kind stare, the sunset highlighting the natural handsomeness of Peeta. “To me, that ribbon was the only thing I had of the three of them and something I could pass down—”

After all this time, the thought of children doesn’t sour my expression.

Instead it fills me with the hope of having been able to give my child something from my family.

“Thank you for telling me.” Peeta places his cup down on the armrest. “I know that it wasn’t easy for you.”

I find myself smiling. “It wasn’t.”

With Peeta, however, smiling becomes a little easier.

“I’m going to ask you to do something for me that I know is uncomfortable,” he says. “Close your eyes.”

I raise a brow, but he gives me smile so delightfully sweet that I can do nothing but indulge him.

I feel his hands against my scalp, his fingers between my locks as he gathers my hair. A frisson of pleasure gathers in my stomach and I wait eagerly for what happens next.

Then, I feel it; the familiar motion of my hair being divided and then being crossed.

Peeta is braiding my hair.

My whole body goes lax at the motion and it takes me to a memory of my father’s clumsy hands trying to do the same thing. I hear my childish giggles because such a magnanimous man is unable to do a simple braid.

Peeta, however, brings a different kind of memory…one of us on the Victory Train lying next to one another…of him unraveling my braid…and of my stomach twisting in hunger.

“There.” His breath is against my ear and I steel myself against the rivulets of long-abandoned desire rushing to my center. “Open your eyes.”

My hair is perfectly braided and is tied with a single white ribbon—Prim’s ribbon.

“Where did you find it?” I cry out, my fingers going to precious piece.

“Buttercup,” he explains. “Somehow, he got into the room…I think he misses Prim, too.”

“Stupid cat.” My smile is so wide that I can feel the tears escaping and rolling onto my cheeks. “Should’ve killed him when I had the chance.”

“You couldn’t get rid of him anymore than you could get rid of me.”

Peeta’s fingers reach for my braid, touching its tip tenderly and my breath catches at the simple motion. My hand covers his and he gasps into the warm air.

“There’s a little bit of sunset left,” Peeta tells me, his eyes on me. “Let’s wait until it’s gone.”

I nod. “We have the time.” Our hands are still joined along my braid. “But first—”

Leaning forward, I capture his lips in mine, pressing gently until he responds and pulls me close, so close I can feel the rapid beating of his heart. The fire between us begins to swell as he tips to slant his mouth over my own and I feel the rough brush against my tongue.

It is dark when we finally move apart.

“I wanted to ask you something.” Peeta’s eyes are a lovely hue in the night light, a warm indigo that makes me feel breathless. “This weekend, we’re having the welcome party for the new citizens…would you like to come with me?”

I am already going; it’s what is expected from the District 12 Victors. However, this is different.

Because if I accept, we won’t be going as just roommates.

I’ll be going as Peeta’s date.

“Okay.”

We stay on the porch late into the night.

++++++

“This is very tight,” Dark Hair mutters as she steps into her room in her dress. “Peach…well, Effie says that it’s kind of like orange.” She is fussing with herself more than usual, her eyes on her reflection. “Hair up or down?” Dark Hair turns to me. “What do you think?”

I meow at her. I’m a cat—why should I care? As long as you put food in my bowl, I could care less.

However, the look on her face reminds me of Little Flower and I find myself jump off her bed to help. I move my tail against her ankles, pushing my nose to get her to look at the top of her dresser.

“What are you doing?” she asks with a smile.

I continue to prod at her until she is angled in the direction of the ribbon laying on top.

Her eyes go to the white ribbon and she takes it carefully before bringing it underneath her long hair. Dark hair takes the two ends and makes nice knot before moving the tied end to hide it. Now it looks like a single white strip, holding her hair.

She looks different, not unpleasantly different—there’s a glow on her cheeks and she smiles a lot more, especially around Yellow Head.

“Thanks,” she tells me before opening the door to head out.

I follow her down the hallway, her sandals clicking against the floor.

Then, right before getting to the foot of the stairs, Dark Hair takes a deep breath and turns to me.

“You can sleep on my bed tonight, Buttercup,” she says quietly before heading down the stair.

I peek from the behind the wall and see Yellow Head at the bottom of the stairs. When they are finally next to one another, I watch him take Dark Hair’s hand.

“You’re beautiful,” he says tenderly, reaching to single tendril. “I like your hair.”

She gestures at the green sweater and navy slacks he wears. “Thanks…you look really nice.”

They are shy and scared, but beneath it all, I see the stirrings of love.

With enough time, they will realize that they are mates.

They leave for the night and I patter off to her room, settling on a fluffy pillow for a nap.

When I wake up, it is morning and except for myself, no one else occupies the bed.

Heading down the hallway, I follow the smell of the forest and find her immediately.

She is asleep with Yellow Head, her head resting on his bare chest.

Maybe I will get another Little Flower sooner than I think.

I’m very partial to the name Daisy.

FIN.

#Everlark #Everlark Fanfiction #anon request #roommates!Everlark #Fluff #Buttercup #Post-Mockingjay #In Victors' Village

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kamikothe1and0nly · 3 years

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A Price We Pay (OC Story)

Over on Instagram, I'm sharing some characters I made. A lot of people seemed to like my OC Scarlet so I asked if people wanted to read the story I wort over the summer. Some said yes so I'm just going to post it here.

This has nothing to do with Kotlc. You can just ingore this. My writing is awful anyway :).

Warning: mention of death and blood.

Scarlet’s midnight blue hair fell over her light chocolate-colored eyes. She stared at her hands, not knowing what to do. Maxseen was everything to her. She was Scarlet’s world.

Max has been there for Scarlet through her ups and downs. She always did everything in her power to make Scarlet smile. No matter the problem, Max was there for Scarlet. She just wished she could do the same for her.

“I’m sorry, Miss. Heart, there’s nothing else I can do for her.” The doctor looked at her with saddened eyes. From the sidelines, you’d think the emotions in his eyes were real, but Scarlet could look deep into the dark forest green and see nothing but cold stone. He wasn’t sad about Max; She was just another one of his patients. It was just his job. He didn’t care about Max. “Our best bet is that Miss. Willow will pass by the end of the week.”

“Liar!” Scarlet snapped; she gripped her hands into fists, trying to keep from fully lashing out at the doctor. “There’s something you haven’t done yet!”

“Miss-”

“Your job is supposed to be keeping people alive!” She cut him off. “So do your job!”

“We’ve done all we could to help Miss. Willow, but her health is falling faster every day.”

Tears pricked the corners of Scarlet’s eyes.

The silence was deafening., it rang in her ears, leaving her stuck in her thoughts. The soft beep of the machines was starting to irritate Scarlet as it added to the ringing. From time to time, she could hear a whisper behind the door, though she could never make out any words.

The off-white room felt too bright agest Scarlet’s eyes. The walls threatened to close in on her if she made any movement. The light blue curtains waved softly in the air as the breeze swept by the open window. There was one annoying light that would slightly flicker every 30 seconds. Through her tear-blurred vision, she could see Max’s chest gently rise and fall under the thin white sheets.

Her chair was uncomfortable, despite the soft cushion. Cold wrapped itself around Scarlet, reaching deep under her skin and clutching her heart in a frozen fist. It sent tiny, thin shards of ice into it for every beet. Her light, gray jacket no longer felt soft on her shoulders. Instead, it had turned into a ruff, heavy stone, pulling her down.

The burning smell of medicine, bleach, and too much hand sanitizer put a metallic bio taste on Scarlet’s tongue, leaving her stomach to turn.

Max’s amber-brown hair pooled around her ever-growing pale cheeks. Her blue hospital gown against the white bedsheets was starting to become offensive to Scarlet. She uses to love the color blue. Max’s eyes were a bright shade of ocean blue that was a deep swell of emotions. But now Scarlet could no longer see the blue she had fallen for, and she feared she might never see them again.

Max laid still, her eyes closed and breathing hard to notice unless you looked long enough. Tubes ran along her skin, each having a different job to play. One keeps oxygen moving in and out of her lungs. One slowly dripping random fluids into her body. The rest of the tubes did something that Scarlet didn’t quite know what.

Maxseen was a husk of what she used to be. She no longer ran around pulling pranks and laughing with her friends. She no longer told Scarlet of her daydreams or her plans for her future. She no longer pulled funny faces with her little brother and mom. Max no longer hugged Scarlet tight.

A tear landed on Scarlet’s hand, pulling her out of her thoughts. She was going to lose Max; she was going to be alone again. Her dad was right; she’ll never have someone to love.

“Shhh,” A woman gently stroked a young Scarlets hair. “It’s ok; you’re safe. Nothing can hurt you,” she whispered. Her voice was sweet like honey and smooth as glass. It held so much love and kindness with every syllable.

Scarlet sniffed and wiped her nose with the back of her hand, “It was horrible, mom. It was dark and scary. I couldn’t find you… I was alone.”

“Oh my sweet child, you are never alone, and it was only a bad dream.” She started to braid Scarlet’s hair, something that always calmed her down. “Do you remember that story I told you when you were a little older than a baby?”

“The one about the dragon that can grant you a wish? I remember a little.”

The woman hummed in thought, “She lives in a cave lined with glowing crystals, found beep in the Forbidden Forest. Her short fur is a shining black that sparkles in the faint light of the crystals. Her eyes are bright firey-orange. When she looks at you, she looks deep into your eyes.”

“The eyes are the gateway to the soul,” Scarlet whispered. Her mom tickled Scarlet, causing her to giggle.

“Correct.” She poked Scarlet’s nose with a light feathery touch. “She looks into your soul.” She leaned back against the bed and looked thoughtfully at the shadowy ceiling. “Her claws are said to be so sharp they can cut through the toughest stone with ease. Her fires-breath is hotter than a hundred suns; you can feel the warmth of her firey heart when standing in the cave.

“Deep in her cave where the light can’t reach is where she sleeps with all her treasures; the crystals fill her dreams of young children’s wishes.”

“Everyone says dragons aren’t real.”

“Our world has grown disconnected from dragons. It’s been thousands of years since people have seen one. The stories we hear about the giant creatures have grown old and thrown around with fake stories. It had become difficult for people to tell which stories are true, so we labeled all their stories as myths and legends.

“People stopped believing.”

“Is your story true?” Scarlet looked up at her mother.

“Of course, my dear. Every word is true.”

“Really?” Scarlet’s eyes light up with wonder. “If it’s true, why don’t people try and find the dragon?”

“The forest is a dangerous place. It’s full of creatures that can kill in a heartbeat. The tall twisting trees block out all the sun’s light and warmth, leaving it in cold darkness that is more shaded than night. The trees shift and change, turning the forest into an endless maze. No one dares to step foot into the forest.”

“Then how does the dragon have people’s wishes come true.”

“Only the bravest can make it through the twisting maze of trees and make it through the dangers that lay deep inside. But be warned; the dragon doesn’t take kindly to strangers. She’ll searcher your heart to find if your intentions for her magic are good or bad. If she finds your heart is black and bitter, she’ll not hesitate to kill you.”

“How do you know all of this, mom?”

“I’ve seen her.”

Scarlet’s eyes opened as the sun reached through the half-closed blinds. The sun’s golden rays illuminate the small room in an orange-yellow glow.

Another one of those dreams. Scarlet has had them a lot since Maxseen got sick.

Just another reminder that Scarlet loses everyone that comes into her life.

Her dad left when she was four, her mom went missing when she was 16, and now Max would most likely leave her too.

But this dream wasn’t like the others. They always had Scarlet’s mom in them, happy memories of the two laughing with each other, cooking, playing some kind of game, just her and her mom when times were easy when she wasn't afraid of what could happen tomorrow.

She’s never had a dream about her mom telling her the story about the dragon. Her mother used to tell Scarlet that story when she was afraid of what was in the shadows or under her bed.

“Maybe if you wish hard enough, the crystals will fill her dreams of your wishes. Maybe she’ll hear it and help you make them come true.” her mother brushed a strand of hair behind Scarlet’s ear.

“You think so?”

“Wish with all your heart, my dear, and maybe, just maybe, she’ll give you your wish.”

After losing her mother and everyone saying she wasn’t going to come back, Scarlet had given up on believing and wishing. She didn’t have a reason to. Her wishes would never come true; there was no point in believing stories her mother would tell her. Scarlet just went on with life, trying to survive, making it to another day.

And then she met Maxseen. Her kind blue eyes warmed Scarlet’s heart. Max’s smile filled her life with color again. Max gave Scarlet a reason to wish, a reason to believe. She became the reason Scarlet lived more than to survive. Max was the reason that Scarlet laugh, smiled, cried. She was the reason she loved.

Scarlet can’t lose that.

Max can’t lose her chance to do all she wanted to do in her life.

Scarlet sat up with a jolt. The dragon could be what saves Max.

It was a far-fetched chance that Scarlet could even find a dragon, and it was an even farther-fetched chance that her mother’s story could be true. But this could be the last thing that could help save Maxseen.

And Scarlet was going to take that chance.

So there Scarlet stood, at the edge of the blackened forest. The sun was at its highest peak. Warmth hugged the land the sun’s light landed upon.

But the light and warmth seemed to fear away from the old creaking trees. Not even a foot deep into the forest, the light thinned, leaving barely enough light to see what was in front of you.

Do not enter.

Warning dangers.

Those who go in don’t come out.

Bright, eye-catching, yellow signs hung on the spiked, bobwire fence, warning people to stay away. The thick wire reached high into the vast blue heavens, keeping people out and keep in whatever lay among the shadows.

Scarlet breathed in deeply, trying to steady her fear-struck heart. The warning of what laid in the Forbidden Forest raced through Scarlet’s mind. She stepped back when a low howl sounded through the alley of trees.

Finding the dragon, going into the forest, is the last chance to keep Maxseen alive.

She clasped her hands into tight fists and pushed the fear down. If she was going to do this, she had to do it now. Max didn’t have very long. Scarlet can’t keep wasting time on her fears.

The wires snapped as Scarlet cut a hole in the fence, just big enough for her to slip in. Once she had worked up the courage to move past the wires, she could feel a freezing wind sink deep into her skin, putting the uneasy feeling back in the pit of Scarlet’s stomach.

The trees groaned and creaked as they stretched up to the sun. They used their leaves to block out the earth’s closest star’s warmth and comforting light. All the colors the world should have painted the earth were dull, dark, and dead. The trees weren’t like the one Scarlet would sit under on a warm summer day with all her friends. Instead, the tree’s bark was a muddy grey-brown, and their leaves were far from the vibrant green, but instead, were a nightmarish black.

With the sun blocked, Scarlet had lost track of how long she had been walking. The fear and the feeling of eyes following her grew with each step.

From time to time, she could hear a faint growl of a wolf or a twig snapping in the distance. The trees sounded like they were crying and screaming, their branches reaching out to Scarlet, begging for help. No birds sang their cheerful songs among the trees. The eerie atmosphere began to play tricks on Scarlet’s mind, leaving her to wonder what sounds were real.

She started to smell blood and rotting flesh the farther she ventured into the twisting ocean of trees. She wrinkled her nose, the smell only getting stronger every second. Awful odor after odor filled her senses, making her skull start to drum against her head.

Her mouth had gone dry minutes ago—a disgusting bio taste laid on her tongue. The taste and smell made her gag as her stomach spun.

Finding the dragon, going through this forest, is the last chance to keep Maxseen alive.

She remembers when she had asked her mother about the forest. Her mom had gone mute; her soft gray eye’s sad as they watch Scarlet. She had used only a few words before ushering her daughter outside to play.

Dark,

Paranormal,

Dangerous,

Timeless.

Scarlet didn’t know what her mother had meant by timeless. How could something be timeless?

She understood what she meant now.

Everything in the forest seemed frozen in time when you looked straight at it. But out of the corner of your eye, you could spot something move among the trees. You could feel something reach out to you. When you spin around to see what was following you, everything will go still like an old photograph.

You’ll lose track of how long you’ve been in the twist. Your mind would start to panic as it tried to decide if it’s been a second, minutes, hours, or days. Light didn’t move in the forest, leaving it to feel like you’re stuck in an infinite night of nightmares.

Scarlet jumped and yelped as a strong howl of a nearby wolf echoed through the trees. Her fight or flite kicked in, sending her running in the opposite directions of the cry.

As much as she wished she’d jump into a fighting stance when things got too much, she had always been one to run from her problems and fears.

The pounding of her feet against the ground woke bats that hid among the dead leaves. They sprung from their branches, startling Scarlet to run faster.

Her heart crashed against her rib cage as the fears following her shaded her sight. The world became a blur; the trees blended, blurring the narrow view she had. Barking rang in her ears as the crunching of fallen leaves stalked close behind her.

Scarlet peeped back; the silhouettes of monstrous wolves trailed only a foot away. They snarled, snapped, and barked, moving closer.

Scarlet tripped.

A tree branch reached out and wrapped its self around her leg. She slammed into the ground with a firm thud. Pain ricocheted through her head as it hit a rock. Her vision blanked as ringing washed over her. She tensed her muscles and curled in on herself.

An earth ratting roar filled the air. Scarlet had snapped her eyes open, seeing the wolf-shaped shadows whimper and scurry off.

Scarlet looked behind her to see what had terrified the pack. A mysterious void was all Scarlet met with; pain set back into her skull, causing her to wince. Slowly she reached up and pressed her hand against the side of her head. Her shivering hand was meet with something warm and sticky. She pulled her hand away, finding it covered in dark red.

“Aw.” She hissed.

The branch that wrapped around her leg started to wind itself up her thigh. Scarlet yelled, kicking at it. “Get off! Get off!” The branched snapped, it recoiled back to its spot at the tree’s side. The dead oak let out a screeching cry.

Scarlet backed aways as the forest joined the tree’s ear-piercing wells. They grew louder with every new cry. She covered her ears as the screams added to her growing headache.

A glow filled her vision. All at once, the trees went quiet. Slowly Scarlet turned towards the source of the light. The deep black void now was bright with crystals that glittered with a soft, comforting cold-purple. Scarlet’s breath caught in her throat.

“She lives in a cave lined with glowing crystals.”

She tensed and relaxed her hands in a fist, a weak attempt to slow her racing heart.

The jewels filled the gray-stone wall. Their light reached out, pulling Scarlet closer to the cave. The closer she got, the brighter the crystals shone, beckoning for her to go deeper.

Her legs moved on their own, steering her into the cave. The glowing of the crystals followed her deep into the hole. The light jumped from crystals to crystals, leaving the entrance of the cave dark and secretive.

The jewels flickered as they whispered into the cave’s thin air. If Scarlet listened to one closely, she could faintly hear laughter and wishes from little children, warming Scarlet’s heart. But there also was the feeling of sorrow.

She couldn’t help but think that those kids would lose their hope, their laughter, and their wishes as they grew older and the faults of the world sunk in. They’d grow up and find that the world wasn’t all the wonders they see it as. They’d get older and stop believing in fairy tales and wishes coming true.

Just like Scarlet.

Those thoughts filled her heart with aching pain.

Her mother and Maxseen have grown up to still believe in those stories, believe that wishes

could come true. They have still seen the world in its magic and color as they got older, as time started to settle on them and show that things where’t like they always seemed. But they had

chosen to believe, to see the good and beauty in everything around them.

Scarlet’s mother had lost that the last time she’d looked into her gray eyes. They had seemed lifeless. They had no longer had the shimmer of love in them; they were dull, like the Forbidden Forest. She kissed Scarlet’s forehead with a light touch, lingering there for longer than her soft kisses would. She said she loves Scarlet more than anything and then left, taking Scarlet’s wonder for the world with her.

Maxseen still had that sparkle in her eyes. She had given a little bit of her wonder and love to Scarlet, helping her see the world as Max did.

Scarlet wasn’t going to let another person lose that.

She pushed herself to keep going deeper into the dark. The crystals lighting the path with every step she made.

A comforting warmth like a summer sun pushed the icy cold from the forest away, hugging Scarlet gently, putting her fears to rest, and letting a hopeful feeling run through her veins.

The ground began to shake, and the crystals went black; the whispers of wishes and glimmer of hope gone. A low growl shook the pit of Scarlet’s stomach. She stepped back when the earth shook. A pair of red-orange cat-like eyes shone in the pitch-black.

They looked into Scarlet’s heart. They didn’t have the same comforting feeling as the crystals. They felt like a stone, cold and hard. The eyes narrowed as they studied Scarlet. The sense of burning shards stabbed into her chest.

Her mind began to tell her to run, that it was dangerous. The fear returned, and her legs begged to leave, but the sharp eyes kept her glued to the ground.

Her breathing picked up, leaving her to shake. She couldn’t hear anything but the beating of her panicked heart. Her throat clogged with screams that never made it past her lips.

The smell of burning fire filled the cave as smoke emerged from the darkness.

A taste of ash lingered on her tongue.

The eyes shifted higher. The crystals snapped back to life, allowing Scarlet to see the owner of the eyes.

Fur darker than the deepest parts of space sparkled like the jewels lining the walls cast their light, making it feel like Scarlet was gazing into space and seeing countless stars dance, laugh, and sing. Wings stretched out and beat; they sent a cool breeze through Scarlet’s hair, and she could hear the strength they held. The underside of the wings’ spikes, horns, and claws were a blend of a sunset. Her talons looked sharper than a sword as they dug into the ground, leaving a scar in the hard stone. Scarlet fell back, her voice trapped in her throat as she stared dumbfounded at the creature before her. Her mind raced with questions trying to find an explanation for what she was seeing.

Part of her was relieved she had found what she had been looking for, but the other haft couldn’t help but think that this was a dream. That when she had hit her head, she passed out.

Her mind raced, trying to find a reason for the thing in front of her. Dragons aren’t real. The stories about the giant fantasy creatures were nothing more than, well, fantasy.

Right?

But this couldn’t be a dream. Scarlet felt the heat from the dragon’s heart, hidden in her chest. Scarlet could feel the slight pinch in her palm as she tightened her hands into a tight grip, digging her nails into her skin. Scarlet could smell the strong scent of smoke that emerged from the dragon’s breath. She could still feel the pounding from when she hit her head outside the cave.

Everything felt too real to be a dream.

She knows how to tell if it was a dream. Before Scarlet met Maxseen, she studied and learned how to lucid dream. She liked the feeling of having control of her fears. Going her whole life, having things go south out of nowhere took its toll on her. So being able to go into a world where she could control her surroundings was something she craved.

Everything about the cave, the crystals, the dragon were too real to be a dream.

A roar raddled the floor, dragging Scarlet out of her thoughts. She looked up, meeting the dragon’s eyes, the cold feeling setting in her chest again. The creature lowered her head closer to Scarlet, giving her a better view of her eyes.

They held power and strength that left them feeling frozen and blocked off, unlike the warm fire the iris’ held. Just a bit farther into the eyes was strength and wisdom; They held more than a thousand years of living. The sparkes of knowledge showed how much the dragon had seen and learned over her long years. Showen all the good and evil she had witnessed through the ages. Battles after battles, the carefree laughter of little kids that explored the world shown as nothing but a bright candy land of wonder and the pain of loss.

Hidden in the deeps corners of her eyes, Scarlet could see the caring, kind, loving gaze of a mother, close to the same soft look that Scarlet’s mom had. In the mix of love, there was the sadness of someone who had lost so much. Her eyes looked exhausted from her long life.

The stern look on the surface shielded the raw emotions that the monster’s eyes carried. It acted as a wall, blocking out the world to keep her safe.

A similar wall Scarlet had.

She growled again, quieter than the others. It rumbled out of the dragon’s throat, giving the sign that she was waiting for Scarlet to speak. To tell her reasoning for being in the cave.

She had been quiet for too long. She had stared at the beast longer than she should have, and she could see the inpatient manner growing in the dragon’s body language.

Scarlet moved her weight from one foot to the other and forced herself to stand taller. Forced the fear in her mind to fall into the dark. She cleared her throat and willed it to be strong; she took a deep breath, “My name is Scarlet Heart; I’m trying to find the dragon that can grant my wish.”

The dragon narrowed her eyes. Her wings shifted against her back. “It’s been a while since someone has found this cave.”

Scarlet expected her voice to be clear and powerful, able to crack the ground if she’d so wished. But the dragon’s voice was soft and sweet, a honeysuckle sort of sound.

She moved to lay down. The sparkles in her fur stirred and shimmered with the movement. She crossed her front paws in a regal-type manner. “I thought humans stopped believing in wishes and creatures like me. I’m curious, how did you find my cave?”

“My mother.” Scarlet’s voice turned quiet. The years of living without her mother, Scarlet hadn’t honestly talked of the woman that raised her. She tended to keep withdrawn about her memories of her mom. “She’d tell me stories about you.”

The dragon tilted her head to the side like a curious puppy. “Your mother told you stories?”

Scarlet nodded, her nerves increasing. She spun a thin strand of hair around her finger needing something to do other than stand there. “You,” she paused when her voice quivered, “you are the dragon that can help me, right?”

“I can help give you your wish.” the dragon nodded in the reassurance that Scarlet had found what she had been seeking. “But for you get your wish, there will be a price.”

Scarlet felt her heart sink. “I didn’t bring anything to trade.” she held her hands out at her side, a gesture that she had come to the cave empty-handed. Her mother didn’t tell her the dragon would want something in return.

She should have known that. Asking for something from a creature the world viewed as myth and fantasy was bound to ask for something in return.

But what would a being as old as this dragon want? The dragon’s cave went deep into the earth, where the light didn’t travel, where she hid her jewels, golds, and silvers she had collected over her eternal life. Even if Scarlet had brought something, it would most likely be nothing but a scrap of junk to the shining beast. Nothing of good trade.

Had she wasted her time? Wasted the time she could have spent with Max? Risked her life in the dangerous forest for nothing?

“Oh no,” the dragon shook her head, the bright sunset colors of her horns and the sparkles in her fur shifting into a dance of magic from the single movement. “The payment isn’t for me. I don’t give any wishes. I help the magic that makes it come true. The crystals that line my cave hold power to give people what they desire most. They choose the price.

“I move that magic held in crystals out into the world where they’re able to give you what you want.

“If the crystals decide that your wish is worth giving, then they provide me the ability to help you. They’ll let me know what the price of your wish is.”

“So, what would it take for me to have my wish come true?” Scarlet pulled at the sleeve of her shirt.

“It depends on your wish.” She stretched out a paw and tapped one of the jewels lining the walls with a delicate touch. “I don’t know for sure what any of the prices will be. A wish someone asked for was for her to have a child. Her price; she’d live for a hundred years, longer than a human life span, before she could bear a child. Once the kid turned 16, she’d have to return to the forest and pass away alone.”

Scarlet listened silently to the dragon’s story as she viewed the crystal’s whispers of secrets.

“What would your wish be?” She turned to face Scarlet again and waited for her to speak with a look daring Scarlet to request her wish.

The attention made Scarlet feel small, making her pull tighter on her sleeve. She shut her eyes as she gathered her thoughts. “It’s my-,” she bit her lower lip out of fear. Would this be worth it? If that mother didn’t get the chance to watch her child fully mature, would the price for Scarlet’s wish be worth the risk?

She shook her head. What was she thinking? Max did everything she could for Scarlet, for anyone that entered the girl’s life. Max would make people smile. She’d sit with strangers if she saw they were having a bad day. Maxseen was the most caring person Scarlet knew. Whatever the price was, it would be worth it. It was worth it for Maxseen.

So she opened her eyes, a new spark of determination giving her the strength to look the dragon in the eye. “It’s my friend. She’s sick, has been for a long time. The doctors say she only has a few days left to live. I want to wish her better. I want,” she stopped to think over her words, “I need her to get better. To live a full, healthy life.”

The dragon shut her eyes, covering the glowing orange from the world, “You’re asking for a wish that changes someone’s fate, Scarlet.” She shifted down to her eye level. “Do you know how much that’s going to cost you?

“Changing the fate of someone is a big deal. What the crystals want in return for your wish; You’ll have to give away part of your human form. They’re asking you to become a dragon-spawn; haft human haft dragon. Meaning you’ll become part of the forest. You’ll never be allowed to leave this place. Never be allowed to see your friend again.”

Her shoulders sagged as the dragon’s information filled the cave’s walls. The whole point of this was so she wouldn’t lose Max. If she agreed to the terms of the wish, Scarlet would become stuck in the frightful forest.

Tears weld up in the corners of her light chocolate eyes. Her father’s words overflowing in her thoughts. “You’ll always be alone. You’ll never have anyone to love you.”

But the thought of Maxseen’s family finding her alive and well. The image of people’s worlds becoming brighter just from a small smile from Max, the same way Scarlet’s world becomes brighter when she was around her closest friend. The feeling that Max would fulfill all the goals she held close to her heart was enough for Scarlet to make up her mind.

Paying that cost is the least she can do for the girl that took her in when she was at her lowest. The least she could do for the girl that made it worth smiling, worth laughing, worth loving.

She owed this to Maxseen.

So Scarlet took a long breath, and held her fists at her side, and nodded. “Please, save Maxseen.”

The dragon sighed, “Ok, if that’s what you want.”

She blew a cloud of smoke around Scarlet. It turned and spun around her, shifting from a dark mist-gray to the cold-purple of the crystals. It drifted closer, bounding itself around Scarlet, shielding her vision and cutting her off from the world.

The smoke clung to her skin, making it itch. She sucked in a cry when a stinging pain rapidly spread within her body—the feeling of fire bit into her upper and lower back. A piercing headache caused her to fall in on herself.

She screamed out.

It was hard to tell how long the pain clasped to Scarlet. Her mind had gone blank, leaving her stuck in the repeating spiral of what felt like flesh burning away and regrowing a second later.

Her sight cleared when the pain eased a little, letting Scarlet find herself lying on the stone floor. She glanced up at the dragon, her orange-fire eyes watching her every move.

Scarlet wiped the fallen tears away from her cheeks; she winced when a minor burn brushed the skin her hand touched. She pulled her fingers away, finding them painted with dark, sticky blood. “What-” her voice cracked and shook.

She struggled to push herself up. Her limbs screamed that they were hurting and exhausted. Breathing in gently, she caught sight of her reflection in the crystals; pearl white horns sat atop her head. A long midnight blue scaled tail lay on her lower back. Her shoulders now covered with white scales and the freckles she used to have, replaced with the same white scale stones. Blood dripped down her head and back at the foot of the horns and tail. A scar, the shape of a pair of dragon wings, had burned into her back.

Instead of her iris’ light chocolate brown, they now were the same color as the glowing crystals. Her pupils became slits similar to a cat’s. Her eyes now a constant reminder of her wish and the price she had to pay for it.

The tail and horns warned that Scarlet couldn’t leave the Forbidden Forest and that she couldn’t see Max.

“Wait.” Scarlet’s voice was raw as she cried out. “What about Max? How do I know my wish came true?”

The dragon tilted her head to the crystals. The reflections in the purple shifted, showing the familiar off-white room Scarlet spent hours of her past months in; a woman with long dark brown hair sat in a chair staring quietly down at her warm, golden-toned hands.

A young boy, no older than 12, with golden blond hair, and jade-green eyes, stood next to the woman staring anywhere except the bed that held a fragile girl.

Max’s cheeks had grown rosy, giving her the color she was missing for so long, giving her more life, less like a ghost. She was no longer thin and frail.

The slow movement of her raising her hand to rub tiredly at her eyes grabbed the attention of the young boy and woman. Max cracked her eyes open, letting the world see the warm blues that had been missing for so long. Looking over at the two visitors, she smiled, “Mom, Jade?” Her voice was quiet and weak from the months of not being using.

The mother cried out in joy, dragging her daughter into a firm embrace. Afraid that if she let go of Max, she’d lose her.

Her brother stared at Max in disbelief. Tears began making their way down his pale cheeks.

Max, a look of confusion written on her face, gave her usual worried grin at the sight of her Family’s behaver as the little boy joined the hug. The family held each other, not daring to let go.

Something tugged at the back of Scarlet’s shirt, raising her off the ground. The dragon turned and moved deep into the shadows of her cave, taking Scarlet with her.

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theycallmebecca · 4 years

Text

Drabble: Quarantining

I teased this drabble last night, but I’m finally getting around to posting it. It’s not a prompt based drabble, but I’m including it in my Stay Home, Read Drabbles collection anyway.

Shout out to @nomadicpixel who helped me brain storm for this last night.

Title: Quarantining

Pairing: Chris Evans x reader

Rating: PG-13

Warnings: n/a

Disclaimer: This work of fiction is not to be reposted, used or translated without my permission.

Because of how tumblr can be silly about links, I will reblog this post with links to the masterlist and the prompt list.

With stay at home in full effect in Massachusetts, you had been prepared to spend the foreseeable future alone in your apartment. Then Chris, your boyfriend of six months, invited you to come stay at his house so you wouldn't be alone and you had agreed.

That had been almost four weeks ago. Almost 30 days of spending every day with Chris, his brother, and Dodger. You had enjoyed it, but at the same time, you missed the peace and quiet that was your apartment. Not to mention all the stuff you had left behind.

Your feelings for Chris were strong; you weren't quite ready to tell him that you loved him, but that's where things were headed. But you weren't sure where Chris visioned your relationship going, though, because he was being pretty quiet on the subject.

There had been a point just before the world had shut down that you thought something might happen, but then everything had gone upside down and his brother had come home on the heels of a breakup. You had to believe that whatever Chris had been planning was on the back burner for the sake of his brother and the uncertainty of the future only, especially since he'd invited you to stay with them through it all.

A very loud sneeze that sent dog saliva everywhere reminded you of your cuddle companion and you looked down at Dodger, who laid curled up at your side on Chris's bed. Normally, the dog never let Chris out of his sight, but this morning, you'd been his chosen human.

"Bless you," you told the dog as you used the bedsheet to wipe off the aftermath of his sneeze from your face. Dodger lifted his head and nuzzled your chin before licking you. Laughing, you rubbed his head. "Yes, I forgive you."

"There you two are," a warm voice said from the doorway.

Dodger let out a happy bark and you felt his tail thumping against your leg at the sound of Chris's voice, but he didn't leave your side as Chris made his way over to the bed. The dog looked at you and waited for you to nod your head before he crawled over to Chris, rolling onto his back almost immediately for tummy rubs.

"You ok?" Chris asked you, concern etched into his handsome face as he petted Dodger. "You've been quiet today."

"Just need a break from everything," you replied, gesturing to the main part of the house.

Chris nodded in understanding. "I admit going from an empty house to a full-ish house has been an adjustment," he agreed. "But I'm certain Dodger thinks it's the best thing ever."

You couldn't help but smile as the dog let out a happy bark, as if confirming that statement.

"You're happy here, right?" Chris asked, after several minutes of silence. "With me. Us."

"I am," you assured him. "It's just, I'm used to having my own space, my own things. And right now, I'm living out of my suitcases." Looking up, you saw worry start to work itself across his face and knew you had to ease his mind. "I'm much happier here with you guys than I would have been all by myself, but sometimes I need the quiet and the space."

"I understand," he replied and you could tell he did, but you could still see that hint of worry lingering in his eyes. "Do you want me to sleep -"

"No!" you said, quickly. "No, I don't want you or me to sleep somewhere else."

"Good, but if that changes, let me know," he said, reaching over and squeezing your hand. "Scott mentioned wanting to go over to Ma's for a bit. So maybe we'll go do that and let you stay here, have some peace and quiet."

"The kids would love that," you said with a smile, remembering the last time the three of you had gone over to his mom's house to play with his niece and nephews. "And maybe I'll take a nap or something."

"Well now I'm jealous." Chris chuckled as he leaned over Dodger to give you a quick kiss, only to end up with a face full of fur when Dodger interfered with that plan.

Laughing, you sat up while Chris sputtered.

"Not funny," Chris muttered, but there was a grin spreading across his face regardless. Looking down at his dog, he asked, "Are you going to let me kiss her goodbye?"

Dodger let out a sigh and dropped his snout onto your thigh, making you and Chris both chortle. Tilting your head towards Chris, you accepted his quick kiss before you laid back against the pillows.

Getting off the bed, Chris stretched and then looked at Dodger, who was now laying curled up against you again. "Guess you're staying here to nap, too, then?" he asked. The dog let out a small huff. "Alright, I'll see you two later."

You watched Chris leave the bedroom, blowing him a kiss when he paused in the doorway. Then you closed your eyes and tried to fall asleep.

------

Coming out of the bedroom, Chris passed one of the two guestrooms in his house and then circled back to it. The room housed a spare trundle bed from his mom's house on one wall and some storage stuff in the closet, but other than that was a blank slate. He'd meant to let the kids use it as a room when they stayed the night, but that hadn't happened yet.

Leaving the room, he sought out his brother, finding him in the kitchen making a sandwich.

"Did you find them?" Scott asked, looking up.

"Yeah, they're in the bedroom," Chris replied as he started to make himself a sandwich. He wasn't exactly hungry, but he needed to do something with his hands while he worked everything out in his head. "They're going to take a nap."

"Is she ok?" Scott asked him. "She's seemed kind of down the last couple of days."

"I think she is feeling the pressure of being cooped up with us for the last four weeks," Chris replied with a sigh. "You and I are used to a semi-nomadic lifestyle and she isn't. She misses having a space to call her own."

"If only you had thought to ask her to move in with you, oh, I don't know, six weeks ago," Scott said in a sarcastic tone. "Oh wait, you did. But you chickened out."

"I didn't chicken out," Chris replied, glaring at his brother. "You showed up on my doorstep fresh off a breakup. I wasn't going to rub my relationship in your face."

"That's bullshit," Scott stated, pointing his finger at his brother. "Especially since you then invited your lovely girlfriend to come stay with us anyway."

Chris sighed, knowing his brother was right. He'd meant to ask her to move in with him in late February and then everything had gone to hell in a handbasket. He'd had a whole thing planned, he was going to tell her that he loved her and ask her to move in with him. Then chaos had hit and he hadn't wanted her to think he was only making such declarations because of what was happening.

Scott let out an 'mmmhmm' noise that was similar to the one their mom made when her point had been proven.

It was time to step up, Chris decided.

"Did you already text mom and tell her we were coming over?" Chris asked his brother.

"No, I was going to wait until after lunch," Scott replied. "Why?"

"Because I have an idea and I need your help," Chris told him.

------

The house was quiet when you and Dodger exited the bedroom an hour or so later. You followed him outside for a few minutes while he did his business and then the two of you came back into the house. You made lunch and he kept you company while you ate, his tail thumping on the ground as he waited to see if you might drop anything. You didn't, but rewarded his good behavior with a treat.

By the time you finished cleaning up your lunch mess, you were starting to miss Chris and Scott. The brothers were alike in so many ways, but different at the same time. They didn't necessarily fight, but they enjoyed pushing each other's buttons from time to time. Or jumping out to scare each other, which often led to you being scared by accident.

Taking your phone out of your pocket, you sent Chris a text:

Having fun?

With this motley crew? Always.

You smiled. His relationship with his family was one of the things you loved most about him.

Are you guys staying for dinner or should I start something?

Takeout? Be home soon.

Takeout works for me. See you soon.

He and Scott got home about an hour later, just as you and Dodger were getting ready to go on a walk to burn off some energy. You invited them to join, but Scott begged off, saying he had to do a few things before dinner.

Taking Dodger's leash in one hand and yours in the other, Chris led you down the long driveway of his property and out to the main road. The three of you walked for half of a mile or so before dark clouds began to roll in.

"Guess I should have looked at a weather app before I decided to do this," you said with a laugh as the rain started to fall.

With no sidewalks, the edge of the road was mostly dirt, gravel or grass, which meant that by the time the three of you made it back to the house, you were all wet and muddy. Instead of using the front door, Chris led Dodger into the mudroom off the garage while you went in through the patio door off the master bedroom.

Teeth chattering, you hurried into the bathroom and stripped off your wet, muddy clothes before getting into the shower. You half expected Chris to join you at some point, but he didn't. Instead, you showered alone and wrapped yourself in a fluffy towel before venturing into the bedroom.

You made your way to the corner of the room where your suitcases had been living, but froze when you realized that they were missing. Turning to look around the room for them, you saw that the small set of wicker drawers from your apartment was next to Chris's dresser, which had a couple drawers partially open, revealing some of your stuff.

Still confused, you dressed quickly and then left the bedroom, looking for Chris. You walked right past the guestroom closest to his room and only stopped when you heard him call your name.

You turned to find him in the doorway of the room, blocking your view.

"I have a surprise for you," he said as he stepped out of the way and motioned you into the room.

Confused, you stepped into the room, but as soon as you saw that ugly lamp from your living room sitting on a table from his living room, you felt tears start to pool in your eyes. Then you noticed that the daybed with the trundle under it had your throw pillows and your favorite soft blanket on it. Looking around the room, you saw a bunch of little things that reminded you of home and it made you feel at peace.

With blurry eyes, you went to Chris and kissed him hard on the mouth. "Thank you," you said, your words shaky from emotion.

"It's all I can do right now," he said, brushing away your tears with his thumbs.

"It's perfect," you assured him with a smile.

"There's something else," he said, holding onto your hands. "Something I meant to do six weeks ago."

You felt your heart thumping in your chest and you knew right then and there that you loved him. There was no doubt about it.

"I love you."

You said it.

He said it.

At the same time.

And then you both laughed and he kissed you again.

"I'm glad we're on the same page," he said with a smile. "Because there was one other thing I was going to do six weeks ago and as Scott pointed out to me earlier, it would have made this quarantine thing a lot easier on you." He gestured to the bedroom and your stuff. "I would love it if you would move in with me. Permanently."

A bark from your feet made you both look down. Dodger bumped his head against Chris's knee.

"Oh, I'm sorry, Dodger and I would love it," Chris amended. He glanced down at the dog, who let out a cheerful bark.

"I'd love to move in with you two," you told him.

"Please don't kiss again," Scott said from the doorway.

You chuckled while Chris glared at his brother.

"What? I just came to tell you that dinner is here," Scott replied. "But if you two want to starve, that's on you." He winked at you before he disappeared down the hall.

"Maybe we should quarantine at your place," Chris muttered in your ear.

"And miss out on all this fun? Never," you replied. You gave him a kiss on the cheek and then left the room with Dodger following.

#theycallmebecca #theycallmebeccawrites #becca writes drabbles #stay home read drabbles #chris evans #chris evans fanfic #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fan fiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x y/n #reader insert

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frostsong · 3 years

Text

9—05: morning.

rating: T

characters: original characters, euphemie de dansereau, prince haldrath

tags: morning fluff, breakfast ends with a dash of sin

summary: in which the former prince partakes in the joys of giving.

wordcount: 1267

“Food’s ready.”

She feels his grin on the crown of her head as her stomach grumbles in near-perfect timing, stretching kinked muscles under their sheets. He’d been considerate enough not to draw the curtains, at least--both the ones hanging over their bed and the ones over the tall windows. For most days she joined him on their drills at sunrise, with or without their dragoon peers, but today was an exception. Euphemie had just returned from a month-long diplomatic mission to Zenith, with mostly positive results (‘mostly’, for she’d lost track of how many times she’d had to intervene on behalf of a bullied moogle), and she could only recall stepping off the airship and falling right into his arms.

Now she was changed into her favorite night slip (the one that only a select few knew of, for if the Baroness de Dansereau knew, it would be instant fodder for the fireplace), and all the tangles in her long, ash-blonde hair had been smoothed. She smiled at the thought that he’d taken to such lengths to make her feel comfortable once more, even with all the obligations he’d promised himself to elsewhere and around their city. It warmed her heart to think that he awaited her so fervently--and of course it was obvious, now that they had officially sworn their relationship for the better part of two years--but having it happen to her, tangibly, was different than simply knowing.

She stops when his hand stills her calf from leaving the bed, blinking in quiet confusion, only to be met with an ever-growing, tender smile on his part, his free hand brushing a loose strand of hair free from her vision.

“I’ll bring it here, just give me a moment.” Her head tilts, and she feels the start of a sly smile creep from one corner of her lips to the other as he turns to the source of the delicious smell. Ironically fitting that he was ever happy to serve. Despite her efforts to discourage him from becoming a knight once again, he still went and enlisted with the dragoons out of his own volition, and she knew he hadn’t come to this without struggling with both himself and his actions from a time long past; a time that seemed to find its way back into the present, through the cracks and crevices that both of them eventually gave up trying to deny existed.

He’d told her this was his way of penance: to see through to it that his legacy would remain on the course they’d turned to, on the course it was meant to from the very beginning. And she was relieved he wouldn’t be doing it on his lonesome, for what had transpired of that had contributed to yet another lie out of the many that had been fed to the Ishgardian people. Held accountable not by their former brothers-in-arms, but by the new ones he’d met, and would grow with, felt bittersweet, though both Haldrath and Euphemie knew that his presence around the dragons would be as scarce as possible. Forgiveness was not to be expected, but in an effort to allow for a mutual understanding, he knew to keep himself hidden in the company of their scaled neighbors, especially the ones old enough to remember.

She’d worked her her halfway into a loose braid by the time he returned, with a tray-full of her favorites: dodo omelette with popoto wedges, ham, and cheese wedged in the fluffy folds, and a small tower of three sohm-al tart, freshly baked. She swallowed and reached for the fork and knife, but not without planting a grateful kiss on his cheek, and he chuckled, settling on the empty spot to her left, bedsheets and fur layers still undone. Euphie couldn’t help but feel guilty while indulging, cheeks bulging and warm with food so dearly-missed. While no stranger to luxury, she knew how long it took to prepare all this, and by a mere glance at the chronometer on the nightstand it was still relatively early in the morning. How had he trained, bathed, and cooked without losing sleep of his own?

“I already had a bite.” She gulped, realizing how her chewing must have slowed as her expression must have made her worries known, though in a flash the topmost of tart was caught between his fingers, eyes carrying a rare mischievous shine as he took a bite, all the while locked onto her own. She swallowed her food again, face turning from deadpan to devious as she lunged straight for his chest, and he choked in a stifled laugh, back colliding with the mattress while she grabbed and groped for her lost tart.

A few seconds passed before she paused, realizing it wasn’t in his hands, vision panning upwards as it was lodged between his teeth, his full lips spread in a knowing grin. And she takes it back, using her own mouth for good measure, nose against nose and tongue a feather-touch away from his own, and she sat with her knees to his torso as she finished the treat in full, eyeing him as she chewed, deliberately slow.

“Thought you already had a bite.” He smiled hearing his words repeated in a tone that sounded too much like a taunt, and he knew he had to return the favor, the back of his hand stroking her bare thigh from where she sat above him.

“I find myself growing more indulgent. Though…” On the last word he lingered, knuckles wandering higher to the curve of her silk-clad waist.

“...my memory fails as to who I should blame for that.”

She gasps, lips and teeth stained in rolanberry red.

“Your Highness, are you saying I should take responsibility?” Haldrath’s gaze idly shifts to the empty space of the bed. It wasn’t often that he could tease her like this. Even back then he often found himself being the brunt of jokes by both the knights and the dragons, his good nature rendering him too naive to most of the finer-crafted jokes. But even after centuries, one could learn. And with someone like her, he could learn rather well.

“I do believe you already are.”

Euphemie’s mouth drops in a low pout, and she crosses her arms, stalwart with her legs spread to the sides of his strong waist, staring him down.

“I want evidence.”

“That,” Hoisting his upper body up while using his arms to envelop her waist as an anchor for them both, he brings his face so close to hers that their noses almost touch, and the scent of his breath (still sweet from their shared tart) is on her lips.

“I’d be happy to provide.”

And oh, it’s so tempting, but his breakfast is still fresh on her tongue and she feels like half the woman she is without washing up, so her mouth is pressed in a tight line of restraint as she hooks her arms around his neck, a foretaste of what was to come--in due time.

“How about joining me in the bath instead. Two birds with one stone.” Euphie knows that by the scent of cologne lingering around his collar and neck he’s already done so himself--but surely he would relent to another bath if it meant having her with him.

He grins, bright like their long-lost springtime, sliding one arm under her knees and the other against her back, tousling the already-crumpled sheets further as he takes them both towards the sectioned-off bathroom, leaving the partly-eaten tray of his own cooking to be left for later.

#eggpens #ffxivwrites2021 #prince haldrath #euphemie de dansereau #for today's free day i finally went self indulgent

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