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childrenofthelab · 2 years

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Family Matters

A short (nearly two and a half thousand word) fic written to satisfy the absolute brainrot I have over @creelcreep and I's boys.

It starts like any other day really.

And isn’t that funny to think, that the two of them have fallen into their own little routine here now? So different from life at the lab; now their time is their own, and they’ve figured out their own way of using it, without being dictated to. They get up at whatever time they wake naturally (still early for One, who’s gone back to calling himself Henry, at least for Ten, and mid-morning usually for the newly named Daniel) and they have breakfast together, which more often than not involves the confiscation of the syrup bottle. Daniel, they have learned, has quite a sweet tooth, and will take just about any opportunity to feed it.

Of course, today is a little bit different, because they’re running a little low on some of their basic food supplies, which means it’s once again time for Henry to go into town and pick up what they need, while Daniel stays tucked away in their little cabin. It’s safer this way, less chance of being spotted by someone who might recognise them, although Daniel is quite delighted at how his hair is growing out, how different it makes him look from the boy who had escaped that lab. It’s not uncommon for him to sit and fiddle with the strands of pale blond hair, a certain delight in his eyes. They’ll have to give it at least a trim at some point to tidy it up a little, but Henry hasn’t had the heart to suggest that just yet, not when the kid is clearly so fond of his hair. Murderer he might be, but there’s something about Daniel that softens him, even just a little.

So off Henry goes, and Daniel is content to potter around their cabin. He won’t be gone too long, Daniel knows that, but he has some time to wash up the dishes and put them away (he maybe has to climb onto the counter top to put away some, but it’s fine, he won’t fall) and then he finds himself tugging out another one of their little projects. Another bird box, to go with the four that already sit in various trees around their home. The birds and the squirrels and other animals fascinate him, and he can frequently sit for hours at a time just watching them. Sometimes he draws them too, little doodles here and there on scraps of paper, or more serious drawings, painstakingly coloured in with the pencils Henry had brought back from town last time he’d went. Today, he thinks, he’ll start painting this one, and then maybe they can put it out tomorrow. This one should be green, maybe with a blue roof. Yes, a blue roof, and he can add stars on the top too. The birds will like that. So out come the paints, and the brushes, and the cup for water that had been specifically labelled as such after the last time one of them had nearly ended up drinking paint water while not paying attention.

He's halfway through the second wall when he hears it. A heavy footfall, a twig snapping. A crackle, that sounds a little like the old radio they have in the corner. Henry wouldn’t be back yet, it’s too early still, and Daniel is instantly on high alert. There shouldn’t be anyone out here, there’s never anyone out here except for the two of them, no one even knows about this cabin except for them.

Another footstep.

Pushing himself slowly to his feet, Daniel reaches out, lifting a small wood carving knife from the table. Henry had left it there last night before they’d went to sleep, and he slips it up his sleeve, just in case. He’s had a sheltered life, yes, but even he knows that if he hits someone with the pointy end it’s going to hurt. Blue eyes flicker towards the front door, towards the front of the cabin, and the direction of the footsteps, and he takes a deep breath, thinking of everything Henry has taught him. He needs to focus.

With a slam, the door flies open.

*******************************************

Going into town is not particularly one of Henry’s favourite things in the world. Of course, he always keeps it as brief as possible, only the shops he needs, for the items he’s mentally listed out already. On occasion he might be side-tracked, usually if something catches his eye that he thinks Daniel might like- a stuffed bear (he sleeps with it every night), a small set of children’s paints (used nearly every day), a book for the two of them to pore over before bed.

It's not what he’d ever imagined for himself upon getting out of that place.

But there’s something about Daniel that’s different, that made him choose to bring the boy with him, to spare him where he hadn’t spared anyone else. The kid is incredibly positive, bounding around their makeshift home with a vibrant energy that he can’t quite help but smile at, like a personal little ball of sunshine capable of melting even his murderous heart. Perhaps this is what some people mean when they talk about caring unconditionally for family. They might not actually be related, but he supposes that’s what they are now: a family.

Now when all is said and done, Henry’s abilities have never extended as far as seeing the future. But it’s as he’s shifting the bags of groceries in his hands and wondering if he should check the bookstore that he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. He can’t explain how he knows, but as he stands there, he just knows.

Daniel is in danger.

******************************************

The door flies open and the first man that steps through it without warning gets slammed through the air and into the far well. The second gets two steps in before Daniel jerks his head, and he crumples like a puppet with its strings cut. A third, a fourth, a fifth. One gets slammed by the kitchen table, another wiped out by the heavy saucepan that was drying on the rack. There’s a thin trickle of blood running from Daniel’s nose now, and he can taste iron in his mouth. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up for.

And then he steps inside, and Daniel stumbles back in horror.

“Hello Ten.”

Daniel shakes his head. That’s not his name anymore. It’s not his name, the same way this man is no longer his Papa. He’s just the man who kept them captive, who forced them into a repetitive routine in a place that was essentially a prison. Once upon a time, he would’ve done anything to please this man, would have said yes to any lesson in desperation for the slightest modicum of affection or praise. But now when Daniel looks upon Martin Brenner, all he feels is anger and fear.

“You’ve not been a very good boy, Ten.”

“That’s not my name,” he stammers out, hand twitching, but Brenner manages to duck the book that goes flying towards his head and takes another step forward. Daniel’s hand closes around the hilt of the carving knife, “Leave us alone.”

Brenner takes another step forward, and Daniel another step back. He’s almost at the back door, maybe he can turn and run.

“I’m afraid we can’t do that Ten. I know you’re frightened, but we’re here to bring you back home where you’ll be safe. It’s all going to be okay.”

“Liar,” he spits, and he swears his heart is going to pound right out of his chest. He doesn’t hear the tiny creak of the back door sliding open, too focused on what’s in front of him, “I’m not going back.”

“Oh, Ten,” Brenner sighs with a shake of his head, and the butt of a gun to the back of the head has the young boy swaying before crumpling to his knees, the collar all too easily slipped around his throat, “You will. But first you’re going to tell us where One is.”

*****************************************

He’s being ridiculous, that’s what Henry tells himself, even as he finds himself hurrying back along the route home, bookstore be damned. It’s merely paranoia, they’ve been looking over their shoulders ever since the moment they got out of the lab, and this is just merely a continuation of that. Daniel is perfectly safe in their little cabin. No one knows about it, no one goes there, and worst-case scenario is that maybe Daniel has climbed one of the trees and fallen, or something equally small like that. There’s nothing to worry about.

And then he turns the corner, and further along the road, he sees them, parked alongside the near invisible route through the trees that leads to their home. Easily at least five or six vans, nondescript, with ‘Hawkins Energy and Light’ emblazoned on the side.

The lab.

He takes off at a run. With any luck, they’re still lost in the trees, and he’ll take the chance to put an end to them before they can get anywhere near Daniel. And if they’re not...well, there’ll never be any chance of finding the bodies because there won’t be enough of them left to find. If they’ve touched a hair on his head...

He’s continuing through the trees, and there’s still no sign of them, and dread is building high in his heart. He quickens his pace even more, not much distance now between him and the cabin, and that’s when he hears the sound that makes his entire world stop, and a red mist descend.

It’s Daniel and he’s screaming.

********************************************

Daniel knows what the collar is for.

He remembers all too well seeing Papa use it on Two in front of them all. Remembers how Two had screamed and how the rest of them had cowered, terrified that if they did something wrong, it might be them next. And now it’s on him, and his lips are stained with his own blood and his head hurts and the birdhouse on the table is in bits on the floor now.

Brenner takes a few more steps forward and then he’s crouching down beside where Daniel is on his knees, his expression blank in a way that is truly chilling. A hand behind his head wrenches him a little more upright by the hair, a thin cry escaping his lips.

“You’re going to tell us when One is, Ten. I don’t want to hurt you.”

In a moment of bravery, or perhaps foolishness, Ten spits in his face. The collar is turned on, and Daniel shrieks, hands flying to his throat even as he jerks, trying to rip the contraption off.

“Tell us where he is.”

“NO!”

Turned up again, its only the hand now holding him by the collar of his shirt that is keeping him upright now. Pain lances through him, and it’s worse than anything he’s ever felt, but he’ll never tell. Never ever. Turned up once more, and the pain is so intense that there are dark spots floating across his vision, and he thinks he might pass out. Idly, he realises that he’s still screaming, that the noise is him, the sound ripping from his throat beyond his control. And then suddenly...

It all stops.

Papa is thrown backwards. The hand holding him upright disappears in a flash of red, and he slumps to the floor, body still twitching. Half closed eyes flicker upwards and he sees him, standing in the doorway, groceries forgotten on the ground, face like a murderous angel.

It’s all going to be alright now.

**************************************************

Upon hearing Daniel’s scream, he covers the remaining distance to the cabin in little more than a few minutes. That’s when he sees it, the cabin door lying open. There are bodies scattered around, a rather impressive number if he does say so himself, but past that he can see the man who he hates more than almost anything else. He’s crouching, crouching in front of Daniel. The boy he’s grown to care for is being held up by the shirt, one of those collars around his throat, and there’s blood under his nose, across his lips. Anger bubbles...

And explodes.

The remaining few men seem to explode with it, and Brenner himself is thrown back from the boy, colliding with the cabinet. He doesn’t even get a second to orient himself before Henry is on him, pinning him to the ground both physically and mentally, and his fist is slamming into his face. Over and over, and there’s blood coating his knuckles now, fuelling his fury even more. Over and over and over until...

A quiet cough. It’s enough to momentarily distract Henry from his ire and he turns his head towards the noise. It’s Daniel. He’s still lying where he’d fallen, limbs still spasming weakly, and he’s only half conscious, but he’s reaching out across the floor to him.

It’s the nail in Brenner’s coffin.

In the same instant, two things happen. One, Brenner suddenly just twists, bones snapping, eyes popping, and he’s dead before he fully hits the floor. Two, the collar around Daniel’s throat wrenches open, flying across the room and embedding itself in the wall. The room is silent, save for Henry’s heavy breathing, and the tiniest of whimpers from the crumpled boy.

In a few brief movements, Henry is on his feet again, crossing the floor and dropping to his knees beside the boy. He reaches out, scooping the boy up and pulling him against his chest, cradling him close and burying a reassuring hand in blond hair. A smaller, weaker hand comes up to clutch at his shirt, and he holds him a little tighter.

“It’s okay...it’s okay...it’s over now. It’s all over.”

And in that moment, Henry makes a promise to himself.

No one will ever hurt his boy again

#ooc #fic #~ you are my sunshine | 010 & 001 ~#creelcreep

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carbonfiction · 2 years

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Stay quiet

As a sucker for Bucky and DBF fics it's only obvious that the first piece I've ever seriously written/posted is a mashup of that! With that being said absolutely any feedback is more than welcomed! Also a huge thank you to @becca-e-barnes for inspiring me to finally get out of my own way and pursue something I love! 💕

Pairing- DBF!Bucky x reader

Words: 2.1k

Summary: being in a secret relationship with your dad's hot best friend may be classified as a sin, but teasing him under the table at a family dinner is another.

Warnings: age gap (Bucky's early 40s readers early to mid 20s) lil swearing, secret relationship, reader being a tease, Risk of being caught? hand job, oral (m receiving), Nieve parent's?, a good deal of dirty talk? kinda subby Bucky?? I think that's it!

Minors do not interact, you will be blocked!

you and bucky have been seeing each other for a while in secret. It's something that you've had to both keep quiet about bc let's face it? Dad finds out his (not so little) little girl is actively screwing his best friend? Shit will hit the fan biiiiig time.

You'd always had a stupid schoolgirl crush on bucky since just before before you'd left for college. When you'd first met him he was getting over a divorce and in his late 30s, working alongside your dad. He seemed nice enough, funny and always made sure you felt comfortable around him if he was over and your dad got called away. But it was hard not to see what was in front of you and it just so happened to be your luck that sweet, respectful James "jus' call me bucky" Barnes was also quite possibly the most attractive man you'd ever set eyes on.

You'd had a steady friendship for a while, until Bucky had tagged along on a family vacation and one look at him on that beach, his toned body covered in tiny droplets of water, and in the most delicious pair of black shorts that seemed to perfectly hug every sodden inch of his lower half, had you hooked.

But You'd figured you'd grow out of it soon enough, you'd spend some time around college guys and gals and forget all out your dads best friend.

but that never really happened, your mind seemed to stick onto him,and him alone. No amount of one night stands or date nights with a glass of wine and your vibrator could quell the urge for him.

But then Fast forward to your birthday party and one two many drinks with friends, of whom knew far to much about your little crush. And After being dared to call him, barely able to string a coherent sentence together hes pissed, worried about your safety and decides to picks you up. With drunk words being sober thoughts and and enough liquid courage in you to sink a ship, one thing leads to another and you end up waking naked together, wrapped up in his arms.

And from then on the rest had been history. The time spent not studying was with him. Always with him, even if you were simply laying together on his couch, relishing in a moment of peace. You loved him, and God did he love you back. It was wrong, you both knew it, but from the moment your eyes opened for the first time in his arms? You lost every ounce of guilt or shame. He was it for you, you knew that much.

Dancing around family dinners became an occurrence you'd both grown used too, it wasn't odd for bucky to join your family for Sunday dinners, and after a while, turning up to your front door together was almost natural. Your parents so blissfully unaware and Nieve to believe your excuse that "Bucky's closer to school, said he didn't mind giving me a ride anytime we were both headed this way. 'Sides he saves me catching an uber"

So here you sit, next to bucky and opposite your parents as they talk away, catching up with each other. A smile tugs at your lips as you pop a potato in to your mouth, an idea forming in your mind. Bucky looks utterly delicious, his mix of skinny jeans and a shirt your sure has to be multiple sizes too small.

The way the fabric stretches and clings to every inch him is sinful and from the moment you stepped into his car you've wanted nothing more than to slide over the center console of his car and fuck his brains out. But it was a family dinner you we're attending, and your parents may have been blind to what was going on in of them but if you'd both shown up late, cheeks flushed and clothing Disheveled, it was sure to raise a few questions.

But god, what better way to rile your secret- forbidden- boyfriend up than to tease him under the table. And looking like bucky did, you could hardly of cared if you were caught, at least that way you'd get to go home and screw his beautiful brains out a damn lot earlier.

Bucky's thigh tenses when your hand lands by his knee, slowly raking your fingers up him under the table. And when that's the reaction to an innocent touch? When you do finally reach the already semi hard bulge in his jeans, he just about chokes on the food in his mouth.

Having to play off to your parents that he was fine, just swallowed funny.

You don't move for a while then, hand just discreetly resting over his hardened crotch as you finish off the last few things on your plate. Turning your head as he speaks you can't help but try to suppress a smirk while you take a sip of wine. His eyes are almost wide, panicked, shooting warnings glances so obviously at You.

You know what your doing to him, how he feels about showing any excess affection around your mom and dad, but it's just that that makes it all the more fun.

So it's no surprise when dinners over and your mom insists that you two stay at the table, your hand begins to move once more. Fingers Slowly squeezing over his jeans meanwhile her and your father clean up and get desert ready.

Once out of earshot bucky turns, eyes clouded with lust but the telltale crease of anger between his brows. "What'd the hell are you playing at? Your mom and dad we're right there!" you can tell despite sharpness of his tone that he's struggling, hands trying to grasp your wrist, as his cock protrudes almost painfully against the rough layer of his boxers.

It's almost gratifying in the way He's so obviously trying not to crumble and fuck you over your parents dinner table. But deep deep down, there's this little devil on your shoulder that wants him, no needs him, to do it. To take what he needs from your body, and vice versa, to hell with anyone else.

Putting your plan in motion you begin to snake your hand under his shirt, nails gently raking over the toned skin at the lower half of his abs. The quiet groan Bucky makes at the action is sinful, and does nothing to help the throb of your clit, let alone the tight press of your thighs.

"Come on babydoll, please, please, can't- fuck- can't do this here. Your dad would have my balls in a blender if he caught us"

Bucky pleads, desperation filling his words and fuckkk, you'd be an idiot to say that wasn't one of the hottest sounds to reach your ears, and you'd seen, let alone heard him cum multiple times since the two of you started your relationship.

Despite his desperation to not be caught he can't find it in himself to get you to stop when your hand finally Inches just that little bit lower, unbuttoning him and slipping your warm hand into his jeans.

Your on the edge of your seat and he's hot, heavy and throbbing in your hand. You hear your father and the clattering of bowls as they clean up, mentally making a note that you needed to keep an ear out, just in case either of them decided to venture further out of the kitchen and back to the dining room.

They would be a while yet, your mom's prize desert having to be perfect, but you knew this wouldn't take long. Bucky was already hard and ready from the moment you'd put your hand on his leg.

"Oh baby, you don't want me to make you cum? Don't want me to milk your pretty cock under my parents dinner table? Your hard as hell baby, so Why not hm? "

All bucky can do is quietly wimper, hips fractionally arching into your touch without even meaning to, but you can see in his eyes he's afraid to make any other noise or draw attention.

It's almost criminal how you can do this to him, make him loose all sense of control of his own damn body but god is it one other thing he loves about you.

In any other scenario it should be him doing this to you, fingers buried deep inside your cunt, making you cum instead. But he cant find it in him to care because, fuck, its so wrong you doing this to him, but hell, it feels so damn good.

Bucky struggles to hold in a sound as your hand begins to move in a steady rhythm. using the precum that coats his tip as lube. “ do- do want you t' make me cum honey, jus- fuck- just don't wanna get caught."

"Oh baby, we won't get caught," you pause for a moment, sending him a smirk as you dip down and give a teasing squeeze of his balls. "You jus gotta be quiet, hm? Just be a good boy and stay quiet, I'll take care of you buck"

He has to swallow a gutteral moan at your words, biting down on a hooked finger. You shouldn't do what you do to him, he's sure of that much. Your tone is always Innocent, smooth as honey despite your actions being anything but.

Taking one extra look over to the doorway you up the anti, pulling your chair out ever so slightly and sliding round to face him completely. Buckys cock twitches in your hand, a telltale sign he's close. Good, you think to yourself, you have about ten minutes before you know your mom and dad will be walking back through that door.

Bucky's eyes squeeze shut, face cherry red, as you Lean down towards his crotch. by now he's far too powerless to resist your touch even if he wanted too.

The need to cum consuming any remaining hesitation.

If anyone was to peak around the corner it would look as if you'd dropped something, and by then an easy excuse could roll off your tounge.

But right now the only thing you cared about being on your tounge was Bucky. Your lips wrap around him, salty sweet precum on your taste buds as you suckle at his tip. your hand continues to jerk at the base of him and he's putty in your hands.

"Fu-fuck- gonna cum honey. Dont- god- please don't stop" Bucky's utterly wrecked, Barely able to hold back his gasps and groans.

Your head pops off his cock for a moment, spit coating your chin, just to tease him for a moment.

"That's it, good boy, want you to cum, needa taste you buck. Been desperate for it all night"

And with that your head drops back down, tounge rapidly flicking over his slit. Bucky's teeth dig further into his fingers and it's a Miracle that he doesn't manage to bite it off with the grip. Beside him his Vibrainum hand grasps at the table, wood almost Splintering under him.

It only takes one, two more harsh bobs onto his cock before he's spilling into your mouth, hips jerking wildly. His hand has to clasp over his mouth to smother the deep growl that leaves him, orgasm rushing through his body before his brain can even begin to catch up to his mouth.

His thighs shake, breathing eractic, as he watches you reach his eyes, maintaining eye contact as you swallow his load, salty sweet as it coating your throat. Bucky takes a tremor ridden sip from his water as you begin to tuck his still sensitive but softening cock back into his boxers then re assemble his jeans.

The sound of your mother's voice draws nearer just as you secure the button. Turning yourself around just in time for your parents to become visible in the doorway, bowls in hand. Your father shoots you an odd look at your slightly disheveled appearance but you brush it off, dropping into the regrowing conversation that your laces had come undone and you'd reached down and re Tightened them, hense your flushed face.

But just before your parents can get to placing your bowl down bucky leans over, words barley reaching your ear. "just you wait till we get back in the car honey. We may have a short drive but your not gonna stop cumming over my fingers until your begging me to have some mercy on that pretty little pussy of yours. You wanna Act like a little whore, you get treated like one."

#dbf!bucky #bucky barnes #Bucky Barnes smut #dadsbestfriend!bucky #marvel smut #bucky x reader #james bucky barnes #dbf!bucky smut #bucky imagine #bucky fic #pure smut

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bokettochild · 3 years

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The Scarf Fic!!!

Inspired by This post by @sekiumiarashi and written as a gift for @into-the-linkverse

I wanted to write Ravio sharing scarves, but I accidentally found that I like writing Ravio, and more importantly, writing him and Legend like they’re a pair of elderly people, because... just because.

Giving Legend glasses was a choice that I didn’t see coming, but do not regret. I do regret Ravio’s naming scheme, but it was too funny to back out so I kept pushing. I’m not sorry that you all must suffer.

Feel free to read this as being part of my main fic The Ties That Bind, but it can also be separate, just consider the uncle bit as being related to predecessors and stuff.

Enjoy! :)

Mr. Captain Hero Sir wasn’t wearing his scarf.

The one constant Ravio knew he could always count on during the war, was that the captain would be wearing that bright blue scrap of cloth with all the pride in the world, no matter what the circumstances (good grief, one time he’d stumbled upon the man bathing and the scarf had been the only thing that saved them both from embarrassment). But today, he wasn’t.

The heroes had come to stay at Mr. Hero’s house again after a long battle, and Mr. Captain Hero Sir was currently sitting on the couch in the living room, one arm resting across it’s back and his feet propped up on the table. A scowl marred his fine features and his neck was horrifyingly naked.

“Mr. Captain Hero Sir! Where is your scarf?” The words were out of his mouth in a moment as he looked around the captain to make sure it simply hadn’t fallen off or been laid aside (things the captain would never let happen, ever. He’d once been bleeding out and still managed to keep the trailing blue fabric out of the mud.)

“It’s shredded.” The captain sighed, a bitter look in his eyes as he motioned down to the arm hanging from a sling around his neck. “And I’m currently unable to mend it.”

The thought of the captain not having a scarf was so utterly horrible, simply unthinkable, that Ravio didn’t even think about what he was doing, instead bounding over to plonk himself onto the couch and quickly unwind his scarf before rewinding it around the captain’s neck (he had a dozen of these things anyway).

“There! You can’t be without a scarf.”

Mr. Captain Hero Sir smiled fondly, fingers reaching up to gently stroke the fabric. “And you can?”

Ravio shrugged. “I have a dozen of those, keep it, it looks fabulous on you!”

The captain’s eyes sparkled brightly, a familiar cockiness erupting within. “Are you kidding? I make everything look good! Even the Vet’s fashion choices would look fabulous on me!”

Ravio sniggered. He’d heard and seen plenty of the goods from Hytopia, and he wasn’t entirely sure that Mr. Hero even knew what fashion was. But then again, he was just a simple Lolian; for all he knew, things like bomb outfits and heart shaped collars were absolutely acceptable and normal in this world.

“But where is your scarf, Mr. Captain Hero Sir?” He asked after a moment, cocking his head on one side as the man looked at him oddly.

“Don’t you ever get tired of saying that? You can call me Warriors like everyone else you know.”

“I know, Mr. Captain Hero Sir, I don’t mind.”

Mr. Captain Hero Sir blinked. “O-kay.” Shaking his head, he answered. “Legend has it. Since I can’t use my dominant hand, he said he’d stitch it up for me.” The captain hero nodded towards the corner of the room, and Ravio followed his line of sight.

Mr. Hero was perched in that Lolia-awful rocking chair that had been in the house since Nayru knows when. It was a horrid thing in his opinion, old, out of style and absolutely stiff and uncomfortable, and he’d shoved it into the furthest corner of the room ages ago. Mr. Hero loved it though, although he never said why, and he didn’t seem to mind that it was now nearly next to the fireplace all the time, even if he did have to pull it out of the corner to properly rock in it.

Mr. Hero sat with one leg tucked underneath him and the other one hanging down to gently push at the floor, making the big chair rock steadily. Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s scarf lay in his lap and a pair of spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose, a needle in his hand as he dutifully labored over the brilliant blue fabric of the famed scarf.

“His eyesight is terrible.” Ravio snickered to the Captain.

“But his hearing is perfect.” Mr. Hero’s voice rang clearly across the room, violet gaze darting up to look at them disapprovingly over the top of his spectacles.

The minute he looked away, merchant and captain shared a grin, only to burst into muffled laughter.

...

Mr. Smithy and Tune are cold.

It’s obvious from the way the two huddle in place at the kitchen table as everyone enjoys the meal that Ravio and Mr. Hero have pulled together (Mr. Hero is hesitant to let even the finest of chefs in his kitchen for some reason, despite having stated that Mr. Champion Hero is a very good cook and better than him (at cooking, life, or heroing, he does not specify)). Tune- Wind has all but attached himself to Sky’s side, using the bigger hero as a heat source as he slurps down his warm stew, and Mr. Smithy has bundled himself against the Mr. Rancher.

It’s only autumn, but both of the smaller heroes act like it’s the start of winter with the way they shiver and rub at their arms.

Mr. Hero’s only response when he asks is to sigh, but when he presses, his pink haired doppelganger eventually explains. “Their Hyrules were never corrupted, so they’re used to warmer weather most of the time, if not always. The mist from the ocean is the worst Wind knows, and heaven only knows if Four could survive a proper freeze.” Mr. Hero shakes his head, wiping the last of the broth from their meal off a plate with his dish-rag. “If they need something, they know to ask.”

But Mr. Hero isn’t really that cold hearted, he’s worrying too if the way his brows furrow and the lines around his mouth deepen is any indication. “I offered blankets, but they don’t want them.”

“Does this happen often?” He muses as he takes the plates from Mr. Hero to dry and put away, and to his displeasure, his housemate nods.

“When we come here or to Sky’s Hyrule, yeah. Usually, Wars will bundle them up in his scarf, or Sky with his sailcloth, even Twilight shares his fur, but...” Mr. Hero’s ears twitch irritably (truly adorable how they do that, although he’ll never say as much). “Sky’s asleep with his cape, the wolf pelt is a bloody mess after that battle, and I haven’t finished mending Wars’ scarf.” The ears flap again. “That thing is so dang complex and Warriors apparently hasn’t the faintest about the proper cloth to use to mend it. He used new material to mend a hole! Brand new material, Ravio! It’s an awful state and I swear if Styla could see it she’d faint dead away!” The vet huffed as he plunged another dish under the sudsy water of the wash tub. “Using new cloth on a worn scarf, it’s like he wants the thing to be ruined...”

Ah yes, Mr. Hero’s rants. There’d be no righting this one until he’d fixed the problem, and considering he’d only been torn away from the scarf that lay peacefully sitting on his rocker in order to make food, it was quite likely that once his kitchen was clean again, he’d be right back to working on it.

Ravio smiled, Mr. Captain Hero Sir would be quite pleased.

His gaze traveled over to where the hero in question was sitting. The captain and Tu- Wind, were talking on the couch, the younger staring nearly longingly at the rocker and the scarf on top of it.

Kid really liked that scarf, huh? If Ravio remembered right, half the time during his adventure with Mr. Captain Hero Sir, he’d constantly seen either Mask or Tune hanging onto it.

Somewhere inside of a bunny head, an idea sparked and green eyes brightened excitedly.

He’d donned a new scarf just before dinner, but it wouldn’t do quite right, so instead, he darted off to his room, much to the displeasure of his dish partner as his rag flew into Mr. Hero’s face and left his housemate spluttering indignantly.

“Ravio! You didn’t finish-”

“One sec!”

Mr. Hero’s grumbles followed him out of the kitchen, but faded as he darted into his room and towards his wardrobe. It was the work of moments to select two of his largest scarfs, and less time than that to dart back out to the living room and wrap one around each of the smaller heroes.

“There! Snug as a kit in a quilt!”

Two small heroes stared down at the black and purple fabric that now draped around their shoulders, smiles brightening their flushed faces as Tune buried his face happily in the fabric with a bright hum.

“Thanks, Ravio!”

“Thank you.” Four’s eyes glimmered warm brown as he sunk into his seat, only the top of his face and his hands visible beneath the striped fabric.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s eyes sparkled as the man looked up at him, and Ravio fought the blush that rose in his cheeks as he fiddled with his own scarf (he’d mess with his sleeves, but he’d shed his robe to help do the dishes, and his undershirt wasn’t nearly long enough to fiddle with). “Don’t mention it, it’s-” He chewed his lip for a moment before a smile broke loose, the one Mr. Hero said was cheesy and fake, the one for when he was trying to sell things. “It’s a complimentary gift for exceptional customers and/or guests!”

“We’ve never bought anything from you.” Four deadpanned, eyes glinting with a smile Ravio couldn’t see past all the scarf in the way.

“Yet!” Ravio chirped back, and darted back into the kitchen to help Mr. Hero finish doing the dishes.

...

Mr. Champion keeps rubbing his scars.

The heroes had left for a short spell, traveling off to fight more monsters only to be dumped in the orchard a week or so later (Mr. Hero said it’d been a month and a half for them, but by his time it was a week). And when Ravio said they’d been dumped in the orchard, he meant in the orchard. He’d been busy picking some of the ripened apples before the birds took them all (most of the wild birds knew better, but still, it was the principle of the thing, fresh fruit was rare in Lorule) when a shout and the snapping of branches had sounded all about him.

Ravio had shrieked in surprise, thinking that he was alone only to find (once he’d removed his hood again) that there were nine heroes hanging from various tree branches around him, and Mr. Hero himself was hanging upside down, one foot caught in the branches, as his face dangled inches from Ravio’s own, a scowl darkening it as a string of mumbles escaped his room-mate.

He couldn’t stop himself, he kissed Mr. Hero’s twitching nose.

Mr. Hero shrieked in surprise, jerking in place and effectively loosening himself from the tree, falling all over Ravio in the process. It was worth it, Ravio giggled as he lay on the ground. Mr. Hero was so like the bunnies in Lorule and their noses simply demanded to be kissed.

Laughter and grumbles sounded around them, the heroes pulling themselves down from the trees around them.

Captain Hero Sir Jr. moved with surprising ease, despite his heavy armor, clambering down the tree with the same grace that Mr. Champion did most of the time. Some things never change, he could still see him climbing up onto Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s shoulders in the same manner (only now he rather doubted either of them would attempt to do that anymore, Captain Hero Sir Jr. was much bigger now).

It felt entirely too natural to lead them all up to the house, Mr. Hero trailing at the back with a bushel of apples in his arms. Settling them all down in the kitchen was easy as could be, and he and Mr. Hero worked quickly to set some fresh apple cider to boil before starting on a meal for everyone.

He missed not having them all around, it was going to be awful dull when they all had to go back to their worlds when this adventure was over again.

He was determined to enjoy the moment for that very reason while they all sat about in the living room, sipping apple cider as Mr. Hero had settled down in his blasted rocker, spectacles on his nose and more mending in hand. He never would rest until the light was faded, and Ravio had half a mind to take out his knitting (he was still currently short three scarves) before he decided to simply flop down on the nearest open spot on the couch and just enjoy his cider.

Except, Mr. Champion was sitting in the seat beside him.

The young hero kept rubbing at his scars, eyes distant, and despite the numerous amounts of times that either Mr. Captain Hero Sir or Mr. Rancher tried to move his hands back down to the still full mug he was cradling in his other hand, Mr. Champion (he was younger than Ravio though...would Mr. Be an appropriate title for him?) kept reaching right back up to rub his neck and face.

The scars were enflamed, harsh red and puffy where they peeked out from beneath the collar of his shirt, and it made Ravio wince to even think of how he’d acquired such injuries that would scar so.

He only winced more with every drag of broken nails and rough finger pads over the skin, but Mr. Champion- Wild? He could think of him as Wild right? He was kind of the kid’s uncle in a weird way- didn't seem to even notice that he was doing it. Cornflower blue eyes stared unseeing into the fire, face still and only his hands moving.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighed, worry pulling his lovely face into shadows as he grasped Wild’s hands again. “Wild, hey, no more of that, okay? You’re hurting yourself.”

Fingers twitched, but no other movement came from the young Champion until Mr. Captain Hero Sir (wait, was Wild also Captain Hero Sir Jr.? Or was he Champion Hero? Oh fiddlesticks, he wasn’t sure anymore) let go, and then broken nails moved right back up towards swollen flesh.

Ravio shifted in his seat, uncomfortable.

Mr. Hero had spaced out before, did it a lot when the sun set or when he was outside, but he never scratched like that. He sang and fiddled with his rings. If Wild Champion Jr. Sir (oh heavens) did something like that, it would be fine, but this was... this was rather unsettling.

Ravio shifted in his seat, curling around his mug as Mr. Captain Hero Sir had to reach out to stop the wild-child's hands from reaching the inflamed wounds (the last scratch had broken skin, and a thin trail of red has appeared).

It was without a thought that he acted, pushing his mug into the captain’s hands and promptly looping his scarf around Wild Champion Hero Captain Jr.’s (oh Lolia help) neck.

Thoughtless fingers nose just as before, but this time, they brushed against soft fabric. Ravio tensed, dearly hoping that his scarf would not be ripped off or simply pushed aside.

To the surprise of all of them, rough fingers brushed over the fabric, paused, and gently stroked its material. The Champion’s face did not move, but slowly, long fingers ran down the fabric, rubbing it between their tips as cornflower blue eyes blinked slowly. In an instant, the young hero’s gaze was lost to sight as the fabric was nuzzled with all the fondness of a cub nuzzling their parent.

“He likes scarves, of course he does.” Mr. Rancher chuckled wearily, a tired smile playing over his features as both he and Mr. Captain Hero Sir sat back (but not before Ravio took his mug back).

“So he does.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighed, eyes fond as he watched the hero in question curl up on the couch, face lost in purple fabric and bare toes the only moving part of the kid. The wiggling toes were almost like a dog wagging its tail, but weirder, still, he wasn’t one to judge.

Mr. Captain hero Sir caught his eye. “Thank you, Ravio.”

“Customer loyalty.” He murmured softly into his mug.

He caught the way Mr. Hero and the others stared at him though, and he could only be thankful his hood shaded his face enough to hide his pleased blush.

...

Mr. Rancher needs to wear more color.

It’s like looking at the photos of Mr. Hero from just before he’d come around. Mr. Hero always fussed at him for going through things, but he couldn’t help but laugh at how odd his room-mate looked with black hair and dark clothes. “You dyed it?”

“For safety reasons. How many people have you see in Hyrule with pink hair of all things? It was a dead giveaway!”

“But you’re the hero?”

“A hero whose face was plastered on every wanted poster in Hyrule. Still is in some cases.” Mr. Hero had grumbled, folding the last piece of newly clean washing and throwing a pointed glare in his direction. “Life on the run sucks. I was thirteen and just wanted to be ignored.”

A glance at the dark haired but smiling youngster in the photo and back up to the bitter pink haired hero he knew told him (even if Mr. Hero hadn’t already) how well that wish had been fulfilled.

But seriously, those photos at least showed Mr. Hero with some color. The most Mr. Rancher wore was that horrid sash and obi, and the orange and blue looked simply terrible with his color scheme, something that, when brought up to Mr. Hero, his friend seemed to agree with, stating that ‘he’d never get into Hytopia’s capitol looking like that’.

Ravio had never been to Hytopia, but based on the stories and mannerisms Mr. Hero took on after that adventure, he can only agree.

Originally, he’d hoped he could simply find something among his wares that he could sell to Mr. Rancher, but that proved to only be so effective, after all, when one sells weapons and items, it’s hard finding a normal piece of clothing amidst all the blessed or charmed pieces.

Oh well, he was counting on ending up sharing the rest of his scarves with them all anyway.

It wasn’t any dramatic or particularly touching moment when he walked up and slung a clean scarf around the rancher’s shoulders, but Mr. Rancher, after initially starting, smiled as he touched the sun-warmed material. Of course, that expression quickly faded into one of awe as the hero squeezed the fabric lightly.

Mr. Rancher’s eyes lit up like a dog being given a new toy (Ravio wasn’t stupid, he knew a dog when he saw one) and the man proceeded to continue squeezing and petting the springy fabric with eyes sparkling as if Ravio had just handed him the stars themselves.

He was down to two scarves now, but it was worth it.

...

Mr. Traveler Hero is small.

He is small, and wild, and the clothes he’s wearing are nearly too small. The traveler is a growing child (never mind that he’s still a teenager himself) and he’s out and about in nearly threadbare garments that leave Ravio shivering at the mere thought of wearing.

And this is the other hero who grew up in a corrupted world where the sun doesn’t shine as bright as it should and the winters are always too long.

Ravio doesn’t think twice when he sees the first signs of cold in the young hero. He’s got two scarfs recently made, and he’s only too happy to share.

Purple and black stripes nearly drown the young hero when he walks over and wraps not one, but two of the comfiest scarves he’s ever made around the youngster's neck.

Like Mr. Rancher, nothing is said or done immediately, but Mr. Traveler Hero smile at him shyly, holding up a hand and scampering over to his bag.

The pair of polished stones he’s given don’t make much sense, but he catches sight of Mr. Hero and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Both smiling over at the two through the doorways.

“Thank you.” He murmurs warmly, tucking the rocks in his pocket.

“Thank you.!” Mr. Traveler smiles in return, eyes twinkling in the shade of the room and scarf tails flapping like the four wings of a fairy as he spins around to show them to Mr. Hero.

...

Captain Hero Sir Jr. has nothing comfy to wear.

Once more, the heroes had been whisked away, and once more they’d appeared at the house weeks later, looking exhausted and utterly soaked.

The chill autumn rain might be to blame for that.

Mr. Hero hadn’t even protested that... Wild (he’d just call him Wild, he couldn’t do this title thing this time) had bustled off into the kitchen to warm some tea, and instead promptly collapsing in all his soaked glory onto the couch.

The other heroes followed suit, and Ravio (like a good host) immediately hopped up and fetched some blankets. Mr. Rancher was already stoking the fire, and with a bit of work, Ravio was able to help Mr. Her grasp what was left of his own steaming mug of cider (his hands were quite the state in this bitter weather) before popping off to the kitchen to brew more of the sweet apply goodness to share with the heroes.

Armor and over-clothes had been stripped off, sitting wet and dripping in one corner (Mr. Hero eyes it with distaste, knowing just as Ravio did just what that would be doing to the floor) but neither housekeeper said anything, Mr. Hero nursing his cider and letting its warmth sooth his gnarled fingers, and Ravio puttering about with a kettle and mugs to share with everyone else.

Blankets had been pulled from the shelves and were cast around quaking shoulders as chattering teeth uttered breathy thanks to the purple-robed merchant.

There was nothing like being thanked for good service, and Ravio beamed as he passed between them.

That smile faded however when he noticed Captain Hero Sir Jr.

The man sat in a thin linen shirt and under-armor, looking far from being near the level of comfort that the rest did in their undershirts and pants (or a dress in Mr. Hero’s case).

Come to think of it he’d never seen Captain Hero Sir Jr. dress in any comfortable manner since he’d come along behind Mr. Hero that first time since they’d started this adventure. Did the poor kid- er... Man, not have anything comfortable to wear?

While the heroes slept that night, in the two bedrooms and sprawled across the couch, Ravio kept Mr. Hero comfortable, sitting before the fire with his knitting needles while Mr. Hero repaired yet more damaged clothing (poor mister Chosen Hero’s sailcloth had been damaged somehow).

Usually, one or the other of them would eventually remind the other to go to bed, but both were so wrapped up in their work (Mr. Hero started singing even, that goddess ballad Miss. Princess told hm about) that neither seemed to remember to check the clock, or even to go to bed.

Come morning, Ravio finds that he has fallen asleep wrapped in the tails of the scarf he’d been making, and Mr. Hero has become entangled in his mending, a peaceful smile on his face, worn fabric brushing his cheeks and spectacles teetering precariously on the tip of his nose.

Mr. Chosen Hero is the one who wakes them up, stirring awake with a violent sneeze, but he smiles fondly when he lays eyes on them, opening his arms in an offer of a cuddle if either feels inclined to return to sleep. Neither does, but Ravio appreciates it, and even if Mr. Hero doesn’t say as much (quite the opposite really) he knows his friend does too.

The day is normal, as far as a day with nine heroes in the house can be, and with the rain still pouring, they spend their time cleaning, although Mr. Hero shoos them all away after a time because they’re not doing it the right way (AKA Mr. Hero's very practiced manner of cleaning and organizing). It’s after Mr. Hero had shooed them all into the main room while he organizes the basement (thank goodness, it's an awful mess down there) that the talk starts.

It’s cold out, and most of the heroes have donned the scarves they’ve been gifted over time (Ravio isn’t blushing, he’s not). Smiles shine and laughter rings as they explain to their brothers how they’d some to have them.

“And he just... threw t at me! Not a word, not an explanation, just came up and tossed it over my shoulders.” Mr. Rancher chuckles. “Kinda like how my ma would do when I was a tot, jist wrap it up and ‘round soon as the cold weather came a’creepin’ up.”

The others nod, smiles fond. Ravio beams as he lights the candle set near the masks on the wall.

“I had one too once,” Captain Hero Sir Jr. Muses aloud. “Back in the war, you remember, Wars?”

“Do I ever.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir smirks. “I used to tie you up with that thing when you got too rowdy.”

“You and the general both.” Captain Hero Sir Jr. Chuckles, soft and deep and so different from his nearly witch level cackle that Ravio remembers.

“What ever happened to it?” He asks curiously, blowing out his match and turning to move towards the rest of the group.

Captain Hero Sir Jr. Smiles at him, eyes far older but far more at peace than they used to be. “I outgrew it. It was a child’s scarf, even if it was a bit big at the time. I considered bringing it, but it just doesn’t do much anymore.” A thin smile pulls at his features, almost guilty as he admits “I didn’t take the best care of my clothes as a kid.”

Well, that doesn’t matter over much. Ravio smiles at his young (old) friend, and around him he can hear the others whisper and laugh. They know what’s happening, and Captain Hero Sir Jr. Does too if the twinkle in his eyes is to be believed, so Ravio makes a point of flourishing his gift with all the fuss he can before reverently draping the garment around the tall man’s neck. The eldest hero has to stoop, even from where he’s sitting on the couch, so that Ravio can reach, but it only adds to the mock reverence as Ravio adorns another bare neck with one of his toasty scarves.

“Mind you take care of that one,” He scolds lightly. “I was up all night making it.”

“Yes sir.” Captain hero Sir Jr. responds with a playful smile in his eyes, even if his face is the picture of obedience.

Giggles sound around them, and despite hating it, Ravio takes the only seat left available (he really hates that rocker) and curls up. “You all be quiet now, I’m tired and need a nap.”

“Okay, gramps.” The sailor whispers faintly, a giggle in his tone as titters and chuckles erupt.

Strangely, it doesn't take too long for Ravio to doze off, especially when Mr. Hero settles in beside him and starts to rock the stupid chair, humming lightly as fingers work over another project, the light buzz of activity all around them as Ravio allows himself to be carried into dreamland.

...

Mr. Chosen Hero has caught cold.

He’s not surprised, not with how drenched the others all were day before last, but the Skyloftian is shivering madly, miserably sniffing into handkerchiefs and trying his best to avoid drinking the nasty herbal teas that Mr. Hero claims are good for people. Ravio doesn’t care if Mr. Hero drinks them, but for pities sake, drink black tea if you’re going to drink tea! What sort of decent being are you if you’re just drinking plant water?

“Legend, I’m serious, I don’t-” Mr. Chosen Hero breaks off coughing. “I don’t think tea will-” Another cough, nastier than the last. “I don’t think it will help.”

“Trust me.” Mr. Hero already has a small table pulled up to Mr. Chosen Hero’s side, tea and handkerchiefs both set carefully on top. “Tea’s just what you need. Eucalyptus does wonders for a cold.”

“He’s right.” Mr. Traveler Hero chimes in, gaze warm and sleepy as he sips some of the tea himself. “And it’s got a calming effect.”

Mr. Hero cocks a brow. “What are you, ‘Rule, a koala?”

No one knows what that is, except Mr. Traveler Hero, but it doesn’t seem to matter much, as Mr. Chosen Hero breaks into another coughing fit and bundles a blanket closer around his shoulders, voice hoarse when he speaks. “I wish it’d stop raining. I didn’t even realize-” A cough sounds and is followed by a sniffle. “I didn’t realize the surface got so wet.”

And Ravio sees where this is going, the shivering hero, the gentle atmosphere. He doesn’t bother waiting for Mr. Chosen Hero to sniffle again, he just wraps a scarf around the man’s neck, tucking it in close enough to keep the heat in.

The smile exchanged is silent, and Ravio is thankful that the others aren’t about at present to tease, only Mr. Hero and Mr. Traveler Hero are here with them, and neither says a word as they sip their leaf water.

“I’ll make you some real tea.” He murmurs softly, offering a wink and a gentle pat to the knee before he’s off towards the kitchen.

...

Mr. Hero doesn’t have a scarf.

It was glaringly obvious, as whenever the rest of them appeared at the house, they'd all be wearing their Ravio gifted scarfs proudly, smiles on their faces as the ends trailed or dragged after them (despite that, they were all in perfect condition).

But Mr. Hero didn’t have a scarf.

He was never going to get one either.

They’ve all just returned to the house (it’s been two months since the last visit) and the snow outside it up to Ravio’s waist in places. It took him ages to shovel himself out of the house, but the harvest of apples is in and the bees are well prepared for the winter, and Mr. Hero finally tidied the cellar enough that they have room for food storage aplenty.

Cider and tea are brewed as the heroes gather, fluffy socks and scarves on full display as they sit around the fire.

Mr. Hero is shivering.

Curious glances are thrown at both himself and Mr. Hero as the heroes drink their beverage of choice, concern in their gazes as Legend eventually gets up to pull the most ridiculously bulky quilt in the entire house over his shoulders. He’s all pink in the face and he’s shaking like a leaf, and it’s only because he won’t hold still that Ravio hasn’t attempted to try and help him hold a warm mug enough for his fingers to relax.

Mr. Hero moves like a man thrice his age, if not more, and he creaks worse than the roof does in the wind outside.

“Where’s your scarf, vet?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir murmurs softly, one brow raised as he watches Mr. Hero fumble with the quilts edge.

“My what?”

Glances are exchanged among the others. “Your scarf? The one Ravio gave you?”

“I don’t have a scarf.” Mr. Hero answers, dropping the quilt again with a scowl that makes his nose wiggle.

“But” Cornflower blue dart between himself and his housemate. “Aren’t you two friends? How do you not already have a scarf? Even Time did!”

“It’s a customer service thing.” Mr. Hero murmurs. “I’m already a loyal customer, so he doesn’t waste resources on trying to earn my loyalty. That, and I don’t wear purple.”

He shakes his head, loosening his scarf as the eyes of the others twinkle, but rather than taking it off, he only loosens one end, before wrapping it tightly around his friend’s neck, fluffing up the quilt in both of their laps, and settling a warm mug of cider in Mr. Hero’s hands.

“Nonsense!” he chirps, trying not to be hurt at the obvious surprise on his friend's face, so he muses Mr. Hero’s hair instead. “You have every item I offer except this scarf. Why would you keep buying from me if you get it? I have to keep you from having one until I get something better in, otherwise business will plummet!”

Knowing smiles are exchanged amidst the others, but Mr. Hero just sighs and shakes his head, leaning slightly into Ravio’s side as he sips his cider.

A bitter expression overtakes Mr. Hero’s face. “You forgot the cloves.”

“Oh shoot!”

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #scarf fic #scarf man #ravio #lu warriors #lu wind #lu four #lu wild #lu twilight #lu time #lu sky #lu hyrule #lu legend #scarf #fluffics #I almost forgot Hyrule!#I'm so sorry baby!

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avantegarda · 2 years

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A Respectable Bachelor's Party: A Silly Fic by Yours Truly

This is part of a collection of shorts about the Gondolindrim being stupid that I have on Ao3, but I couldn't resist the urge to post it here as well, because 1. I think it's funny and 2. I blatantly ripped this bit off from Brooklyn Nine-Nine. Enjoy!

The sitting room of the House of the Wing was cheerfully illuminated by a blazing fire, lit to combat a sudden spring chill. Around the fireplace, seated on various chairs and cushions, were gathered a significant portion of the city’s most respectable gentlemen, none of whom were entirely sober.

“A toast!” exclaimed Lord Duilin, for the third time in an hour. “To our newest lord and soon-to-be prince, who has managed to accomplish what so many have failed to do: getting a ring on Princess Idril’s finger. Never thought I would see the day.”

His companions laughed uproariously in agreement and raised their glasses. The future prince in question, sitting languidly on the floor by the fireplace, rolled his eyes good-naturedly.

“I did nothing,” Tuor said. “She kissed me at the New Year’s party, and I could do nothing but go along with her wishes. Of course, it helped that I was already in love with her.”

“Aye, and she’d have dragged you out behind the bushes too, if she could have gotten away with it,” Rog chuckled. “That’s our Idril—she gets what she wants. Never mind, though, you can swap bushes for a proper marital bed tomorrow night…”

“If I may,” Ecthelion interrupted loudly, “I would like to suggest a game. I’ve been plotting it for several days now.”

“A drinking game?” Rog asked eagerly.

“Not specifically, though I suppose it could be. The game is entitled ‘Did Tuor Actually Say That?’” announced Ecthelion. “The rules are simple: I will give you a quote, and you must determine if our dear friend Tuor actually said the phrase in question, or if I made it up.”

“Where exactly did you get these quotes from?” Tuor inquired. “I barely remember half of what I say myself.”

Ecthelion indicated Pengolodh, who looked slightly abashed. “Pengolodh has been keeping a detailed record of everything that we all say and do, for what will undoubtedly be the most thorough and ridiculous history ever written. Ahem. First quote: ‘Eating orcs does not count as cannibalism, especially considering how disgusting they are.’ Your guesses, gentlemen?”

“That has to be real,” said Duilin. “It’s too disturbing not to be.”

“I concur,” said Voronwe. “I distinctly remember discussing having orcs for dinner on the road.”

“And the answer is…yes, he said it. To his future wife at dinner, not a week after he arrived in the city. Yet she is still marrying him, which certainly goes to show…something. Next quote: ‘I don’t understand libraries. It seems wasteful to have a house full of books when it could be full of dogs instead.’ What do we think? Real?”

Several hands went up, and Tuor shook his head in disgust. “Do you people honestly think I would say that? I love the library. For one thing, it’s the quietest place in this town.”

“Truly, a shameful display of ignorance from your so-called friends,” said Ecthelion. “Quote the third: ‘If one of you were somehow able to turn me into the Easterlings, we could make a tidy profit from the bounty money.’”

“Oh, he certainly said that,” said Rog. “During a city council meeting, as I recall. I’d have taken him up on it, if I’d thought the king would allow it.”

“I still say it’s worth a try. If the Easterlings haven’t given up, I surely must be worth a fortune by now..”

“Gentlemen,” said Ecthelion disapprovingly. “Please indulge in your illegal schemes on your own time. Final quote, for now: ‘Considering that I was utterly alone for four years, I think it’s amazing how many people I’ve grown to love in such a short time.”

There was a silence.

“Absolutely not,” said Glorfindel. “Far too sentimental, and not remotely upsetting.”

There was a murmur of agreement from the assembled guests. Ecthelion grinned. “If you’ll do the honors, Tuor?”

“I said it,” said Tuor, with a great deal of satisfaction. “And I meant it. Cheers!”

#my writing #silmarillion #gondolin #tuor #ecthelion #and all the other lads #tolkien

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dirtydancingdean · 3 years

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✨ fic recs ✨

ok so back in like 2014 i watched supernatural for a solid 3 years until they killed kevin and charlie and i got bored of the bmol storyline. now im here again let’s not talk about it. BUT during this time i accumulated a Lot of fic and in the past two months i’ve gone through all 213 of my bookmarks and gone through like every rec list made after s12 in order to read fic set during every specific season while i rewatch the show. because im insane <3 im on s8 rn and wanted to share my list of favourites from each season so far as well as my favourite aus ! they’re all generally nsfw so minors be careful, and also check the warnings ! and i will update this when i finish s15 <3

aus

asunder by rageprufrock (23.8k, e, background samruby)

obviously the most perfect thing to ever exist.

and this, your living kiss by opal_bullets (56k, m, background saileen)

poet dean fic need i say more. part dean studies if dean studies was elaborated on lovingly in detail for 56k words, part gorgeous and beautiful poetry, part incredibly clever commentary on meta and fan allusions, and part stunning exploration of the relationships in the show turned on their heads.

one white little lie by komodobits (11k, gen)

this is SOOO cute. cas is so embarrassing i was covering my face the entire time i was reading it. if u want to be cheered up. read this.

broadway musical by griftings (12k, m)

this is genuinely sooo funny. big “castiel did you fuck the michael sword” energy and jimmy novak as that “am not against gays” tweet, plus jo <3

c-s-t-l by komodobits (90k, m)

i haven't read this in a while but from what i remember it was incredible and also had cassie <3

rest is under the cut because it got long fhjfkfklf

pre-series/season 1-3*

a turn of the earth by microcomets (time travel, 95k, standford era, m)

i think everyone’s read this at this point but if u haven't. what are u doing. go read it. it’s absolutely everything i reread it in the week before the finale without remembering half of the stuff it talked about and i was a WRECK. if u think about standford era dean every day read this. cas punches john winchester in the FACE.

geography by aeli_kindara (3k, teen and up, warnings for discussion of rape/non-con and prostitution)

not dean/cas but a really wonderful and needed conversation with sam and dean during 2x02.

season 4

so says the sword by komodobits (85k, e)

yeah. i dont need to say anything.

consequences of falling by fayjay (37k, e, background samruby, warnings for rape/non-con)

THISSSS FIC. pls it’s perfect literally everything i wanted when i was watching s4 and obsessed with love as an act of worship + ruby and cas parallels. ruby and cas get drunk together! ruby says this: “dean and castiel sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G. First comes love, then comes the fall from grace, then comes battling the hosts of hell and wishing that you’d managed to get your skinny ass laid before the freaking apocalypse”! what more could u want!

named by rc_machlan (94k, m)

literally the best fic in the world i am not going to say Anything if you love dean and angels and the mythology of s4-s5 that was promptly dropped, you absolutely have to read this.

four people ruby seduced & one she actually fell for (or: ruby's epic love affair with humanity in general and sam in specific) by tuesday (3.7k, e, samruby, ruby/jo)

this is more background deancas than anything else and does contain brief, not romantic in any way dean/ruby and dean/cas, but like. if u love ruby (which i do) u have to read this.

season 5

final fantasy by orange_crushed (1.9k, m)

endverse.....this made me want to die

the (mostly accidental) courtship of dean winchester by tuesday (11k, m)

a classic for a reason. really cute and soft and the handprint and cas beating dean up in 5x18 are angelic marriage rites. what more could you ask for.

the girlfriend experience by rageprufrock (15k, explicit)

of Course i mean of COURSE. thee s5 deancas fic.

strike me down and i’ll come back more powerful than you can possibly imagine by trinityofone (10k, gen)

post 5x22 dean and cas rescue sam from hell with the help of some special guests. PERFECT. the only valid good omens crossover.

season 6**

something stupid by zatnikatel (20k, e)

this broke my heart and put it back together. one of my favourite cas characterizations, takes place over s5-s6 and it’s just stunning.

a crash course in someone else’s history by annie d (11k, teen and up)

s4 cas ends up in the body of cas in 6x20. fucking life-ruining.

season 7

make known by domesticadventures (16k, teen and up)

this is a really heartbreaking look at dean’s headspace near the end of s6 and throughout s7, and it’s really wonderful with a hopeful ending.

redemption road by a whole bunch of people (652k, virtual season, explicit)

oh boy. ok. know ur herstory ! this was written from 2011 to 2012 and it is thee s7 fic, a virtual season written by 17 fans all together. it’s very very long and it suffers sometimes from having being written a decade ago, but im making my way through it right now and it still fucking holds up. i really do recommend reading at least some of it, you can stop around halfway through and you should be fine.

season 8***

rinse, repeat by ias (3k, teen and up)

exploration of cas when naomi forces him to kill copies of dean and then his perspective in goodbye stranger.

my keeper by whelvenwings (5k, gen)

another goodbye stranger fic, this time with bonus artist cas!

though the course may change by imogenbynight (51k, e)

au after 8x23. i love this fic so much. dean accidentally ends up making himself have to go undercover with cas and pretend to be fake engaged. also, charlie and kevin. do i need to say more.

apres by imogenbynight (24k, e)

au after 8x23 where dean goes to find cas after the angels fall in paris 🥺

*i have found exactly one bela fic that i loved, and zero henriksen fics that i loved, so IF u have recs for those. i would appreciate that.

**mostly the s6 fics i read were uh...vampire dean fics...

***have found one (1) good dean/aaron fic but im still searching for the perfect purgatory crew fics

#mine #supernatural #deancas #fic recs #destiel

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dragon-kazansky · 3 years

Text

Yes, sir! | Niki Lauda

Professor Lauda AU! 👨‍🏫

Gender neutral reader

Dedicated to @lieutenantn and @scuttle-buttle

I'm using the first names of people I know in real life for the friends, so I apologise if you share the same name 😅

And thank you @scuttle-buttle for letting me make references to your fic 'The interpretation of dreams'

Some of my German translations may be wrong, I'm still learning 🥺

[Next chapter]

Part 1

You sat outside on campus. Your classes didn't start until tomorrow, but your friends started today. You agreed to meet them for lunch. You hadn't been sat outside for too long when they came out. Upon seeing you, they rush over, smiling.

"Lucky you with your extra day off," Katie says, grinning. She was studying music. This girl and her guitar were a force to be reckoned with, that's for sure.

"It's only one day," you laugh.

"One day more than we got," Michael added. When it came to computers, you knew no one better.

"Still, must be exciting not that you've started your classes. I'm not scheduled until tomorrow."

"Speaking of, what did you even pick? You never actually told us," Michael asks, sitting down next to you.

"Literature and languages."

"Ooo, look at you with your 2 subjects," Katie laughs.

"Just wait until I can tell you fuck off in other languages, then we'll see who's laughing," you grin.

"Funny. Can we go eat now?"

You nod and the lot of you go to the nearest cafe for lunch. The Red Wing is a nice little place to meet with friends and catch up, and it was really close to the university.

You grab a table near the window while Michael goes to order for everyone.

"Do you want to know who your Professors are going to be?" Katie asks, pulling out her phone.

"You know?"

"You can see the teachers on the website, I can check for you," she says, already signing into the website.

You say nothing and try to peek at the screen as she searches for the right page.

Michael returns and takes a seat.

"Uh oh," Katie says, looking at her phone strangely.

"Uh oh? Why uh oh?"

She looks at you with a bitter expression.

"Your language professor... you have Professor Lauda," she tells you.

"Professor Lauda? Why is that uh oh?"

Michael and Katie share a look.

"He's, uh... he's a bit of a perfectionist. Kind of strict. He has thrown students out of his class if they haven't kept up with assignments or he thinks they're just wasting time," Michael tells you.

"Oh, I see. I'm sure it will be fine. I'm taking languages because I want to."

Katie shrugs, "well, your funeral."

You narrow your eyes at her. They were making it out as if he was some demon teacher who worked here. You were sure it would be fine.

"What about my other professor?"

"Professor Barnes? He's alright. Cute. People like him," Katie sighs.

"There we go then. I'll be fine!"

Michael and Katie share a look again. You roll your eyes and ignore them as your food arrives.

You're back at your apartment early, in time for an early night so you can be refreshed for your classes tomorrow.

You weren't worried about what your friends had said. You were sure you could handle what ever this Professor Lauda would throw at you.

You arrive to your literature class early. Professor Barnes is friendly and welcomes you into his class. You take a seat near the front and wait for the other students to arrive.

When everyone has settled, the class starts.

Barnes introduces himself, introduces you the schedule for the term, and spends a bit of time getting to know his class. He makes a joke here and there. He's definitely going to be a favourite yours, you just knew you would enjoy his classes.

He dismisses you all with a gentle smile.

You have some time before your languages class. For some reason a lite bit of dread settles in. You really wanted to do well here, but what if you didn't? Would he actually kick you off the course?

Michael was able to meet up with you as you made your way to your next class. He had just left his class cor the day when he saw you on the way to yours.

"Hey!"

You stop and let him catch up with you.

"On your way to Lauda's class?"

"Yes."

"I think it's very brave of you to take this risk," he says, placing his hand on your shoulder.

You roll your eyes.

"You're over exaggerating! He's just a Professor!"

"Y/N, there are only two professors in this university that scare me, and Lauda is one of them."

"Who's the other?"

"Professor Kreizler, but you're not taking his class, so you don't have to worry about him."

You chuckle softly.

"I'll be fine. I have to go! See you later."

Michael watches you go.

You arrive to the class just in time. The class isn't as full as the other class. Just a few students scattered about. Absolutely no one was sitting on the front row. The professor has his back to the class as he organised papers on his desk.

You headed to the front and sat down, taking out the things you would need.

The professor turned around.

Never has anyone made such an impact on you before just from their presence. Your mind ceases functioning as you get a good look at your Professor.

Soft brown curly hair, dark brown eyes, not too tall, not too short, toned, but not buff. Gosh, did he look good in that turtleneck sweater.

His eyes scan the students. The room was only about half full, not that he cared much. He knew he had a reputation in the university. People couldn't deal with him, but it didn't matter because he wouldn't be able to deal with them either.

His eyes land on the only student brave enough to sit up front. He would be able to see you working from there, but that wasn't what made him stop to look at you. No, it was the fact you were probably the best looking person to ever walk into his classroom.

He flickered his gaze away before it could be read into too much by anyone.

You hadn't seemed to notice he was staring.

Still, he was a professional and he would remain so. Nothing wrong with having good looking students in a class.

"Hallo, willkommen. I am Professor Lauda, your languages teacher. This class is for German. Please, if you had no intention of being here, leave now."

No one shifts.

"Very well then. I have written the schedule for the term on the board, copy it down if you must, I will not be repeating it after today."

You note it down, using all your will power not to just look at your Professor.

"I must ask, does anyone here have any basic knowledge of German?" He asks, eyes scanning the class.

A few hands go up. Better than his last class where barely anyone had any former knowledge. Your hand is up too.

"Gut. You," he nods at you, "introduce yourself auf Deutsch."

You hesitate for a second, not expecting he would pick you. Though, you are sat up front. You're an easy target.

"Hallo, ich bin Y/N."

Y/N. Wunderbar. He had your name. He moves onto the next student who put their hand up, and then the next. You were none the wiser to his little trick of just wanting to know who you were.

"Now, listen here," he says, gaining everyone's attention after introductions, "if you so as waste my time, you are off this course. I only want students who mean to learn. If you fail my tests, you can walk tight out. If you fail to hand in an essay, you can leave."

He scans the faces of his students.

"Am I clear?"

"Yes, sir!" The class all spoke together.

"Gut. Now, pay attention."

He begins the introduction for the course. Though you are paying attention, you're slightly distracted by his voice. English or German, you could listen to him talk all day.

You write down notes as he speaks, not wanting to miss anything. You almost miss some details because you just wanted to sit and listen to him talk.

Class is over before you know it. Time had passed far too quickly for your liking.

"Dismissed. Don't be late."

Everyone gathers their things before they go. You close your notebook and glances up at your professor. He once again has his back to the class.

"Danke, herr Lauda."

Lauda glances over his shoulder to see you standing there. He looks you up and down quickly with his dark eyes. He turns back around without saying anything.

You leave, feeling a little awkward.

Michael is waiting outside for you.

"How was class?" He asks, falling into step with you.

"Not that bad. Professor Lauda isn't that bad!"

"You're lying! He's so intimidating!" Michael exclaims.

"He's fine. Maybe I should I meet this Professor Kreizler for reference."

"He's intimidating too."

"Do you actually like any Professors here?" You ask.

"....not really!"

You chuckle softly and keep on walking. Michael has to jog a little as you pick up the pace.

"I dare you! Though he might be OK if his assistant is there."

"His assistant?" You look at him curiously.

"Yeah, pretty sure they're together."

"Hmm. Cute."

"If you say so, Y/N. Right, I have to leave, there's a computer with my name on it," he grins.

"Yeah, whatever. See you!" You laugh as he walks away.

You head back to your apartment, done for the day. You would go over your notes and have some dinner before turning in for the night.

Tomorrow was another day, and you were eager to return to your languages class.

@lieutenantn @scuttle-buttle @rumblelibrary @zemosimp05 @hb8301 @celtic-witch-bitch @somethingthatsaysbubbles @lorna-d-m @anteroom-of-death @belle82devart @vverliebt @alltimebandsexual666 @charistory @mischief-siriusly-managed @thatoneartgalsstuff @mssennimatilda

#niki lauda au #niki lauda x reader #au #daniel brühl x reader #Daniel Brühl au

149 notes · View notes

lebrookestore · 3 years

Text

tape 5: play

Pairing: Zhong Chenle x reader

Themes: angst, ex! au, college-ish au, small town au. It goes back and forth a lot

Warnings: heavy angst, bittersweet ending, swearing, its very sad, chenle is a jerk

Wc: 6k

Playlist: 2 kids by Taemin, Gone by Rosé, Instagram by Dean, I still do by Why Don’t We, Believed by Lauv

Taglist: @danishmiilk @channoticedmeuwu @chicksung @1-800-seo @blueprint-han @jenosslut @cupidluvstarrz @kkakkdugi @sweetlyjaem @vera-liscious @leetaeyonglover @kunrengui @unknown5tar @kisshim @intokook @mrkcore @coco-riki

Summary: A year after your boyfriend moved away, you find yourself sitting in your room with five tapes, earphones, a cassette player and what you hoped, and feared, was closure.

Authors Note: hello! this fic was supposed to be a small blurb but then i got inspired and lo and behold its a full fledged fic! I can’t believe I wrote this in two days sdfjfjkfjk. Feedback would be very much appreciated for this, since I’ve never written anything like this before ;-;

Midtown, almost got a place out of midtown, Instead I took a plane out of this town, And missed out on us

It was a sunny Saturday morning, as you pulled into your driveway, coming back from the store.

Parking the car and getting the bags, you walked up to the door, knocking it and waiting. You were met with your mother’s smiling face as she took one of the bags of groceries from you.

You lived in a small sleepy town, and attended the college there as well, which meant you still stayed with your parents. You were fine with that, you liked living there, and you could forgo the stress and anxiety of having to re adjust to a new place.

This was your home. It always had been.

Of course, you had been on holidays to other places, you had visited the other town, but when it came to it, you had always found yourself back where you started. There was no other place for you, there never would be.

It was the truth, but it held something bitter.

Then again, you had enough going on already, with being in your freshman year, straight out of high school, college life was very different. You had been to a total of two parties so far, courtesy of your best friend— Lia— dragging you with her.

You had enjoyed them, but it wasn’t something you would voluntarily participate in again.

The workload was something that had definitely changed, bogged down with mandatory lectures and assignments, tests popping up like a bad smell, you had more than enough to occupy you.

“Something has arrived for you!” Your mother said, almost excitedly, “It’s on the table.”

You helped her put away the groceries, walking to your living room, eyes falling on the package sitting on the table. It was somewhat shabbily wrapped, with tape haphazardly stuck on it to keep it together, and a tag pasted on the top.

Picking it up, you pass it from your right hand to your left, feeling its weight, reading the little tag. It held your address, your name and another name you hadn’t seen in almost a year.

Your mind ran at a hundred miles per minute, wondering why it was here, why his name was on it. It made no sense to you.

“Darling? Are you okay?”

Your mothers voice snapped out of your reverie, nodding slowly, “I’ll be in my room, finishing off a project”, you said carefully, trying not to show any sort of emotion as you climbed up the stairs of your house, two at a time, making sure not to drop the package.

Closing the door, you place it on your bed, reading over the tag again, a bitter taste filling your mouth. A name you hadn’t thought of in a year coming back now. It was so random, so absolutely unnecessary.

You curled your fingers around the messy brown paper, tearing it open as your mind reeled. The crackling sound filled the silence as the contents of it make itself known to you.

A shoebox.

It’s dusty, a dark blue colour with a line of red running at its side. There were two holes on either end, lined with metal piping and you could just about make out the nike symbol on the top. You brushed your hand over it, the dust coming off easily and sticking to your fingers.

Why would he send you this?

His name sticks out on the tag like a sore thumb, reminding you of what you lost, mocking you. Always content with where you are, hmm? His voice comes back, as clear as day. It’s as if he’s standing there, giving you his chesire cat grin as he spoke the words.

Zhong Chenle.

Lifting the lid off the box, you’re thrown into confusion. A cassette player, a pair of earphones, and five tapes. Picking up the player, you smile briefly at the dramatic set up. He could’ve called you, or sent a message, so why did he take the pains of sending you something as old and unnecessary as this?

Then again, it had been a year since he stopped picking up your calls, since you stopped trying to call him. A year since all contact had been cut off, as if he had never existed in the first place.

Sometimes you wondered if Chenle had been a hallucination. An imaginary friend.

Friend.

The questions filter in. Why? It had been a year, so why had he sent you this now? You had finally told yourself you were over it, that you didn’t need an answer, but somehow as soon as you did that, you found yourself sitting in your room on your bed with what could be it.

The tapes were numbered in permanent marker in his messy handwriting, from one to five, indicating the order in which they were to be listened to in. You picked up the first, slotting it in the player and waiting.

You didn’t know what you were waiting for.

You pressed play. There was crackling, but only for a moment, until it went silent. Maybe this was all a mistake, maybe this wasn’t even happening. Maybe-

i] tape 1: you deserve to hate me

Hey

His voice cut through your spiraling thoughts as you froze in place. He sounded the same as you last heard him, a little muffled due to the recording but the same. At the same time he sounded like a stranger. There was silence for a moment again, before he spoke up.

This is stupid isn’t it?

You felt the urge to answer, but your mouth went dry. It had been so, so long, and even though you had adequate time to get over him, it suddenly felt as if you were treading unfamiliar territory once again.

I-I don’t know why I’m doing this. I think it’s because I feel so horrible, I need an outlet. I guess speaking it into existence and recording it makes is my outlet. Making it all real.

But that’s fucking terrifying.

You don’t think you’re following, confused once again.

Y/n

You hear him take a deep breath right after your name, and it sends a chill down your spine, hearing him say your name once again. You had almost forgotten how it sounded.

I don’t know if you’ll ever hear this, or listen to it. If you don’t I’ll actually be glad. You don’t deserve to, I’ve been a jerk to you. I’m sorry. I hope you hate me, I definitely deserve it.

I’m moving in two months.

The realization hits you, this had been recorded a year ago as well, two months before he left without a word or warning. It was old, he was here when he recorded it.

You didn’t quiet know how you felt, not yet anyways.

And you won’t know until I’m gone.

I’m moving to Korea, and I refuse to tell you, even if it makes me the bad guy, even if it feels worse, because that’s my dream.

I got signed by a record label after sending them that demo I did —remember it? We both went to the studio together, you listening outside as I sang. You were right by my side, all the time.

Except now when I record this, except when I leave.

I refuse to tell you, because the moment I do I know it’ll be real, realer than it is now as I say it. I don’t want to see the look on your face when I say I’m going, I know it’ll make me want to stay, but I don’t want to stay.

You knew exactly what he was talking about, you could recollect that day clearly. There was a small studio a little outside the town. That day, he had booked it for two hours to record a demo, his singing mentor with him and you tagging along.

It had always been like that, the two of you against the world, until, of course he left.

I physically can’t stay, I hate it here Y/n. It’s not for me, I want to get out, that had always been the plan. I want to get out and be free, I want to achieve my dreams. Maybe it’s selfish, maybe I don’t deserve a minute more of your time, but I want it all.

That’s why I’m not going to tell you —so I can have it all, at least until I don’t have you.

But you, you don’t deserve this, do you? Of course you don’t, but I suppose you’re the one with the shitty luck, you’re the one who ended up with me and now I’m going to hurt you.

He laughs a dry, breathy laugh. It was half hearted, as if he was trying to get himself to believe the situation was funny.

It’s not your fault I-fuck I’m sorry.

You heard a click and the tape died off, he had stopped recording there. The first tape was finished, and honestly, you didn’t know how to react. One part of you wanted to feel nothing, you wanted to put the player and the five tapes back into the box and send them away, or lock them in your closet to never find them again.

But the other part of you wanted to know more. You wanted to know how he felt, what went through his mind during that time. You wanted to know just how you lost Chenle, the first boy you ever loved.

Suddenly you felt overwhelmed, vulnerable almost. It was as if someone had opened up an old wound and left it open.

You got to your feet abruptly, pulling the earphones from your ears and dropping them on your bed, taking a step away and blinking rapidly. You couldn’t get caught up in the past, you couldn’t put yourself through that again.

But it was hard when the past was in your present.

Wasted, and all of my regret, I can taste it, If I had a time-machine, I would take it, And make it back to us

That night you couldn’t sleep.

The box sat on your desk, right next to your laptop, staring at you. You turned around on your bed, looking the other way, only to be met with the white of the walls.

You never liked the colour white.

It was too plain, too open for interpretation. It never had a solid answer. You liked stability, you wanted something permanent. You were the type of person that needed that reassurance.

Perhaps that’s why you were happy where you were, you didn’t find the appeal in starting over, because that meant nothing was certain. You stayed where you were because everything was already laid out for you.

It was like a colouring book in your little town, the lines all set out, everything drawn for you. Change meant you had to sketch everything from scratch. What if you messed up?

Needless to say, it was a good thing you weren’t an art major.

“This is ridiculous”, you whispered to yourself, sighing at the fact that you were now talking to yourself. You rolled over so that you were lying on your back, staring at the ceiling. The glow in the dark stars shone with their dull green light. You remember the day you had put them up, with Chenle.

You shared a lot of memories with him.

“Fucking hell”, you hissed, sitting up, swinging your legs off the edge of your bed and walking to your desk, sitting on the chair. Rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you picked up the second tape, inserting it in the player and putting the earphones on, waiting for it to begin.

ii] tape 2: milk before cereal

I know I’m making some terrible decisions, I really do, but if there’s one thing I stand by, its the fact that milk definitely goes before the cereal.

Why am I talking about this?

Well, because today you came over, Y/n, you came over and the two of us were watching a movie, and in the middle of it, you decided you wanted to have cereal, specifically frosted flakes.

So what do we do? We have cereal because I can’t say no to you. You’re welcome by the way, honestly, I deserve the boyfriend of the year award.

A moment of silence.

No I don’t. I really don’t.

You bit your lower lip, shutting your eyes. It was the way he switched, the way his demeanor changes so suddenly that made you want to scream. Sometimes it felt like he was telling a story, one you knew and loved.

Only for the next moment to bring you down to reality, reminding you that all stories don't have happy endings.

Anyways, we got the cereal and you objected when I put the milk first, saying that it was wrong, but how? In what way? Here me out Y/n, I shall tell you why I’m right, even If I’m not actually talking to you.

You couldn’t help but scoff at this, shaking your head at Chenle. He had always had a flair for being dramatic in the littlest ways possible. It was endearing.

Putting the cereal first means it sits in the milk for longer! If you put the cereal last, you can have it crunchy! Isn’t that ten times better? Unless you’re one of the devils spawn and like soggy cereal. If so I’m hypothetically breaking up with you right here right now.

Ah...bad wording. I keep forgetting I have to break up with you. I don’t want to, is that selfish?

You deserve the truth, if only I was strong enough to give it to you. Staying silent is so much easier.

It’s not lying, not completely anyways. I’m not lying if I don’t tell you at all. I suppose it’s a half truth then, with the truth hidden in plain sight.

*click*

Lying. That’s what he did, even though he spent the last few minutes of the tape trying to justify it, he lied. He trampled all over your heart without a single warning.

You had trusted Chenle, having known him since you were thirteen. He had completely destroyed that trust. Something like that couldn’t be fixed so easily, not even if he had sent you these tapes.

Then again, you didn’t know why he sent them.

You retreated to your bed, turning away from the tapes, the words and memories they held, facing white once again.

You had met Chenle when the two of you were thirteen, in eight grade math. The boy was failing the class, and one day you found him sitting early morning in class, with his head in his hands as he groaned over some sort of equation.

You had offered to help, and the smile he gave was the brightest one you had ever seen, he was practically grinning from ear to ear. That was the beginning of your friendship, and the two of you were inseperable.

Ninth grade it was confirmed that the two of you were best friends, sitting together, complaining about teachers together, going places together so your parents didn’t need to tag along.

In your last year of high school the two of you started dating, and when you had told your parents, they were ecstatic, confessing they had always thought the two of you would end up together.

He was always there for you, every time you needed him. You could give him a call and he would be outside your door. If you were feeling insecure or scared, he was always there to hype you up.

You had been best friends before, you were lovers then, and it was amazing. You loved everything about being with Chenle. You loved everything about him, from his toothy grin to his obnoxiously loud laugh.

You loved the way his eyes sparkled when he had an idea (which, for the most part, were absolutely terrible. Needless to say the two of you got in trouble a lot), when he sang for you when you stayed over, the way he would always make sure you were never cold.

You loved him.

It was written in the stars, you were meant to be, it was the perfect combination. Chenle was the right person for you- the perfect person.

A year later you woke up with him gone, no texts, no warnings. He had just gone, leaving you alone.

Right person, wrong time.

Monday came around sooner than you thought it would, the weekend passing in a blur as you walked out of your first class, spotting Lia leaning against the wall outside your class, scrolling through something on her phone.

She was an exchange student, not originally from your town, but had fit right in. Sometimes you wished you could be like that.

“Oh! You’re out! Listen, there’s a party on Friday and you’re coming with me”, she stated. It wasn’t a request, it was a fact, you were to go with her. In her own words, ‘if I didn’t exist you’d probably have no social life.’

To be fair, she wasn’t wrong.

You nodded defeatedly, walking with her down the hallway, “I assume you want to go because of the cute new guy?”

She glared, but didn’t refute your accusation, “His name is Mark”, she said, “And that is none of your business.”

You snickered, “Oh it so is, you like him don’t you? Is this going to be another one of your crushes?”

Lia was notorious for having a new crush almost every week, being a very flighty person, her mind changed before you could even say her name. This was a bit of a problem, considering you went to her for advice a lot.

Her indecisive nature was not the best for that.

She rolled her eyes at this, “He’s cute, why not? Wonder if I can get him to dance with me at the party. You’re going to be my hype woman-”

“And the sober buddy?”

Lia ignored that.

“Also there’s this new singer”, she said, handing you one of her earbuds, “apparently he came from here!”

Taking one of the earbuds, you were hit with a familiar voice. It sounded amazing honestly, catchy, everything a song needed, but it was the voice that hit you. You didn’t even need to ask Lia for the singer, swallowing the lump in your throat and glancing at her phone, which confirmed your suspicions.

Filling with some sort of dread, your hands immediately went to hold your hand, specifically the bottom where the cassette player and the tapes were. You had been carrying them around with you, as if scared they would disappear if you left them alone.

“Isn’t he good?”

You nodded, not daring to answer as you bit your lower lip, “Hey Lili, I need to use the washroom so see ya later”, you said, handing her the earbud and taking off in the other direction, pushing open the doors to the washroom and getting into one of the stalls.

You had stalled listening to the next tape all Sunday, you didn’t even know why, but hearing him sing, that fact that he had actually made it, it struck something in you. You wanted to feel proud of him, but all you felt was bitter.

Was it a coincidence that this new singer had come out- Chenle himself- right when you received the tapes?

Pushing the top of the toilet down, you took a seat, taking the player out and plugging in, you pressed play for the third tape, waiting for it to begin playing.

tape iii] ill miss our dates

Remember when we went for that field trip? Ninth grade? We sat in the back of the bus together avoiding the stares of our teachers when they told us to sit down?

Then they pulled us apart? Yeah, mean fuckers.

Anyways, that’s not what I wanted to talk about, I just felt like reminiscing for a sec there, but today we went of a date! Well, I mean we got ice cream and then went to the park, but hey, it was fun.

You smiled. He had always jumped from one topic to another without any meaning to either. Sometimes it was a frustrating habit, (you had been on the receiving end of these useless conversations several times, which ended with you glaring at him exasperatedly), but for the most part, extremely comical.

I’m going to miss that. I’m going to miss you. Your little smile — have I ever told you just how pretty your smile is? Your eyes light up and crinkle at the sides and its something I don’t think I’ll ever forget, even when I’m gone.

You clutched the cassette player, marveling at the irony. He was talking about your smile, but why did you want to cry?

It’s a month left now, and I want to make the most of it. Tomorrow I’m taking you to the amusement part and then next week I’m surprising you with dinner. I guess doing things for you —for us — makes me feel better, like I’m compensating.

You deserve the world Y/n, and I want to see that world while you’re happy where you are.

You don’t deserve having to deal with me.

*click*

Your eyes burned, because you remembered each of those events. You had been so happy, so overjoyed at them. They burned with tears because there it was again, that reminder that you were destined to be stuck right where you were, because you were that idiot who was content.

But if someone, anyone, asked you at that very moment if you were happy, the answer would’ve been an outright no.

1 YEAR AGO

“Hey Chenle?”

“Hmm?”

“Why do you want to leave?”

The boy thought about this for a second, before smiling wistfully, “Don’t you want to know how it is outside home?”

“But everything I need is here.”

Your eyes held a question, you were genuinely baffled by his reasoning, the way he was so stuck of getting out. You studied your bewildered expression, shaking his head. “You’re lucky”, he said finally, “You know exactly what you want.”

“Of course I don’t, but I know what I need Chenle, and that’s all around me.”

He shook away his other thoughts, “Hey maybe we’ll go exploring the world together some day.

You blinked, “You want me there with you?”

He nodded, grinning widely, “I want to take you along, Imagine, it’ll be fucking awesome, and hey this time there will be no teachers to separate us. We can even stand in the bus-if we’re taking a bus, that it.”

You laughed, “Maybe”, you mused, looking back down at your phone, “While I don’t exactly see the appeal, it would be fun to be with you.”

Chenle’s smile faltered, but he didn’t let it fall completely, wrapping his arms around you and sighing, closing his eyes and whispering something just loud enough for you to hear.

“Maybe.”

Why did it feel this way?

Chenle was right- you didn’t deserve this, you didn’t deserve to feel this way at all. It had been a year, so why did it affect you?

Why was it all happening at once?

You clicked your tongue, eyeing the player with contempt. You felt pathetic for being curious, for still feeling so attached to old news. It wasn’t as if it was going to change anything, so why?

Why did you still want to know?

Curiosity killed the cat. You wondered if knowing would somehow kill you.

No one was at home currently, so you sat in the living room on your couch. The items you were trying so hard to ignore were sitting on the small table in front of the couch, as if waiting for you to pick them up once again.

You wondered if you should tell Lia and ask her opinion about the situation. She may not be that helpful, but hell, she could help you burn the tapes if worse came to worse.

Sometimes you wished you had never met Chenle, that your history with him could be erased from your memories. You wished it never existed because fuck, it still hurt.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and pressed play.

tape iv] firsts with you

Do you remember our first kiss?

We were eighteen, in my room, playing Jenga. That was a year ago, oh god, I can’t even imagine, how has it been a year? You were wearing one of my shirts and jeans, your hair was in a ponytail. The two of us were sitting on the carpet on my floor.

You had successfully gotten one of the wooden pieces out of a risky area of the tower, but then it was my turn, it feel to the ground, destroyed.

I blamed you, and you laughed, and our banter continued. We argued and at one point I started tickling you to get you to shut up, because honestly-Jesus Christ Y/n you’re fucking stubborn.

Anyways I ended up on top of you and the two of us were laughing. You looked so pretty, hair messily scattered around your face as you attempted to get out of my hold.

I leaned down and kissed you.

Your throat closed up as he spoke. Your eyes stung and you raked your hand through your hair, biting down on your lower lip. The way he was speaking about it, as if he would do anything to go back, it struck something in you.

Because if you had the chance, you would go back as well.

You tasted like that strawberry chapstick you liked to wear. I could tell you were surprised, because you didn’t kiss me back for a good two seconds —which, by the way sent me into a panic for a moment there.

But then you kissed me, and fuck, it was like everything had stopped. I couldn’t think for a second, it was like the world had started spinning around me, and the only thing that was keeping me grounded, was you.

Was it supposed to hurt like this?

You sucked in a sharp breath, fingers fisted the material of your shirt as you tried keeping your composure. You didn’t want to cry, but he was making it so, so hard for you.

You remembered how it felt when he kissed you, you were legitimately so confused, was he really kissing you? Your best friend, the boy you had loved quietly for so long, kissing you?

Chenle was your first kiss, and it was the most perfect first kiss you could have ever asked for, even if you were on the floor, with random Jenga blocks scattered around the two of you.

The smile you gave me after I pulled away, I wish I could remember it forever. It was goofy as you burst into giggles, and asked me, “What was that for?”

I blinked in surprise, wondering how you seemed so normal, when for me everything had changed. I had kissed my best friend, the one girl I care the most about.

I must have looked like a tomato oh god.

Instead of waiting for my to answer, you sat up, pulling me into another kiss. This time it was me who was unprepared. The kiss was messy, it had no structure or plan, but I realized in that moment, that I really liked kissing you, and I wanted to do it more often.

You became my girlfriend.

The wistful tone he was using was starting to affect you. You had loved Chenle, almost too much. You could almost feel that nostalgic happiness you felt that day when he kissed you for the first time, the disbelief and joy that wrapped around the two of you.

A wave of sadness followed that nostalgia.

Our first date was so fucking awkward. We were at that little cafe you loved, you ordered a cheesecake and I got a smoothie, and then we sat in silence for a good five minutes.

It really shouldn’t have been that painful, considering we knew everything about each other already, then again that might be why it was awkward, I had nothing to ask you about.

So naturally I brought up school and that started it, the two of us complaining about the amount of assignments we had, and Mrs. Choi’s annoying squeaky voice- I swear to god that woman took a second for each word.

But I digress.

Slowly our conversation felt normal again, it was just us, eating cheesecake and drinking smoothies, together.

That wave of sadness crashed down upon you like a tsunami, trying to snuff you out. It felt like you couldn’t breathe, you were struggling to keep yourself together. You were struggling to stay afloat, you had lost any leverage you had that was holding you up.

You couldn’t fight the waves.

My flight is in two hours. It’s four in the morning and we’re about to walk through the door and get to the airport, but I wanted to talk to you once again, even if we’re not really talking.

I’m pathetic.

You’re sleeping, in your bed at your home, you don’t know I’m going because I’m the coward that refused to tell you the truth. I’ll be gone by the time you wake up and then you’ll know.

You’ll know how much of a waste of time I was.

And then you were angry.

You were angry because he had no right to just come back into your life like this, no fucking right to make you cry. He wasn’t even here, but somehow he had managed to make you fall apart just with his words, with his voice.

He had no right to tear your world apart, the little composure you had standing. You had finally accepted the fact that he was gone, you had moved on, and even tried to forget.

But here he was, making sure you could never forget.

You hated how selfish he was, how absolutely fucking oblivious. He had no clue, not even one as to how you felt when he just disappeared from your life, as if he never existed. He had broken you and here he was, breaking you again.

With trembling hands, you stopped the tape from playing any further, angry tears making their way down your face as you flung the player across the room. You had no intention of listening any further, you didn’t want to, you didn’t care.

Closure hurt more than him leaving.

You buried your head in your hands, letting yourself fall apart, but just this once.

tape iv] continued [unheard]

I’m sorry Y/n. I’m so fucking sorry.

You don’t have to believe me, because I’m leaving anyways, so I suppose that cancels out my apologies huh? I’m the worst person you ever met. I’m not stopping, I’m not going to leave you a text.

Because I don’t want to hurt you anymore.

I’ll be gone before we could ever be.

Should’ve believed in us, while we existed, cuz now the whole things fucked, and just a figment of my imagination

Time heals all hurt, and reminders bring them back, cutting through your skin like a knife, making you bleed.

A week later, you found yourself sitting in your favorite cafe, the same cafe Chenle talked about in the last tape. You ordered a cheesecake and a smoothie, inserting the fifth and final tape into the player.

The last time you did this, you were left hurt and distraught, promising yourself you would never go back to listen to him again. You had put the shoebox in your closet, hiding it behind your clothes that hung from the rack.

Yet here you were.

You didn’t bother finishing the fourth tape, you didn’t see the need to.

This tape, you observed, was newer looking, with less scratches on the plastic, even the marker on the side looked more recent, a little rushed if you went into detail.

The cheesecake and drink arrived, and you took a bite, pressing play.

tape v] play

Hey.

He sounded a little different too, older perhaps. His voice was smoother, but he sounded unsure of himself. It sounded as if he was trying to figure out how to approach the topic. He was being cautious.

It’s been a while. I...I don’t know why I’m doing this. There’s no point- you’re not even here. I found these stupid tapes yesterday in my dorm when I was cleaning out and gave them a listen.

Silence.

I envy you, Y/n. I wish I was like you, happy wherever I was. But I’m not, and I probably caused you great unhappiness while trying to search for my own- but I was happy with you, so happy it was ridiculous.

I sabotaged that.

You sighed, realizing you felt nothing. You were tired of crying over Chenle, you were done doing that. Instead you felt empty, like you had been tired out, like it didn’t matter anymore. At this point you were to get it over with, to finish it off on clean ending note.

My song comes out next week, and it’ll be done. I’ve made it Y/n, I’ve gotten to where I wanted to be, the place I had worked so hard to get to. I’ve sacrificed so much for this and it’s all been worth it- except one thing.

I don’t expect you to listen to my song, I just wanted to tell you. I..I hope you’re proud of me. Even if I was a jerk, I hope you can be proud, at least a little bit, because then I’ll have finally made it.

I miss you.

The same words are at the tip of your tongue, I miss you, I miss you so fucking much, but they never came out. They didn’t have to, it would be useless. He would never hear them.

Instead, you swallowed them back down.

And even though I made fun of you for staying home, I hope you’re happy like I am, I hope we’ll meet again one day. If we do I challenge you to a game of Jenga, loser buys the winner ice cream.

I-fuck this is the hardest part- but I hope you’ve moved on. One of us has to.

*click*

You don’t take the tape out of the player, you don’t touch it at all. You feel oddly calm as you take another bite of your cheesecake, savoring the strawberry reserve that it came with it. You could almost imagine yourself at eighteen again sitting opposite your new boyfriend.

You missed it, the memories that came along with it. That was it, you missed the feelings you had.

But you were okay. You would be okay right where you were, because that’s where you belonged. It hurt, yeah, but it had hurt back then as well. Now it was just a dull ache, all that was left was regret.

Regret that it didn’t work out, regret over unspoken words and unnecessary pain.

A familiar song filled the cafe as you smiled somewhat sadly, leaning back in your seat and closing your eyes.

“I’m proud of you Chenle”, you whispered, “Because you did what I couldn’t”

You left the cafe a little later, with the cassettes in your bag, an empty plate and the smoothie sitting on the table, untouched. After all, that smoothie wasn’t for you.

There was nothing to wait for anymore. You had loved and you had lost, Chenle was a stranger with your secrets and a familiar voice and that was it.

You had forgiven him a long time ago, even without him being deserving of it. Now with all the loose ends being tied up, it felt like you could finally let go of him, you could finally move on.

And forget.

368 notes · View notes

jaehyunhour · 4 years

Text

teenage dream | mark lee

genre + idol → fluff, smut, tiniest bit of angst if you squint, high school au, virgin!mark (x virgin fem!reader) [they’re both 18]

word count → 4.7k

warnings → alcohol consumption, unprotected sex (always wear a condom pls guys), tiniest bit of cursing

summary → mark lee moves to your hometown halfway through your sophomore year of high school, and once he arrives you quickly fall in love with both him and the town you grew to hate. after you graduate, mark has a surprise for you that may or may not include going across state lines, losing your virginity, and asking for your hand in marriage.

“Mark, you can’t leave me. You’re my soulmate.”

“If I could marry you tonight, I would.”

“You know... it’s only about a 5 hour drive to Vegas from here.”

a/n → i’ve been writing this fic for well over a month and it’s finally done!! this fic is purely self-indulgent because 1) i’m in love with mark lee and 2) i think of him every time i listen to teenage dream by katy perry... as always please let me know what you guys think of this one! i think this is one of my favorite fics i’ve written

Before you met Mark, life was bleak. That was the only way to describe it. Your life was monotone, shades of light blue and gray; your daily routine was the same, you walked through life as a zombie and hated everything about your hometown. But when Mark showed up halfway through your sophomore year of high school, when his family moved from Canada, everything changed. You got to show him the ins and outs of the city, turn him into a real native, and fall in love — both with your hometown, and with him.

You can still recall the first time you got to show Mark what it’s like to be a local. You went downtown, taking the light rail and getting off at each stop, enjoying what the city has to offer, before getting back on and staring out the window at the scenery. Mark’s hand rested in-between both of your thighs in an attempt to warm himself, while the other pressed onto the glass window of the light rail and tapped lightly. You pointed out the window at different buildings, telling Mark the story of your life in this little town, and he sat quietly and listened. His gaze lingered on the moving buildings as you spoke, and he immediately felt his entire body warm. This is when Mark knew you were special.

Your high school graduation was bittersweet. You were choosing to go to a college only thirty minutes away from your home because of your family, and Mark was on the waitlist for his dream college in Korea. After all the names were called, and all the caps thrown in the air, Mark wove his way through all of the graduates and straight to you. He picked you up in his arms, spun you around quickly, and set you down.

“We did it,” he said, eyes wide and smile bright. He placed his hands on your face and squished your cheeks before pulling you into another hug. “I have something to tell you.”

“I can’t believe we graduated. Tell me,” you responded.

“I got off the waitlist.”

You let out a scream, pulling back from Mark and hitting him on the chest. “Oh my god, Mark! Holy shit, that’s incredible. So you’re going to Korea? W-when do you leave?” Your stomach drops at the realization that Mark will be going to an entirely different country soon, meanwhile you have to stay in a town that you love only because he’s in it. It’s not the same without him.

“I don’t leave until the beginning of September.”

“So you’ll get to move me into my dorm before you leave?”

“You think I would leave without seeing where you’re going to be living? I need to make sure that you’re being well taken care of in my absence. You know I’m kidnapping you and taking you with me to Korea if I don’t like the dorm, right?”

“I expect absolutely nothing less,” you said, both you and Mark’s families rushing up to you on the football field to congratulate you. Your families forced you to pose for photos, talked amongst themselves about your college plans, and made plans to throw you two a joint graduation party.

Two weeks after graduation, you’re laying down on the trampoline in your backyard as the sun is setting. It’s a Thursday night, your parents are out of town for the weekend and have left you home alone. You could throw a huge party, celebrate the end of senior year, but instead you choose to enjoy the alone time in your childhood home before you move out. You stare at the moving clouds, your chest sitting on your phone as you talk to Mark who’s currently driving.

“You know, I’m kinda mad that your parents still won’t let you come spend the night at my house. We’re 18! We’re adults,” you say.

Mark lets out a laugh. “My parents are scared that if they let me spend the night at your house that I’ll do drugs, join a gang, and get you pregnant all in one night.”

“Do I really give that vibe off? I thought your parents liked me! We’ve been inseparable for well over 2 years now.”

“They love you, you know that. You’re home, right?”

“Yuuuup,” you say, standing up quickly and jumping a few times on the trampoline. He can hear the creaking of the trampoline and whines.

“No fairrrrr, you’re jumping without me!” Mark says. You hear Mark close the door to his car and lock it. Before you can ask him where he’s headed, he walks through the front door of your house, through the living room, and out into the backyard. Mark hangs up the call, before jumping onto the trampoline with you.

You get back down onto your back on the trampoline, grabbing at Mark’s leg and trying to pull him down with you. He lays next to you, rolling over so half of his body is on top of yours. He nuzzles his head into your chest and lets out a content sigh.

“You should really keep the doors locked when you’re home alone. What are your plans for tonight?” He asks.

“Mmm, probably watch a movie and eat something. I might raid my mom’s wine cabinet and finish a whole bottle by myself.”

“Woooow, look at you breaking the rules. Who are you and what have you done to my best friend?”

“I’m just trying to enjoy myself before college!”

“Look at what I got today,” Mark says, flopping onto his back and pulling an ID out of his pocket. He hands it to you and you inspect it carefully.

“This is a Korean ID,” you start. “Aaaand, it doesn’t even have your name.”

“Yeah! It’s a fake ID. Says I’m 21.”

“Why’d you pick Kim Soohyun for your name? And why do you need a fake ID? You’re legal in Korea, you can drink.”

“My mom says Kim Soohyun is my long lost brother, I thought it would be funny. I got it for tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“Yep,” Mark says, plucking the ID out of your hands and shoving it back into his pocket. “Go pack a bag, we’re going on a road trip.”

“Where to?”

“It’s a secret, but it’s somewhere you’ve always wanted to go.” Mark lays on his side, and you can feel him staring at you. You turn onto your side to look at him. “Can you close your eyes for a second?”

You nod and close your eyes. Your heart begins beating faster and your breathing is labored. Before you can ask Mark what game he’s playing at, you feel Mark’s lips on yours. You gasp, returning his kiss, and he slips his tongue into your mouth. It’s not your first time kissing someone like this, but it’s definitely his and you can tell. His tongue peruses the inside of your mouth, and his lips are pressed firmly against yours. You try to push your tongue into his mouth in an attempt to control the kiss, but to no avail. Mark pulls back to catch his breath, and his eyes meet yours.

“You’re bad at that,” you whisper, letting out a giggle.

“Yeah, I thought I might be,” Mark says with a sigh.

“You’ll get better at it. W-we can practice,” you say, pecking his lips. “I’ll go pack a bag.”

Thirty minutes later, you’re sitting in the passenger’s seat of Mark’s car, watching him as he drives. His hands rest perfectly at 10 and 2, his lips pouting, and he watches the road ahead intensely.

“You should probably sleep, it’s going to be a while before we get there.”

“How long?” you ask. You recline the seat and lay back, extending your hand out to rest on Mark’s thigh. “Hold my hand.”

One of his hands leaves the steering wheel and he intertwines your fingers with his. “About 16 hours? Just sleep, I’ll wake you up in like 8 hours so you can switch with me.” You nod, closing your eyes and willing yourself to go to sleep.

You’re not sure how long you sleep, but when you wake up, Mark’s hand is still holding yours. The sun is shining through the windshield and you look over at Mark, who is also sleeping. You’re parked next to a gas station in what feels like the middle of nowhere. You check your phone: 8:35 a.m.

“Oh, fuck,” you groan, causing Mark to stir. You tear your hand away from his, shifting the seat up and pushing Mark to wake up. “Mark, get up.”

He groans too before sitting back up. “I just fell asleep.”

“Why did you let me sleep for so long? You drove for 12 straight hours! I’m going to go inside the gas station and buy some coffee, then I’ll drive the rest of the way. You can sleep until we get to wherever the hell you’re taking me.”

Mark tries to sleep for the remaining four hours of your drive, but he’s too excited to be able to sleep. Instead, he watches you drive and smiles proudly. Mark has always thought you are so beautiful, even in your current state — no makeup, hair messy from sleeping in the car, and bags underneath your eyes. He leans over and presses a rough kiss to your cheek before laying back down.

“What’s gotten into you?”

“What do you mean?”

“This isn’t like you. Yesterday before we left you practically shoved your tongue down my throat, and now you’re forcing me on a road trip. You’re not normally like this.”

“I just… I realized that I wasted so much time not doing the things I want to do with you, and I would’ve hated myself forever if I didn’t do it before I left to Korea.”

“You would’ve hated yourself forever if you didn’t make out with your best friend and force her to drive around before leaving to Korea?” You pause. “Where are we going?”

“Something like that. Uh… well, we’re in California,” Mark says, causing you to swerve.

“You brought me across state lines?! Maaaark, your parents are going to kill you!”

“They think I’m with Johnny-hyung for the weekend. Don’t worry, he’ll cover for me. I think we’re only like half an hour away from LA.”

“You’re insane, Mark. So so insane.”

“So this is Santa Monica, huh?” Mark says, looking out at the crashing waves in front of him and inhaling deeply, letting his lungs fill with the cool ocean air, sand getting stuck between his toes.

“This is so beautiful,” you whisper. “Thank you for bringing me, Mark.”

“I would do anything for you, I hope you know that,” Mark responds. He takes out a brown paper bag from his backpack, twisting off the cap of the bottle inside and taking a swig of it and gagging. You laugh, taking the bottle out of his hand and sniffing it before taking a drink yourself.

“Why would you buy vodka? You know you can’t drink alcohol very well.”

“I wanted to see if my ID would work! It was pretty easy, I just handed it to the guy and spoke in Korean and he didn’t question it.” He takes the bottle out of your hand and takes another drink, this time more prepared and able to suppress the gag that bubbles in his throat. You turn to look at Mark, and he quickly shifts his head to stare back at you. Some people say they feel their heart skip a beat when the person they love looks at them, but when Mark looks at you, your heart stops completely. Your heart stops, your breath gets caught in your chest, and you stop blinking. You have to make a conscious effort to breathe in and out, and open and close your eyelids as Mark looks at you and overtakes your thoughts.

As you’re staring at Mark, memorizing every inch of his face as the Santa Monica sun sets, you feel your cheeks begin to heat up and your face begin to numb as the vodka hits you. He reaches out to pinch your cheek, smiling wide at your flushed face, and when you feel his fingers on your skin, you just know — this is real, this is love.

“You’re so cute,” Mark says.

“Says you.” You grab the bottle from Mark’s other hand, taking another deep chug before pressing the bottle to his lips. You tilt it and he drinks from it until he can’t handle the taste anymore, pushing it away slightly and letting you drop it between your bodies.

“Y/N, I—”

“Kiss me.”

Mark doesn’t need to be told twice; instantly pressing you down into the sand, body hovering above yours and attaching his lips to yours. He lets you lead the kiss this time, opening his mouth when he feels your tongue poking at his lips and allowing you to slip your tongue into his mouth. Your tongue traces over his teeth, before meeting his tongue and playing with it. Your hands come up to hold onto his face, and he softens into your touch. Mark feels dizzy — both from the feeling of your tongue in his mouth and the vodka hitting him all at once. He pulls away, panting as he tries to catch his breath.

“I feel like I’m living a dream,” Mark says, staring at your face with something you can only describe as love in his eyes.

“I want to go swimming,” you respond, quickly sitting up without thinking and hitting your head against his. “Owie, I’m sorry, honey. Don’t know why I got up so quickly.”

Mark giggles and sits up, peeling his shirt off and dropping it on the sand. “Let’s go swimming.” He stands up, trying to kick his skinny jeans off as you stand up and start walking to the water. “Y/N! Take your jeans off at least.”

“Nuh-uh, I wanna go swimming,” you say, stumbling as you walk through the hot sand as quickly as you can and into the water. You don’t even register how cold the water is, quickly walking deep into the ocean and letting the waves go over your head. Mark rushes to catch up with you, walking into the ocean in only his underwear. He pulls you into his arms and you wrap your legs around his waist, your arms around his neck, and rest your forehead up against his.

“I miss you already, Mark.”

“I don’t even leave for another 3 months.”

“I know, but I don’t want you to go,” you say quietly. Unwillingly, tears fall down your cheeks and mix with the salt water on your face.

“I’m so glad I finally found you,” Mark responds. “My missing puzzle piece. I’m complete.” He wipes the tears and water from your face and presses a kiss to your lips.

“I can’t believe we’ve known each other for over 2 years and you waited for us to graduate before making a move on me,” you say, angrily pressing another kiss to his lips. “I’ve been in love with you since the day I took you downtown for the first time, Mark.”

“And I’ve been in love with you since the day you asked me to go downtown with you.”

“You’re so lame,” you say to Mark, just as a huge wave goes over your heads and crashes. You both burst into laughter and you untangle yourself from him, pushing the hair out of your face and trying to regain your breathe. You place your hands on Mark’s shoulders, letting them travel down his chest to the waistband of his underwear. You slip your fingers underneath, pulling the band back before letting it snap back on his skin. “Mark, have you ever… you know…”

He shakes his head no. “M-my mom told me I should s-save myself for someone special,” he says, nervously. “Have you, ever… you know…”

You shake your head no. “Let’s go all the way tonight. No regrets, just love. Just you and me.”

“Okay.”

You and Mark stumble into the Santa Monica Motel, only a 20 minute walk from the Santa Monica Pier, coming up to the front desk with your clothes still dripping and asking for whatever vacant room they have. The desk attendant rolls his eyes, handing you two a pair of room keys and sending you on your way. You walk into the room, one hand holding Mark’s hand, as the other held onto the mostly gone bottle of vodka.

As you walk into the room, Mark throws your things onto the floor and locks the door behind him. You drink half of what’s left in the bottle, giving the rest to Mark which he finishes quickly before stepping into the bathroom. As Mark is in the bathroom freshening up, you pull the sheets off the bed and throw them onto the floor. You then pull the cushions off the couch in the corner, attempting to make a fort in the tiny motel room. You set the cushions up, then use the pillows to try and complete the walls of your fort, before throwing a thin white sheet over everything and crawling underneath. Mark comes out of the bathroom and raises an eyebrow when he sees the mess you’ve created on the floor.

“Y/N?”

“Come meet me in the fort, honey.”

Mark crawls underneath the sheet carefully, trying not to destroy the fort he’s sure you worked hard on. Once he’s underneath and he sees your shirt sticking to your chest, and your skin-tight jeans seemingly sticking tighter to your skin, his heart begins to race.

“I don’t mean to sound like a broken record, but I feel like I’m living a dream,” Mark says, letting his hand rest on your stomach. You reach for his arm, pinching him slightly and he lets out a soft moan. “What was that for?”

“Just to remind you that this isn’t a dream. This is real, and I love you.”

“I love you,” Mark responds. You pull your wet shirt up and off your head, letting it fall to the floor before you unbutton your wet jeans and try to push them off.

“Mark, I need help,” you whine. He laughs before helping you pull your jeans down and setting them on the floor with your shirt. He looks at your entire body up and down, taking in the sight of your matching bra and underwear.

He groans. “Fuck, I really love you.” Mark lets his body hover over yours, quickly enveloping your lips in a quick, passionate kiss. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer to you and bucking your hips up to meet his. Mark feels himself harden in his underwear and he whines into your mouth at the feeling of you grinding up into him. Your hands grip onto his cheeks softly just as they did when you kissed on the beach, and one of his hands reaches up to pull your bra down and let your breasts free. His hands grab at your chest as if he’s done this before, fingers tugging and tweaking your nipples and you can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth and is caught by his.

You rip his hand away from your chest, bringing it down into your underwear and pressing his fingers onto your clit. His fingers reach down to your entrance, teasing it softly before collecting your slick and returning to your clit. He pushes down roughly, rubbing in circles and your hips buck up again. This is the first time anyone else has ever touched you, and you quickly feel the knot forming in your stomach.

“Mark, I’m gonna—” you say, pulling back from his lips for a second and grinding harder into his fingers in an attempt to reach your high quicker.

“Really?” Mark asks in disbelief, eyes wide as he presses his fingers harder into you and takes in the sight of your body. Your chest is going up and down quickly, hips moving and grinding into his fingers, one hand gripping onto his wrist as the other grips on his hair.

“Fuck, just a few more seconds, I swear, Mark,” you whine, and he speeds his fingers up. And surely enough, within a few seconds, you’re gripping onto his wrist tightly to stop his movements as you cum, clenching around nothing as you chant his name repeatedly. Mark lets you come down from your high on your own time, afraid of overstimulating you before he can even get inside of you. As soon as you’ve come down from your orgasm, you’re pulling Mark into another kiss and pushing his underwear down.

“Y/N, I-I should p-probably get a c-c-condom,” Mark stutters as your hand grips onto his hard dick and pumps lightly.

“Nuh-uh,” you say, letting go of him and bucking your hips, feeling the tip of his dick rub against your clit and letting out a content sigh. “I want to feel all of you.”

Mark nods, gripping onto the base of his dick and pushing himself into you slowly, letting you adjust to him. Once he’s all the way in, he lets out a shaky breath as you clench around him a few times, getting used to the feeling of being full of something more than your fingers. “You can move now, honey.” He nods again and slowly begins moving his hips, pulling all the way out before slamming back in.

Mark lowers himself more, making sure you’re chest to chest as he moves slowly inside of you. Your legs wrap around his waist again, arms around his neck, pulling him close to you as you close your eyes and focus on the feeling of Mark’s length moving in and out of you swiftly. Mark lowers his head, resting it on your shoulder and pressing a kiss as you let your mouth fall open in a moan.

“I love you,” Mark’s hips pick up speed at your confession and you let out another loud moan. “I love you, I love you, fuck, baby, I really love you.”

He balances his weight on his hands, pushing himself up to look into your eyes as he fucks into you like his life depends on it. You want to close your eyes so bad, want to focus on the feeling of Mark fucking you, but you’re mesmerized as his eyes look into yours. You’re afraid to even blink, not wanting to miss a moment of this, not wanting to miss a second of the way Mark’s eyebrows furrow as he looks into your eyes, then down at your chest, then down at where your hips meet, then back up into your eyes. He shifts his weight onto one hand, moving the other to your clit and your eyes instantly roll into the back of your head.

“Look at me, baby,” Mark says quietly, angling his hips to meet that spot inside of you, and you struggle to keep your eyes open and looking at him, but you try.

“A-are you sure you’ve n-never done this before?” You ask, clenching tightly around Mark as he fucks you and rubs your clit.

“N-never ever. Been saving myself for you.”

“You’re gonna make me cum,” you whine.

“Cum for me, baby, please.” Mark says, and you nod as he presses his fingers just a little harder, pushing you over the edge quickly. The feeling of you clenching around his length sporadically, and your fingernails digging into his back, is enough to push him over the edge, and he’s cumming in you in thick white ropes. He lets out a deep groan as he cuts inside of you, giving you everything he’s got. He falls on top of you, not even bothering to pull out, and you wrap your arms around his neck and hold him close. You wipe the sweat off from his forehead and let out a laugh that he returns.

“I can’t believe we just did that,” you say.

“Are you on birth control?” Mark asks.

You flick his forehead and giggle. “Yes, I’m on birth control. I have been for like a year.”

“Oh thank God,” he lets out a sigh of relief.

You bask in the silence of the motel room for a second, realizing you’re still on the carpeted floor in the fort you’ve built. “Lets get into bed.”

Mark fixes the sheets and pillows onto the bed as you use the bathroom, and when you emerge from the bathroom naked and crawl into bed next to him, he feels his chest swell with love for you. As soon as you’re in bed with him, you snuggle into his body, resting your head on his chest and closing your eyes, listening to the sound of his heartbeat.

“Your heart is beating really fast,” you whisper.

“Because of you,” he responds. He pushes you off him slightly, pushing you onto your back and resting his head on your chest. “I wanna be held.”

“You’re such a baby.” You play with Mark’s hair, enjoying the silence before it hits you that Mark is going to leave you. You’ve finally gotten the boy you love, given everything to him, and within a few months he’s going to leave you and start a new life while you’re stuck in your tiny town. Your chest begins to warm in anxiety at the thought of having to be away from him, and tears well in your eyes. “Mark, you can’t leave me. You’re my soulmate.”

“Come with me, then.”

“Ha-ha. Very funny.” The tears drip down your face slowly and Mark can tell you’re crying by the way your chest contracts underneath him.

He sits up quickly and looks down at you, eyes flickering to your bare chest for a split second before looking back up into your eyes. He wipes the tears from your face. “Y/N, I’m serious. Just take a year off and come with me to Korea, and then you can start school there. I’ll take care of you, I promise.” He leans down and presses a kiss between your breasts before coming back up. “I can’t live my life without you. Please come with me.”

“Mark, my parents would kill me. Moving to a new country for a boy I’m not even married to? You’re insane.”

“If I could marry you tonight, I would.” Mark thinks for a second and grabs his phone from the table next to the bed, unlocking it and shielding it from your view as he looks something up.

“What time is it?”

“It’s midnight,” he responds.

“You know… it’s only about a 5 hour drive to Vegas from here.”

“And?”

“If we start driving now, we can make it by the time the sun rises.”

“Aaaaand?”

“Aaaand, wecouldbeimpulsiveandgogetmarriedmaybeifyoureallymeantit,” you say quietly.

Mark lets out a hearty laugh before rolling over onto you and pressing a flurry of kisses all over your face, before pulling you into a long kiss.

“What was all that for?” you ask.

He unlocks his phone and hands it over to you, showing that he was looking up 24 hour pawn shops nearby.

“I had the same thought. I thought maybe we go out and get some food, hit one of these pawn shops and get some rings, then drive over to Vegas.”

You let out a laugh and peck his lips. “Let’s go then, baby.”

“I can’t wait to see the look on your parents’ face when you tell them I convinced you to drive across state lines, get married to me, and drop out of state university to move to another country with me.”

“They’ll just have to deal,” you say, getting up out of bed and cringing as you put your wet clothes back on. “I have dry clothes in the car. It’s still parked by the beach, isn’t it?” Mark nods in response, slipping his wet clothes back on and leaving the room keys with the front desk attendant. Your hand slips into his as you walk in the dark streets of the city, walking towards the beach where Mark’s car is parked. “Can we stop in San Francisco on our way back home? I want to see the Golden Gate Bridge.”

“We can do whatever you want, baby.”

“I love you. You know that, right?”

“I know. I love you, too. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you sigh contently. “I can’t wait to spend my life with you.”

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woodrokiro · 3 years

Text

Bar Service (fic)

Fandom: Bleach

Characters/Pairing: IchiRuki

Summary: Bartenders--especially bartenders around the corner from her apartment--are strictly off limits. Restaurant AU. Written for @ichirukimonth . TW warning for mentioned child abuse.

She doesn’t think much of the restaurant a few blocks away from her new apartment.

She always passes it to and from her work commute, of course. Maybe from time to time she glanced over, musing how it looks cute enough--a great place to take a date or some friends....

Before Rukia remembers: 1. She doesn’t have the time or capacity to date, and 2. She has no friends here yet… And probably won’t for a while, considering her lifelong difficulty making them in the first place.

It’s fine by her, honestly. She likes throwing everything she has into her job, loves doing her best to earn a smile or laugh from her patients. That’s enough social interaction for her, and at the end of the day she can go home, pour a glass of wine, switch the television on to some silly drama and order takeout without mourning the “loss” of a Friday night.

So for the first few months that she’s living in Karakura: no. She doesn’t even think about stepping foot in Amore e Morte.

Until she gets a particularly bad case at work.

The fact that it was a foster child case alone makes her heart hurt--but of course, there’s always more with these sort of situations.

A little girl named Hina, aged eight but looking so much smaller waiting there in her office. The social worker sitting with her--a woman named Rangiku, who Rukia knows a little and actually quite likes--squeezes Hina’s tiny hand before pulling Rukia to the side, quietly explaining the situation.

Physical abuse from her former home where she had been for a year. Her teacher kept noticing bruises in odd places and finally called CPS, who did nothing for two months before the behavior escalated and Hina ended up in the ER.

Her new foster mom is a real nice lady, says she hasn’t been acting out or anything but… Rangiku shrugs, flashing a reassuring smile when the little girl looks their way. You know.

She knows.

So Rukia does what she does best: she goes to the little girl, introduces herself by her first name, and focuses on her work until she can sob angrily in her car at lunch break.

And when her workday is done, when her emotions are fried and she’d really like a drink or three anywhere but her lonely apartment--she sees the restaurant’s sign, glowing warmly in the dusk light.

Amore e Morte. Love and death. A weird name for a restaurant, she thinks, and wonders if the owners either don’t know Italian and thought the name was cool or are just uppity snobs.

If you’d stop being so cynical you might go out and actually enjoy life. She can practically hear Renji’s voice scoffing in her ear now.

She parks her car at home before walking back over to the restaurant.

The outside of the restaurant is nice enough, but the inside is… Well. Lovely.

Brick walls painted white make the entire place look minimalist yet cozy. A couple of trendy paintings hanging sparsely through the restaurant makes the environment chic, but not overbearing. A few hanging lanterns bring just enough light to let everyone see where they’re going, but otherwise candles are utilized at each of the tables for a romantic touch.

Rukia sees by the sheer number of couples there that it is indeed a good place to bring a date.

And by the looks of one dish smelling deliciously of chicken and bell peppers that passes her by in a waiter’s hand, the food isn’t too bad either. Rukia’s mouth waters.

“A table for one, miss?”

Rukia startles from her musings, feeling rather silly as the bright and cheery hostess smiles patiently back.

“Oh! No, I don’t think that’s necessary. I wouldn’t want to take up one of your tables. Do you have bar seating?”

“Of course! Right this way.”

The hostess leads her into an adjacent room that sits tucked away from the main dining room. There’s still a couple of tables in this room, and two of the eight bar stools are occupied but it’s so much quieter here, the noise of the dining room a mere buzz. She breathes a small sigh of relief as she takes the stool at the far end. She wanted to be out and about, just… Not that out and about.

“Our bartender Kurosaki-kun will be taking care of you. I believe he’s just in the back talking to Chef, he should be right back.”

Rukia thanks her, taking a glance at the menu.

She quickly finds out Chef Yasutora Sado’s menu inspiration is Mexican-Japanese fusion cuisine, which is… Interesting, considering the restaurant’s name is Italian. In any case, she’s fascinated. Rukia by no account considers herself a foodie, but the thought of blending traditional Japanese dishes with Mexican spices and turning them into something like sukiyaki tacos makes her stomach growl.

“Can I get you something other than water to drink?”

Her gaze flickers from the menu to the well-toned arm extended out toward her, pouring a glass of water. Her eyes move up the arm to the man it’s attached to.

A handsome guy, she’ll admit: if it wasn’t for the obviously bleached orange hair, the sword tattoo on his forearm peeking out from under his rolled sleeve, and the fact that he looked like he wanted to be literally anywhere else.

If she had to pick him out from a crowd, there’s no doubt she’d know him as a bartender. What a walking cliche.

“Yes, I’ll take--” She didn’t even take a glance at the drink menu. She looks down quickly. “Sorry. Can I get a matcha mojito?”

He nods, his hands suddenly flying through liquors and shakers and mixes to make her drink. “You ready for food, too?”

“Any recommendations?”

“Everything.”

She snorts. She’d be irritated by the subpar service if it wasn’t for his small smirk at her response.

“Seriously, everything’s good here. If you get something you don’t like, drinks are on me.”

“Risky.” Rukia lifted an eyebrow. “You place that bet with every customer?”

“Every single one.”

She highly doubts that, but she appreciates the trust in his workplace nonetheless. She orders a couple of small plates, and he tends to his other drink orders while she sips her own.

The food, when it comes out, is… Infuriatingly good. Infuriating because she would have loved to have scored a couple free drinks off the arrogant punk bartender, but she’ll have to swallow her pride because the sukiyaki taco is absolute divinity. She sips her second drink, already accepting that she’s gonna have to admit to him she’ll be paying full price for everything she ordered.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t look like she’ll have a chance to gloat. From what she hears next door, dinner service has picked up and with that: drink orders. He’s doing as well as he can--hands expertly flying through the liquors, garnishing the cocktails with an expert flourish before passing them on to a server--but she can tell he’s feeling the stress, particularly when he reads his second to last ticket in the rush.

“Fuck,” she hears as he rolls his eyes, stalking over to the wine cabinet. A server comes by, concerned.

“You need anything, Ichigo?”

He waves a hand, not turning to look at his coworker. “No, no I’m fine. Just annoying when I don't open a bottle before rush, that’s all.”

The server scuttles off to tend to her tables while Rukia watches him bang a (very expensive looking) wine bottle on the counter, clumsily ripping into the foil with an opener. At one point he cuts his thumb, and he half-hazardly wraps a paper napkin around it while he tries helplessly to pull the cork up. The wine opener doesn’t grip the bottle steadily a couple of times, she waits on baited breath to see if he’ll break the bottle. After a few dangerous-looking test runs, he manages to hoist the cork up, cursing out a “fucking finally” at the sound of the cork popping.

The whole thing must have taken ten minutes.

Maybe it’s the matcha mojitos finally hitting her, but she can’t help it. She laughs.

He shoots her a wild look and she covers her chuckles with the back of her hand.

“Sorry, sorry! I’m not--it’s not funny. I just… That was the most atrocious opening of a wine bottle I’ve ever seen.”

Ichigo stares for a moment before scoffing, turning back to his (finally opened) bottle and pours the wine into a glass. “Yeah, well… I don’t do wine service here, lady.”

“Excuse me? That’s ridiculous. You’re a bartender.”

“Exactly. Bartender. I do cocktails, not fancy wine stuff.”

“Let me guess, you consider yourself a mixologist.”

“Don’t ever call me that. Ever.” He’s shaking his head as he moves on to his next order, but oddly enough Rukia feels like she knows he’s suddenly having a good time. “Like I said, I don’t do wine etiquette and all that. That’s for the servers.”

“I’m just… It’s hard to believe you’ve made it this far in a nicer restaurant’s bar without knowing how to open wine.”

“Not that far. I’ve been here for like, six months.” He shrugs at her inquisitive stare. “Old buddies with the chef. I bar backed in college where he was a line cook, so… And if he ever got sick of me, my sister is his sous chef. Then again, she’s more likely to fire me than he is, the brat.”

“Especially with you not knowing how to open a fine vintage.”

“Get over it. When it’s not busy I get one of the servers to help me.” He looks down, having seemingly forgotten about his paper toweled thumb. “Shit. Hang on, I gotta get a bandaid from the back--”

“I have some, if you want.” Rukia starts digging through her purse. “If there’s not some restaurant code for the kind of bandage you’re supposed to use, of course.”

“If it looks neater than a shoddy paper towel job, ‘should be fine. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome. Here.”

He stares at her outstretched hand. She stares back, getting more irritated as she waits.

“What?”

“... It’s a Chappy bandaid.”

“So?”

“So why are you a grown ass woman carrying around Chappy bandaids?”

“They’re for my patients, for kids.” She’s telling the truth, technically. To say she also quite enjoys Chappy as a character does not need to be mentioned. “Do you want it or not? Swallow your manly pride or go looking for an ugly beige bandage while your tickets pile up again. Tick tock.”

“Fine! All right, already.” He takes the bandaid and starts unpeeling the paper adhesive. “You a pediatrician or something?”

“Child psychologist.” Suddenly Rukia remembers Hina’s sweet face and feels terrible for not thinking about her once this entire dinner.

“Jesus.” Ichigo’s shaking his head, pressing Chappy to his cut.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the guilt, maybe it’s the fact that it’s such a weird response to her revealing her profession, but Rukia can’t help it. She narrows her eyes and crosses her arms.

If he’s uncomfortable with her sudden hostility, he doesn’t show it. He shrugs. “It’s just… I can imagine it’s a hard job. Sometimes, anyway.”

Oh.

“Oh,” she exhales. “I’m sorry, I--yes. It can be, yes.I just… That sort of response I’ve only ever gotten from people that don’t believe in the importance of mental health. ‘Shrink talk’ and what have you.”

“Nah, I believe it.” He’s finished his job of covering his wound and moved on to his next drink order.

She’s abashedly stirring the ice in her glass when she barely hears him say: “I had to go to a children’s therapist once, as a kid. Helped me a lot.”

She raises her head to look at him. He hasn’t changed his facial expression, nor is there any change to his body language as he continues to do his job--but as a psychologist, Rukia can’t help but wonder whether she’s the first person he’s ever told this to.

“Me too. When I was a child, I… A therapist had helped me, too.” She raises her glass and clears her throat. “To recognizing childhood trauma, I suppose.”

He lets out a short laugh at the sudden dark joke, a sound so quick and so… So nice she can’t stop the fleeting thought that it’s a sound she’d like to hear more of. She shoves it away.

Bartenders are absolutely off limits.

He raises the glass that he’s mixing a cocktail in. “Yeah. Cheers.”

Later when she finally picks up the check, she pauses.

“Excuse me.” She waves Ichigo down, maybe just a tad tipsy. “You got the check wrong.”

He frowns, taking the bill from her and scanning it. “What are you…”

“You forgot to put a drink on there. My third one.”

It clicks and he rolls his eyes. “Oh my god.”

“What? I’m being honest.”

“It’s on me.” He slides the receipt back to her.

“But I didn’t dislike any of the dishes!”

“Take some advice, will you Doc? If the restaurant staff didn’t put something on your bill and you still got it, chances are: we wanted to give it to you.” They lock eyes for an intense moment before he clears his throat, looks down to wipe his (suspiciously clean) bar. “‘To childhood trauma,’ and all that. Now stop yapping so loud about it. You want everyone in the restaurant to hear about me giving out free stuff?”

She shuts her mouth at that, but one small detail about what he said is bothering her.

“It’s not ‘Doc,’ so you know. I have a name. It’s Rukia. Rukia Kuchiki.”

“Okay. Whatever, Rukia.” He turns around and waves his hand. “And I’m Ichigo. Just pay your damn bill and come back soon or whatever.”

And with that: she guesses she has a new spot.

#bleach #ichiruki #irmonth2021 #ichigo kurosaki #rukia kuchiki #my stuff #may or may not be multi chapter if I'm being reeeal #but this was fun so maybe

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giorno-plays-piano · 3 years

Text

Money, Money, Money Part 1

Pairing: mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader, slight Peter Parker x Reader

Warnings: lots of swearing, silly drunk mobs, mentions of alcoholism, parody, Peter is adult, is this a crack fic??

Words: 2578.

Summary: When Steve finds out somebody has stolen their money, Bucky realizes he has to take his ass off the leather couch in his office, finally.

P.S. This is my first attempt to write humor and I’m sorry in advance for everything I’ve written here 😅

_________________

“BITCH, DID I STUTTER WHEN I SAID TO KEEP THAT SAFE CLOSED AT ALL TIMES?”

Allyson massaged her temples softly and let out a groan: if Mr. Rogers continued to yell like that, he would definitely choke soon. This morning he had been pretending to be the death, vengeance and fury, ready to kick the ass of her immediate superior, James Barnes, who acted like he was deaf, unable to pull himself from the couch where he slept after getting drunk as a fish last night. Oh, poor Bucky. Apparently, he fucked things up again if Mr. Rogers stormed into his office like he was getting chased by a 200-pound dog.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, you son of a...” glancing at a pouting man-child with a three-day beard, Steve covered his face with his palm and let out an exasperated sigh, “... respectable woman who would die of shame if she saw you now!”

“Come on, Stevie,” the man yawned, finally moving his huge, muscular body up to sit instead of just laying on the couch since he felt a little guilty Steve was getting all riled up while he just chilled, “why so serious? Yeah, somebody took a bit of cash from the safe, it’s not a big deal.”

Allyson heard everything as if they were speaking right in front of her - Bucky was a real Mr. Cheapo who didn’t want to rent an office with decent walls - and quickly closed her ears, wishing she had taken her earplugs today. Her boss just made a grave mistake, and now both of them were going to pay for it with their eardrums.

“NOT A BIG DEAL? NOT A BIG DEAL, YOU MASSIVE BAG OF DOUCHE?! DO YOU KNOW HOW MUCH MONEY WAS THERE, HUH?! DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHAT THOSE MONEY WERE FOR?!”

Seriously, she considered getting a new job, but these free daily standup shows were both tiring and so fucking funny she was afraid she might wet her seat.

“Oh my fucking God, Bucky, I swear I’ll kill you, I’ll... no, I have a better idea!” Steve gave his best friend a dirty look. “I’ll call your uncle. Yeah, you know which one. He’ll be sooo happy to take you drunk ass to jail and then give your mama a call. I bet she has a cure for both your attitude and alcoholism.”

“You wouldn’t do that!”

Suddenly realizing the danger he was in, Bucky quickly got up, almost falling to the floor but holding on the leather chair in the very last second. When Steve talked about calling his uncle, a chief of police of the neighboring town where his whole family lived, it meant things were going bad. Real bad.

“Bucky, it was the part we were going to invest into Pierce’s casino. I have to take it to him tomorrow morning. TOMORROW FUCKING MORNING, DO YOU HEAR ME, YOU STINKING DRUNK?”

“I’m drunk but not deaf, Steve!”

“Oh my God, I’m driving you to a rehab, go gather your stuff right now!”

Allyson sighed, getting up and proceeding to choose the most beautiful cup to fill it with fresh coffee: when their conflicts escalated to threats, it meant her boss would soon start to sweet-talk, apologizing to his best friend and promising to sober up and get things right. Every time she felt like Mr. Rogers would really do something to Bucky, the guy used his natural charisma and charm and got away with anything by just reminding Steve how he fought for his best friend in the dark alleys when Rogers was a sick, skinny kid. It worked every damn time.

There they were again, talking about same things with Bucky swearing on his mother’s life that he will find the money and bring it back to Steve. Usually it meant the threats were coming to an end, and soon Mr. Rogers would open the door and come out red as a lobster, breathing heavily as if he just ran a marathon. There he would see her with a cup of nice coffee with cream and two spoons of sugar just like he preferred, gladly accepting it and saying nobody understand him but her. Then Allyson would smile compassionately, listen to his small talk before he went out the office, and wait until her grumpy boss would fall out the room, reeking alcohol, and ask her what the fuck had happened yesterday.

After that in a couple of minutes things would finally settle down, and Allyson would have a chance to give a call to her best friend.

_______________________________

Your day couldn’t start better: you had finally received your Amazon order - hooray to the stupid makeup tools you would use, like, once a year - and even watched your favorite Netflix series with a cup of a fragrant coffee with marshmallows because it was Sunday and you were finally free from both work and cleaning the apartment. It felt so nice to just do absolutely nothing, laying on your couch with a piece of pizza in your hand. Seriously, even a workaholic like you had to do it more often.

Your lazy morning was interrupted by Peter, a sweet college student who was getting into troubles more often than a drunk in a local bar: you seriously considered calling him Harry Potter after you found him half-naked with a scratch on his forehead standing in the corridor of your building and holding a broom. To protect himself from bullies, he said, by the look on his face you could tell it was as good as a magic wand against 6"4 ft tall guys, seriously.

Since he rented an apartment with other unlucky nerds who had zero skills how to survive in this cruel world, you ended up nearly baby-sitting Peter, patching him up after he was getting in a fight and lending him some money time after time when he struggled to pay rent or buy food. His parents were elderly people with income below average, but they still did whatever they could to give him an education, so you decided to give the guy a hand.

Now that baby was standing in front of you, lit up like a Christmas tree, with a bouquet of wonderful pink roses, big box of hand-crafted chocolates and a whole bag of what looked like some very fine food, even a bottle of champagne clinking inside.

"Good morning, Fairy Godmother! I came to bring back what I owe you!" His smile was a mile wide when he looked at your face, happy to the point he couldn't stand still, dancing like those Duracell rabbits in the tv ad.

"You're up early, Cinderella."

You yawned, laughing when you saw the guy pouting at the nickname you gave him - tf he expected for calling you Fairy Godmother?

"Don't stand there, come in."

When he actually handed you the flowers and chocolates, giving you a quick peck on the cheek shyly, you froze, finally realizing he brought all this for you. Wait, what? Where the heck did he get so much money to buy that expensive stuff? You thought he was helping his other neighbor who was planning to finally propose to his girlfriend. Perplexed to the point you nearly missed that peck, you blinked at tomato red Peter.

"Please don't tell me you robbed your 90-year-old paralytic professor."

"Why don't you ask if I robbed a bank?" He pouted again, putting the bag on the floor and getting a hundred dollar banknote out of his old leather wallet. "I actually came to thank you for everything you've done for me. And I didn't rob anyone! I got a real job!"

"Real job?" You eyed him curiously. "But don't you already have a job in delivery?"

"Pfft, you can't call it a job. It was getting one nasty smelling pizza from one place to the other while looking miserable."

You barely held your laugh, leaving the bouquet and chocolates on the side table and rubbing guy's back. Poor Peter, nobody was giving him a hand - while you couldn't question people's decision since the guy wasn't the most reliable one, it was still a shame he wasn't treated decently as if all of them weren't young and careless once.

Wait, but who on Earth gave him such a well-paid job all of a sudden? He must have spent hundreds of dollars on the bouquet, chocolates, food and champagne, not even counting those 100 dollars he owed.

Oh God.

"Please don't tell me you're working for some shady business." You looked at him in horror, your hand flying to your mouth. "Peter, is it Tony's band?!"

"Jesus woman, why would I work for some stupid mob." The guy rolled his eyes, and you sighed in relief, not knowing what to except from this trouble on two skinny legs. “I’m telling you, it’s nothing bad! I just have to keep it a secret before I get a contract. Once I figure it out, I’ll explain everything, I swear!”

“Alright, alright, don’t stress over it, I’m not your Ma.” Smirking, you went to take a square glass vase you hadn’t use in ages, filling it with water to drop the bouquet inside. “Let’s celebrate it, then! Woah, careful there, give me that bottle until you drop it on my clean floor, I’ve been scrubbing it for hours yesterday!”

_______________________

Bucky still felt like Steve was making too much of a big deal out of it: obviously, it was Tony who went to him at night when Bucky was already drunk like a monkey, celebrating the birth of Clint’s daughter. Nobody else had the courage to steal from him, Steve’s right hand, an ex-soldier who had a reputation of a man killing with the first punch. Not that Bucky ever killed anybody, actually being a ex-trumpet in an army band...

Anyway, the man was heading over to Stark’s Tower, a motel where he and all his guys lived when his wife Pepper was out of town. Pepper had definitely been out of town lately since Tony didn’t call: when she was coming back, Steve and Tony were having a two-day truce with nobody getting in a fight because it was making Mrs. Stark upset, and when she was upset, both Steve and Tony didn’t risk getting out of their holes to face this enraged blonde woman who could make anyone wet themselves with one her glance. If there were anyone killing with just one punch in the town, it got to be Pepper.

As he got closer in his Cadillac that looked like it went through fire and water before being sold to Bucky, Barnes stared at the motel suspiciously: it was strangely quiet with everyone hiding inside, not a man guarding the motel’s entrance. What the hell happened? Tony loved showing off, pretending he ruled over the town, and he would definitely act like a king after stealing Steve’s and his money. It was unbelievable Bucky so nobody welcoming him with a smirk.

Hoping he didn’t use all that money for emptying a liquor store, Bucky parked the car and went to the motel, dying to have some beer: one heartless blonde boss of his emptied his fridge.

“Oh, more drinking partners returning to continue the fun, huh?”

Bucky froze immediately, staring at Pepper who stood in the doorway with a face of an iron maiden. Jesus fucking Christ. She returned to the city way before Tony told him, and it was clear she found him not in the condition she expected to. While Bucky considered whether it was better to run, Tony’s head appeared somewhere behind his wife, and Barnes saw Tony was as drunk as him, if not even more. He could see a huge blue mark from Pepper’s heavy hand on Stark’s cheek.

“Who’s that, honey?” The man asked innocently, earning an enraged glance from his wife, and Bucky thought he should have run. “Hi, Buck! Come on in, it’s ok if you didn’t bring beer even if I asked twice.”

Oh. Something was going on. Of course, Bucky could rat the man out immediately, telling Pepper he wasn’t drinking with Tony yesterday’s night, but he wasn’t such a heartless bastard - by the look on Stark’s face Barnes could see his sweet blonde wifey would beat poor Tony to death with her Dior handbag.

“Sorry, I blacked out for a couple of hours in my car.” He mumbled, bowing his head in respect. “Pepper, such a pleasure to see you.”

“Come on in, alcoholic.” Her gaze was heavy, and Bucky shivered a little, carefully leaving his shoes near the door and scurrying away to the coach where Tony sat, nervously biting his fingers. “Well, do you wanna tell me something, huh? How many hookers have you brought here yesterday?”

Glancing to Tony and back to Pepper, Barnes suddenly realized his frenemy had been so drunk he had no hecking idea whether somebody really brought hookers to the motel - it was a total taboo, but once they got drunk they could barely control themselves. Once they literally woke up to a Santa Claus singing Jingle Bells in the tub in the middle of June because Tony missed Christmas.

Of course, Stark would never slip up the night before Pepper was coming back to town, but, apparently, she didn’t stay with her mom for as long as she planned, and Tony was royally fucked.

“I’ve asked you a question.”

And now Bucky was, too, if he didn’t think of something quick. Of course, he could tell her the truth, but it meant losing Tony completely, and Barnes didn’t want that. A real mafioso should have at least one strong enemy, right?

“I’m sorry, Pepper, but I don’t think there were any hookers here last night.” He said, carefully choosing words. “You see, first, Tony never allows us to. Second, we’re good Christians. We would never invite some hookers when we celebrated the birth of Clint’s daughter!”

As he got silent, enjoying the effect his words were having on Pepper, Bucky looked at the man sitting to his right, watching Tony’s eyes watering: it was definitely God himself who sent Barnes his way that morning, saving his from near death. Nothing would work better than this excuse. Clint and all Bucky’s guys were so drunk to the point they barely remembered what had happened, and it would be easy to convince them Tony and his gang came to see Barnes for something and ended up staying with all of them.

Besides, there was a nice bonus Bucky could add to make it work even better.

“By the way, Clint named her Natasha. That’s also the name of your mom, right?”

By the look on Tony’s face the man realized he was ready to sing.

“How did he know my mom’s name?” Pepper eyed Steve’s right hand distrustfully, but he could tell she was less irritated.

“Oh, you know, he and his wife couldn’t choose the name, so we started saying whatever names we knew, and Tony mentioned Natasha.”

For a second Bucky thought Stark was going to kiss him through excess of joy.

When he finally left the motel, getting his pack of beer given him by lovely Pepper who changed the anger to mercy, Tony ran out of the house after him, giving him a pat on the shoulder and whispering quietly, “I own you one, brother.”

Bucky sighed. Stark didn’t take the money.

______________

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