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austarus · 3 years

Text

HR Wells x Reader - Reversal of Denouement

*A/N: The picture/edit/gif does not belong to me. It belongs to its rightful owner.

**Please don’t forget to comment, like, and reblog. It means a lot to content creators of all kinds!

***I’d also like to thank @grimtamlain-writes for being my beta reader.

Word Count: 8251

MASTERLIST

A low groan left HR's lips. His body felt numb, his chest ached - tingled as his heart beats steadily. Is it beating? The darkness of his eyelids eased the stinging coming from his mind – it wasn’t so bright. The headache formed there. His body screamed at him as the novelist made the slightest of movement. His left shoulder in particular had protested in desperate agony. He couldn’t move it very much, the area succumbed to restraints of some sort. HR’s throat felt raw as his body throbbed, the blood coursing meticulously through his blood vessels. The sound of a soft voice greeted his ears, but his eyes refused to open.

"I... you, HR... even if... see it." The voice was so familiar, so gentle. So sweet. "Should... better." A drop of water hit his numbed hand, static still prominent there from the little movement his body had done. “I wish…” The dark-haired doppelganger could only understand fragments of what the speaker was saying. He felt a pressure on his hand, tender skin holding onto his before something tickled his forehead. Feather-light. What was it? Who was it? A few moments passed and he heard nothing, the novelist only assumed that the voice’s owner had left. He didn’t want to be alone right now though, not with the darkness.

It had become unbearable.

Since... Since when did…? How...? Oh. Right. Savitar... Am I dead? Is this where spirits wait for their turn to pass into their designated afterlife? Have I really...? Events from earlier resurfaced to his mind, his senses coming together. Right, had to protect Iris. For Barry – it was my fault Savitar had gotten to her. My big mouth. Even if Barry didn't really see me as a helpful friend. At least... At least I proved Savitar wrong, who ironically is a version of Barry. That's hella twisted. He huffed out a breath before venturing back into the calmness of sleep. Maybe a little more rest will help?

***

HR cracked an eye open: this time, harsh filtered light had greeted him. The novelist grunted in pain, adjusting himself slightly to assess where he was. What day was it? What was the time? How long have I been here? A yawn left his lips this time, his throat and mouth as dry as a desert.

“Well look who finally decided to wake up?” HR’s eyes met Cisco’s, who stood with a tablet in hand. “How’s sleeping beauty feeling?”

The Wells doppelganger cleared his throat. “Like I’ve gotten assaulted by an Amtrack bus, and not the good kinds.” HR’s baby blue eyes scanned the room, landing on the flower vase that was set on a table near him. Blue forget-me-knots and pink hydrangeas stood proudly in their vases, nurtured well. HR felt his heart swell, his eyes not daring to leave the delicate petals that accented the med bay in better tones. Cisco handed him a cup of water to which HR downed it immediately.

“Amtrack does trains.”

“Not on my Earth, Francisco.” The author couldn’t help but ask, his eyes lingering on the flowers once more. “Did Tracy bring those?”

Cisco pursed his lips, an odd look present on his face. He wanted to tell HR, but… “No. Um, she didn’t.” Tracy had been visiting, though it had become some sort of a nuisance to all her complaining at this point. She hadn’t even known HR for that long, anyway.

“Oh?” His shoulders dropped subtly in disappointment. “They’re beautiful, I was just wondering and…”

“Let’s just say, a special someone’s been… dropping by and bringing a new flower each day. That’s all you’re getting from me, Aurora.” Cisco reasoned with the Wells doppelganger. The mechanical genius knew, but it wasn’t his place to say. It killed him, but… “I wouldn’t move around too much, if I were you. You’ve got a fractured shoulder and that chest wound. I’ve been told to relay the message that you’re to be on strict bed rest until that shoulder further heals.” HR lowered his gaze to see the cross-body sling. He clenched his slinged hand and unclenched it to bring some feeling into the limb.

“What about my chest?”

“Miraculously, that’s been healing really well since day one.” Cisco kept the talk real, showing the injured doppelganger the schematics and pictures. “You got lucky that it missed your heart by a centimeter.” A stab wound like that should have… I wonder if she knows that I know.

HR blinked at the seriousness in his injury, the looming idea of death from his decision. “How long was I out?”

“A week and a half.”

“What?” HR’s eyes widened in disbelief. “I-”

“HR!” Tracy’s sudden voice pierced the room, stunning Cisco and triggering an ache in HR’s head. The grad scientists shuffled over to him, both forgetting that Cisco was in the room. “HR, my love, how are you? Are you feeling okay? Is there any pain?” He continued checking his friend’s vitals and adjusting dosages to the IV and morphine administered – as per your request. The room was growing ever louder with HR and Tracy. Tracy embraced him, minding his injuries as she continued to fuss over him. It made the Wells writer smile, yet… his heart didn’t swell as much as it used to.

Odd.

Cisco sent you a quick text while the two were preoccupied, but you were already at the Labs. You stopped just outside the entrance, the wall and dimly light hallway obscuring you from who remained in the med bay. They wouldn’t be able to see you from where you stood. A shaky breath left you as you clutched the Freesia flower in hand. Your heart shriveled in your chest as you backtracked. Hearing his voice is enough. After all, with Tracy around you couldn’t be near him – those dirty and hateful looks she’d send you. Best to keep my distance, I guess. You couldn’t help but sneak a peek at him though, the man who had unknowingly captured your heart and would never reciprocate your love. You pushed down the lump in your throat. Hastily, you sent Cisco a text to check on the flowers. Silently, you trailed away from the med bay and to the upper levels of STAR Labs. I wonder if he liked the flowers. Standing at such altitude with the wind blowing lightly had calmed you a bit. Looking down at the flower, you gripped it tightly before you began to pick off the petals one by one. The little moments you had with the goofy novelist surfaced to the forefront of your mind with each petal you held. Your little curious escapades. The little talks. The nights you’d visit him when Tracy wasn’t around.

“He loves me, he loves me not,” You murmured, a stray tear trickled down your cheek. The freesia symbolizes unconditional love and honor. “He loves me, he loves me not,” Your voice cracked as more tears fell. “He loves me, he loves me not…”

***

A frown presented itself on HR’s lips as he tilted his head to crack his neck. The crack relieved him tremendously. It didn’t make sense. The novelist mused to himself, setting aside the current chapter draft he was working on. The voice I heard was… different. It didn’t sound like Tracy’s. HR couldn’t get that voice out of his mind – the tenderness that was laced in the tone of that voice. Nothing like the slight shrill in Tracy’s. He eyed the flowers once more that day, their presence was prominent. If Tracy hadn’t brought those, then who had?

The team had helped situate HR in his room in order to vacate the med bay should another imminent event occur. He had overheard Cisco tell Wally that you were preoccupied with something in Star City – a bit of disappointment twinged inside him. HR had taken up doing bits of physical therapy for the rest of his body without moving his shoulder as much. His shoulder and arm remained in a crossbody sling. The flowers sat on his bedside counter; he tended to them as best as he could with the limited movement he had. Tracy protested that they don’t need to be around, but the novelist was vehement on keeping the plants. HR won’t deny the fact that he had gotten annoyed several times with her around when he needed thinking space for his writing. He couldn’t write with noise and nonsensical chatter, especially if it’s mainly coming from someone who doesn’t want to really listen to his input. She’d go on and on about her scientific research and such, but wouldn’t hear a word from HR regarding his writing. The longer the novelist was confined to his room for rest, the more he had time to think – to contemplate. Yes, he liked Tracy, but… it just seemed that she didn’t really see HR. She does all the talking; she doesn’t really ask about how I feel about things or ask me about my life, even things about Earth-19… It’s like she doesn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face. It’s not even my face that Tracy sees, just Randolph’s. Was I too quick to jump at the first person who showed interest in me? Had I rushed into ��forever’ with her?

He tabled those thoughts for now. HR reached for his laptop; one hand opened it to start it up. While the device loaded, he grabbed his black-clear glasses and set them on his face. If anyone saw him as such, they wouldn’t be able to tell the physical difference between him and his handsome, yet grumpy doppelganger. Except for the eyebrow scar, but that was obscured by the glasses. HR did a couple of searches with a concentrated look. Surely, it was the person with that… angel-like voice.

“Hydrangeas,” HR whispered as his eyes skimmed over the text that had popped up. “The hydrangea represents gratitude, grace and beauty. It also radiates abundance because of the lavish number of flowers and the generous round shape. Its colors symbolize love, harmony and peace.” The Wells doppelganger scrolled further. “Pink hydrangeas symbolize heartfelt emotions.” Interesting. HR continued his research, glancing at the other flower type that resting in the vase. “Forget-me-nots symbolize true love and respect. When you give someone these tiny blooms, it represents a promise that you will always remember them and will keep them in your thoughts. They are also considered a symbol of fidelity and faithfulness.” A particular link caught his eye, he clicked on it. The novelist read to himself the text once more, “Based on Christian lore, the story about forget-me-nots is that God was walking in the Garden of Eden. He saw a blue flower and asked it its name. The flower was a shy flower and whispered that he had forgotten his name. God renamed the flower as forget-me-not saying that He will not forget the flower.”

HR swallowed thickly; contrary to popular belief around here, he wasn’t stupid. Sure, he wasn’t a science-based genius, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an expert on other aspects of life and had basic common sense. The author was emotionally intelligent and intact with the world around him. These flowers weren’t picked out on accident. But who would do that? Who doesn’t want me to forget about them? The dark-haired man shook his head slightly as he shut his laptop. A surge of sadness welled inside him at the notion of ‘being forgotten’. Who had he done that to? He’d get to the bottom of this mystery in due time. Right now, I need to jog my memory on what I was writing. A hand found a rough draft paper, his eyes scanned over the words he had typed out. His brows creased as the written notes he’d made on the paper as well. (Y/N) … I had… What had I been writing about again? The novelist read each line, each note he had made no drafts and scratch paper.

The hairs at the back of his neck stood up as realization hit him the more he had read on. The drafts, the notes, all of it – the little novel he had been writing regarding his adventures. But this particular part of his story – the ‘angel’ in his story. The one who stuck by him since coming here, the one who had given him a safe space… And the one he hadn’t seen since waking up. How could he forget? HR lowered the paper; his eyes became half-lidded as guilt shot through him. Before Barry had gone to the future and gotten hints of Tracy with her Speed Bazooka, HR had been working on his book. A book that he had pushed off to stick with Tracy and help in any way that he can to make the speed weapon possible. He had gotten distracted from doing the things he loves. A few conjectures arose in his mind as he slipped his glasses off, one arm end pressed to his lips. His heart hammered into his chest; you were among the last faces he had seen before passing out that night.

The irony. How could I forget that (Y/N) was the ‘angel’ in my story?

***

“Look at you, up and at ‘em.” Cisco strolled into the lounge with a cheeky grin. The mechanical genius didn’t take HR for granted anymore, not with the stunt he pulled. No, Cisco willingly checked up on him – not just for you, but for himself. HR had truly become one of his close friends in the end, especially with all the advice about Gypsy. “What are you cooking up this time?”

“Just an omelet with a side of bacon and toast, Francisco,” HR turned to the mechanical engineer who continued to tinker away at the schematics to get Barry out of the Speedforce. He offered Cisco some with a gesture only for the scientist to politely decline. “I haven’t seen (Y/N) anywhere. Um, is she also…?”

“Oh, you know how she’s like. Either up in the vents or chilling in her birds’ nest on the roof. And on that note, our resident hummingbird has become quite the firecracker.”

HR raised an eyebrow at his friend. “How so?”

“She punched Savitar square in the face then decked him multiple times over when Barry brought him in. Harry had to be the one to pull her away – well, more like carry her away kicking and screaming bloody murder at him. It sounded badass; wish I had been there to see it.”

The Wells doppelganger gritted his teeth at the mental image of Harry carrying you – touching you. The thought ruffled his feathers for some reason. HR expertly masked his irritation, turning the stove off and assembling the food on his plate. “Why?”

“Because he hurt you, HR.”

“…”

“He almost killed you.” And that was unforgivable, especially to her. “We almost lost you. She almost lost you.”

A rough sigh escaped HR as Cisco had sent him a knowing look before exiting the STAR Labs lounge. The Earth-19 man chewed on the inside of his cheek. Only a fool would misunderstand Cisco’s subtle intentions. HR knew what he had to do – he’d been reflecting on his time here, thinking about the people around him, about the relationships he’s formed. The novelist glanced outside – the sun shined, the birds chirped, and the trees rustled with the wind.

And the world continues to move on.

***

“When are you going to tell him?”

“…” You tensed at the abrupt voice. You snapped your head up, eyes darting to find Cisco approaching you with pocketed hands in his gray-black jacket. He wore a Bulbasaur shirt. The clouds surged by with the intensity of the breeze. Your hair blew over your shoulders slightly. Tilting your head, you turned back to watch the city. Days had passed and you refused to see HR, content on what Cisco had been telling you. He’d been recovering tremendously well, but… you didn’t really want to hear about what he and Tracy were up to. It wounded you. “Tell who, what?”

“You know exactly who I’m talking about, Ms. I’m-going-to-put-my-feelings-in-a-box.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Ohohohoho, no. I am tired of the love eyes, the lingering gazes, the pining. It ends.” Your best friend came to sit down next to you with that frustrated look on his face. “I know you have powers.” Your heart stopped in your chest at his accusation. “I know you used your powers to heal HR.” You bit down on your lip, not wanting to validate his statement. Cisco saw “I analyzed the wounds, looked at his healing at a microscopic level. I’m not Caitlin, but even I can pick up a few things. His cells were excelled to heal, but there were residues of your genetic markers at the wound point. You stitched his wounds together, cell-by-cell. My point is: why didn’t you say anything? Your powers are a-”

“-A curse.”

“What?”

“They’re a curse.” You threw a hard look at Cisco, making sure your hands wouldn’t touch him. “I can’t be playing God, Cisco. And… it’s unpredictable, volatile. I could either heal the life in my hands or take it away. I could rip someone ‘cell-by-cell’, Cisco. There’s no ‘in between’, not this time. He got lucky with my powers. He got lucky I didn’t make things 100% irreversible.”

“But why didn’t you say anything?” Cisco eyed the gloves you wore; it wasn’t the season for leather gloves.

“Because I didn’t want to give anyone false hope.”

“You don’t want to give yourself false hope, you mean.”

“…I can’t even heal a plant, Cisco. No matter how hard I tried, it wilted further. It’s a curse.”

“That’s not guaranteed every time, you know. It takes practice – discipline to get your powers to work with you instead of for you.” He nudged your shoulder with his, turning his gaze to the flock of birds drifting through the wind. “You know, he broke up with Tracy.”

“Ok?”

“Happened a week ago. She didn’t take it well and let me tell you. Tracy Brand was livid – the rage and yelling were off the charts. I think she has Harry beat. I knew it wasn’t going to last anyway, it was too superficial to begin with.”

“Uh huh.” You tried to sound uninterested, but deep down you were relieved. You heard a little ring in your ear. You wondered…

“She’s gone, won’t be coming here anymore.

“Ok.”

“So, go make your move.”

You turned abruptly to face him. “Cisco, have you thought that maybe HR doesn’t want to dive into a relationship right away? That… maybe he needs space to focus on himself?” All were things you had contemplated for yourself before.

“And what better way to do that than with a new roommate.”

“Excuse me?”

“Surprise, you’re getting a temporary roommate while we fully fix up things around the labs. I volunteered you since you have the space and the patience to deal with HR.” Your blood froze in your veins.

“Francisco Ramon, I am going to-”

“-Thank me, you’re going to thank me.” He had already breached away before you had the chance to strangle him. Heat rushed to your cheeks at the idea of HR living with you, even if it was a temporary living arrangement. You scolded your heart for beating loudly in your chest. One hand gripped tightly to your other. An audible sigh escaped you as your mind played with the idea.

Shit, what am I going to do?

***Day 1***

Cisco blew out an exhausted breath, setting down another box on top of a box in the guest room. You and the mechanical genius had been breaching back and forth with HR’s things as said novelist was crippled. His arm would take about another four weeks to heal. About 20 percent of shoulder fractures are displaced and may require some type of manipulation to restore normal anatomy. Occasionally the rotator cuff muscles are injured or torn at the same time as the fracture. Fortunately for HR, his rotator cuff muscles weren’t as damaged. This can further complicate the treatment. Therefore, in that time, HR would just be handling the lighter stuff, bless his heart. The novelist entered the room with his black backpack slung over his functioning shoulder – it was the last thing that he could carry.

“I think there’s one more box left,” HR pointed with his thumb towards his back direction, the breach closing behind him.

“I’ll go get it, not a problem. Why don’t you two get started on unpacking, huh?” HR shrugged with one shoulder and stepped away to set his bag down by the bed. Cisco threw a cheeky look your way when HR had his back turned, his eyebrows wiggling. ‘Have fun love birds,’ the scientist had mouthed at you. You flicked him off with a deadpanned look. Instantly you dropped it when the Wells doppelganger turned as Cisco snickered before he breached away. He gave you a confused look, but you waved it off.

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For allowing me to stay obviously. And for all the help since I’m, well, a bit tangled up at the moment.”

He was referring to the cross-body sling that clung onto him like a spider. HR rubbed the back of his neck, and you didn’t miss the way his bicep flexed at the motion in that gray short-sleeve shirt. Calm the fuck down, it’s just a toned muscle. You’ve seen things like that before. The puppy-like smile HR sent you had your cheeks warming up. The gentle smile that made your heart melt all over again. You cleared your throat as you reached for a box. “It’s no big deal, HR.” Undoing the tape seal with scissors, you opened the box- and the first thing you see are a pair of handcuffs accompanied by a silky black blindfold.

“What’s in the box?”

A little noise left you as you shut the flaps of the box, trying to seal it again. The flaps remained downward in the box. “Nope, nothing. Just some clothes here. I’m going to get that one box from the living room.” You had backtracked right into the door, your nose throbbed in response at the collision. “Ow,” you muttered to yourself, rubbing the skin.

“You ok?”

“I’m fine,” your response was quick, but not rude. A deep chuckle made its way to your ears as you scrambled out the room, your heart hammering in your chest. Your thoughts scolded you for being so awkward and flustered around him. Be cool, just chill out… The man you’re hopelessly in love with is just living with you temporarily, it’s not like anything will amount from this. You picked up the last box in the living room, hoping that just clothes would be in here and not anymore kink toys. I mean… I have toys, too. AW SHIT, I HAVE TO HIDE THEM!

HR’s eyes never left you as you made your panicked exit. He let out a little breath before shuffling over to the box you had been attending to. Immediately, he face-palmed hard when he had opened it with one hand. His face felt impossibly hot at what you had seen. She must think I’m an idiot or something. His mind thought back to when you helped him shop for some new clothes then it had gotten ruined from a meta. His hand fell away from his face, the image of your kind grin imprinted in his mind. I am an idiot, though. A fool.

Once Cisco returned, you three continued unpacking HR’s things for the time he’d spend here. The labs were still in ‘piss-poor’ shape according to Cisco and that he’ll need to consult with Harry and Wally regarding repairs.

“HR, how are you showering?”

“Um, like a normal person?” A dumbfounded look crossed HR’s features as he set the plate of sandwiches down. The novelist had knitted his eyebrows at Cisco. He had taken up to experimenting in the kitchen when he wasn’t writing. The tea and coffee were still brewing in your kitchen.

“No, I mean with how your shoulder is injured,” Cisco snuck an evil look at you, you returned it with a glare, “must be hard handling it alone.” You knew exactly where this dumbass wanted to take this conversation, so you stayed silent as to not get caught in the crossfire.

HR thought to himself for a moment. “Just a bit, but I’ve gotten used to the mild discomforts and pain. I can mostly reach everything thanks to my long limbs. But I think the nice thing is that it’s an internal issue, not an external one. An external injury or wound would require me to really have help with showering that way the area doesn’t get infected or irritated with the contents of soaps.” A laugh fell from his lips, but his mind wondered what his friend was playing at while you were around.

“I’m just saying, if you ever need a hand well,” Cisco trailed off with a smirk, chomping on his third sandwich.

Oh, I see. Devious, but a futile effort. “I’ll make sure you’re the first one I ask for help,” HR teased with a smirk of his own for Cisco to drop his in disgust. A cough escaped you, which had HR’s eyes land on you. Your eyes met for a moment before you deviated your gaze. HR felt hypnotized for a moment. Hm… The engineer quickly recovered from HR’s snide remark.

“Alright kids, I’ll be going now. The labs require some diligent work that I, a capable and distinguished engineer, could only do.”

“Yet, we still have the occasional security issues,” You sipped your tea once the snarky comment was out. HR stifled a chuckle, but you heard it. The corners of your mouth lifted slightly at the notion.

“Hey, that’s not fair. They always come up with something new to invade our space by.” Cisco pointed a finger at you, mocking a hurtful expression on his face. It dropped into a sneaky smile. “Make good choices and always use protection, you two!” He breached away before you could throw your cup at him.

***Multiple Days Pass***

Through his time here, you noticed HR fueled to write what’s on his mind in the guest room. You could only assume that he continued his adventure story. Sometimes he would venture out for some coffee or take a walk to give his creativity a break. Keeping that in mind, you gave HR the space he needed as well as all noises to a minimum. You knew he liked the quiet atmosphere to pour his heart and soul into words as he did research for a scene. Pulling your jacket on, you compiled a list of groceries before you stepped out of your apartment. Locking the door, you headed out to the store picking up a few necessities as well as some snacks for HR. Like Harry, the novelist can easily lose himself in his task – which meant that he tended to forget about eating and such. You found a bag of Jitters coffee beans, adding it to your cart of items. Buying some snacks and fruit, you’d leave a note in the kitchen of the snacks when he emerged from his writing cave.

On the way back, you stopped by at Iris’ studio to check up on her. A few groceries for her as well were in hand. Cecile and you did your best to visit Iris. But you can’t deny that you blamed her to a certain extent. Had she spoken up once she had left Savitar’s place disguised as HR, HR wouldn’t have been hurt that night on Infantino Street. Surely, she could have contacted her father or Cisco or something. The transition could have been smoother. HR wouldn’t have been… The journalist was faring; she pushed through the pain and as Barry had told her ‘to keep living’. So, Iris did. She hadn’t been herself since Barry went into the Speedforce – she pushed too much, the smile wouldn’t reach her eyes sometimes. You sympathized; she lost the love of her life. But you almost had too.

“How are you?”

“I’m fine, just… taking it one day at a time.” You nodded at her response, a small smile on your face. “How are things with you and HR? I heard of the temporary living conditions.”

“It’s fine.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah. I’m in my bubble and he’s in his doing his writing.”

“Right. Nothing going on whatsoever?”

“Iris.”

Iris set her cup of hot chocolate down and raised both hands in mock defeat. “We all saw it. We all see it.”

“See what?”

“How smitten you are for him.”

“I’m not-”

“-Don’t say you’re not. If you weren’t you, Harry wouldn’t have to pry you off Savitar before you clawed his eyes out.”

“…” You just looked into your tea, the honey that settled at the bottom. Iris placed a sympathetic hand on your shoulder, but you didn’t look at her.

“The heart will want what it wants, (Y/N). Pushing your feelings into a box and denying it out loud won’t change things.”

“I know.”

And my heart wants him, over and over again. Even if he can’t see me.

***

HR tapped his pencil against the desk at a steady pace. His mind wouldn’t focus on the words in front of him, on the scene he wanted to set. Instead, it kept drifting further from it. Further towards you: your eyes, your smile, the kindness that you held; the serenity that your existence held as the world continued to turn and chaos had unfolded at each turn. HR didn’t see much of you while he was here, the novelist missed your company. You were here, but you weren’t really here. You were either in your room or at the balcony with a book or on the couch with your Switch. He didn’t want to bother you, but… sometimes HR just wanted to sit beside you and pull you close to talk. To hold you in his arms and ask you about your day, to understand what you were thinking. HR cracked his back in a stretch from where he sat on his bed, being mindful of his injured shoulder. It didn’t hurt as it had originally done a few weeks back. The Wells doppelganger noticed that you were careful to avoid touching him or him touching you. Not even a hug that you used to graciously give him. You were especially guarded with your hands. A rough sigh left him as he threw his pencil down. The frustration was setting in, he was getting nowhere. You consumed his thoughts. HR wondered if you were revolted by him but doesn’t verbalize his thoughts to you. He didn’t think you’d give him your truthful answer. Maybe she is revolted by me. She did find the cuffs and the blindfold… No, she knew about the cuff stage thing well before that.

The sound of the front door greeted his ears followed by the soft tune of music. A frown made its way onto his face. Might as well take a break. HR stretched once more when he fully stood up, a little noise of relief left his lips. He cracked his back once more before smelling himself. For safe measure, the novelist sprayed a bit of cologne on himself and turned off the candle he had on. He mentally noted to take a shower after dinner since his last was yesterday. He liked the feeling of being clean, to be honest. HR carded a hand through his hair. I need a haircut soon, too. Yeesh, I feel like I’m letting myself go. Once I’m all healed it’s back to proper cuts and the labs’ recreation room. He wanted to go back to lifting weights and doing yoga for body stability purposes – especially now because of his shoulder. HR rested a hand on his chest, the wound had healed completely, but a scar remained. Upon entering the kitchen, he saw the groceries on the table and heard you whisper along with the lyrics. The music was set to a low level that your whispers were audible enough. He watched you sway a bit with the tune.

So please don't break my heart

Don't tear me apart

I know how it starts

Trust me I've been broken before

Don't break me again

I am delicate

Please don't break my heart

Trust me I've been broken before

The guitar tune pulled at his heart, feeling the raw emotion behind the lyrics. He eyed you for a moment. HR cleared his throat to make his presence known, he knew you didn’t like to be snuck up on. However, a little gasp left you from where you were. “You went out shopping?”

You looked up from where you crouched to put away the cereal. “Uh yeah, we were running low on some stuff.” You shut the cabinet and went to the other items you had bought. The music continued to delicately play.

“Need any help?”

“Um, sure. Uh, just set these into the cabinet on the left.” Normal, be normal. He’s not going to eat you or anything. Distance is good. Distance keeps you safe. You didn’t meet his eyes, the eyes that’d pull you in and never let you out – your heart shook with him here and the song that played. You were hoping HR wouldn’t come out while you prepped dinner to have a sort of peace of mind. The next song played before you could stop it-

My last made me feel like I would never try again

But when I saw you, I felt something I never felt

Come closer, I'll give you all my love

If you treat me right, baby, I'll give you everything

“I like this song,” HR started as he was finishing up with putting his side of the groceries away. Another guitar-like song that brought out the soft feelings of love and rejection. HR mused to himself if fate had planned this out. If this was some sort of sign or a cruel joke… You had stopped yourself from clicking the button to skip the song at his comment. You don’t know what possessed you to let him indulge in another song that you’ve cried to late at night. “Hey, I can cook dinner tonight. I have something I’ve been wanting to try. I’m not that crippled so I can manage with a few cookware.” HR chuckled to himself, a goofy grin on his face. Your heart leapt in your chest; his grin caused a small smile to pull at your lips. “You can wash up first?”

You swallowed thickly, your eyes meeting his icy blues. You felt your cheeks warm up slightly as the nerves crawled up your spine. “Oh, ok. Cool, yeah. Can’t wait to see what you cook up.” You nodded, ducking your head away and shuffling out of the kitchen with that shy smile on your face. You missed the longing look he had sent you as you fastened your steps to head to your room.

God I love that smile. What goes on in that little head of yours? We used to be so close… before Tracy came into the picture. HR pulled out the spices and the chicken breast. He shook his head and proceeded to prep the food with his one useful hand. I need to consult Francisco.

***

“We need to talk,” HR’s voice broke the silence in the side lab of the Cortex. He had breached to the labs using the Breach Extrapolator after he had showered and such. His damp hair was pushed back in HR’s normal style.

“About what?” Cisco raised a concerned eyebrow at the writer, stopping what he had been doing.

“(Y/N).”

A nervous laugh left Cisco as he went back to attempting to make the necessary modifications to the Speed Bazooka. Tracy was reluctant to help the mechanical engineer after the breakup. “What about (Y/N)?” Cisco put down his screwdriver. “Did you do something weird to her?”

“What? No! I- we used to be closer. We always talked, we’d hang out after a long day here at the labs.”

“Uh huh.”

“And, maybe it’s just me, but things have changed.”

“How so?” Cisco was wondering what conclusion HR was leading himself to.

“Things changed when Tracy came into the picture.”

Cisco made a little ‘o’ with his mouth with a little nod before closing it. He pushed a rough sigh past his lips, he was getting really tired of this puppy love game. “Why do you think that?”

“Francisco, she flinches when I get close – almost when I touch her… Does she hate me?”

“I think you and I know the answer to that one. But I think the real question should be: Why do you care so much? Why does it bother you? Do you love her, HR?”

The novelist tensed a bit. “…” HR pursed his lips as Cisco walked around the table that the speed weapon was mounted on. Blueprints were scattered on one table while the glass board held variables and equations he could not decipher. “What?”

“I said what I said,” the mechanical genius smoothly responded. One look at HR and Cisco knew that he was baffled by his forward words. But they needed to be said. “Now run along and use that head of yours to think about what your heart wants. Barry isn’t going to get himself out of the Speedforce.”

***

Cisco’s words mulled through HR’s mind as he breached back to your apartment’s living room. Only the lamp light on the side table was on. HR’s eyes landed on you, who laid on the couch with the book you had been reading on the back ledge of the couch. The novelist took off his shoes and set down his bag. He had detoured to the bookstore, looking for the next installment of your current book. The Wells doppelganger had assumed you didn’t buy it yet as it was vacant from your bookshelf. The gentle giant stepped silently closer to you; the dim light cast over you like a glow. There were slight bags under your eyes. She hasn’t been sleeping well lately. Spotting a large and fluffy blanket near, HR grabs it and lays it on top of you. He remembered you mentioned to him prior that you easily get cold, especially at night. Chewing on the inside of his cheek, HR contemplated something before his body moved impulsively. The novelist placed a gentle kiss on your forehead; his lips lingered for a few more seconds. Pulling back, HR watched your chest rise and fall. He turned the light off and stumbled over to his room with his phone light guiding him. He knew what he was going to write. Cisco’s question pestered him enough though.

Do you love her, HR?

HR took one look out his door before shutting it, his heart squeezed tightly in his chest as he whispered, “Goodnight, my angel.” Only the shadows that lingered were a witness to the fondness laced in those simple words.

***

You woke up with a start, you hand instantly smacking right into your chest. Heavy breaths left you as your nerves were in overdrive. Cold sweat beaded your skin as you gasp for air. It was another night terror – the same one for a few weeks now; a new way in which you caused HR’s death. Swallowing thickly, you screw your eyes tightly shut and whisper the mantra that calmed you down. After a few minutes, you started to regain control of your breathing – the thoughts that ravaged your mind finally ceased like the tides subsiding after a tsunami. You blinked languidly, hating nights like these. They weren’t rare, but they weren’t an uncommon occurrence. Deciding that you needed to step out for some air, you did so with the intent of getting a glass of water from the kitchen. Your fingers found the lights for the dimmers in your room, setting it to its lowest setting for you to see yourself out.

Cracking the door open, you were instantly met with the scene of HR passed out on the couch again. He’s been doing that for around two weeks now, the couch his new base of operations. His mouth was slightly open as little snores escaped him. A lovestruck smile crossed your features at the sight. Papers were littered around him, on the ground, and on the tables. Must be the manuscript he’s working on for his final draft. I hope I can read it at some point. Coming back from the kitchen with the water in hand you couldn’t help but stop to admire the sight. You noticed the glasses still perched on his face. Moving as silent as a ninja, you inched closer to pull off the glasses from his face. They’ll break if he keeps them on while he sleeps. Then he won’t see for shit when reading things. You nibbled on your bottom lip as your eyes drifted to the papers. One peek won’t hurt anyone. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

Seating yourself on the ground, you leaned your back against the foundation of the couch. You were opposite to where HR’s upper body was. If there were any telltale signs of him waking, you’d hightail out before he could fully wake up and process what you were doing. Picking up a small stack, you started sifting through them. Your mind became engrossed with the words – the beginnings of the story he had spun about his adventures as to how he came to Earth-1. Then… mentions of an angel eluded you. It couldn’t be Tracy, could it? I know they broke up, but… on the other hand, it doesn’t mean that he can’t say that she was his angel at the time. Like a character development thing leading to their break up?? Well fuck, I don’t even think he’d mention such a personal thing in his book. I know I wouldn’t… would I? I don’t know. A little smile danced at your lips while you read on about the synonymous things regarding Team Flash that you failed to notice HR rouse from sleep.

“Do you like it?” Lethargy intertwined his words. A stunned noise left you as you clutched the papers. You turned to see HR rubbing his eyes before gazing at you.

I could get lost in those eyes if I stared too long.

“Uh, yeah, its- it’s really good,” you stuttered, setting the papers down in your lap. Embarrassment of getting caught gripped you. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be. I don’t mind you taking a peek. I don’t have anything to be ashamed of in it.” HR shifted his lithe body to sit next to you on the ground.

“Oh.”

“Couldn’t sleep?”

“No.”

“Want to talk about it?”

“It’s not that important, I’ll be ok.”

“If you say so,” HR’s shoulders sagged slightly. “I’m here if you want to talk.” You nodded at him, whispering a little thank you. HR ran a hand over his knee, he took a glimpse at you who stared at the papers. He noticed what chapter you hand been reading – the angel was making an appearance in the story. The hair at the back of his neck stood while you thumbed the words on the paper back in forth, just lost in your mind. Your hair was messy from sleep, the bags under your eyes were still there. It killed him how you wouldn’t confide in him anymore. But he didn’t push you. You would open up to him if you wanted to or not, even if he wanted you to do so as so his mind can be at ease with knowing what’s going on with you. Cisco’s question sprang up in his mind once more before he licked his lips, his eyes watching you. “I do.”

You gave HR a strange look. I do, what?

“Tracy wasn’t her.” Realization struck HR the more you whispered with him.

“Huh??”

“I heard this voice before I woke up.” The novelist fully turned to you with intense eyes, the enlightenment in them – the fire that burned brightly. “The tenderness in it could rival any tasteful delight in the multiverse.”

“A voice?”

“Mm, it made me think that only a heavenly deity would have such a voice.” You remained silent as he spoke. “I never got to hear that voice since my coma… until now?”

You tensed at what he was insinuating. “Now?”

“How could I forget?”

“I-I don’t understand.”

“How could I forget about you?” The baritone huskiness in his voice made you melt with the way he said those words. You swallowed, trying to calm the butterflies that raged in the pit of your stomach. “The flowers that were left – beautiful, delicate, yet meaningful. You left those after visiting me.”

“…”

She didn’t deny it. “But you never visited when I was awake because of Tracy.”

“She hates me.”

“And I was too blind to see that until I broke up with her, she threw quite a fit.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“Because you must have loved her so much that it would be hard to let go.” She was your angel, after all.

“She didn’t even know me. Truly know me.”

“… Did she hurt you?”

“Slightly, but the bruise is gone.” You and he were silent for a moment. Only the sound of a distant car horn was heard from the streets. “You didn’t deny it.”

“Deny what?”

“The flowers, the visit…” HR licked his lips as a rough breath left him. His nerves were climbing, but he needed to do this. “Cisco told me what you did to Savitar when you saw him. How angry you were that Harry had to pry you off him – I was so angry.”

“Why?”

“I didn’t know then… but I know now.”

“And?”

“Tracy was never the one written in my story – she didn’t care. She didn’t see me for anything other than a pretty face obsessed with coffee. You did.” HR tucked your hair behind your ear, carefully gauging your reaction. He saw how you tried not to flinch away from him. “Do you hate me?” He asked as he retracted a hand from you, happy that he was at least getting through to you.

“Never could I feel such a way towards you.” You hesitated for a moment before testing the waters. You started to explain, “I- the night you were stabbed by Savitar I… I just broke. I pushed Tracy away, I had Barry rush you back to the labs. You were dying, unconscious on the gurney and… I got to work trying to resuscitate you. I had Cisco take care of Tracy while I worked, I needed space to think clearly, but I couldn’t. When- when the others were preoccupied with Iris’ appearance, I used these powers.” It was now or never. “I was desperate. Your life was hanging by a thread- I didn’t think it was going to work, but nothing else was working. You were bleeding so much. But I had to try. I…” Your glassy eyes locked back on his, your hands pulled close to your body. HR understood now why you never tried touching him. Why you are avoiding getting too close. “Cisco found out, he confronted me. But these powers, life isn’t guaranteed. They’re volatile, unprecedented – regardless of how I feel in the moment the balance can tip between giving a life and taking one.” There was a tightness in your chest as your voice cracked, “I’m cursed, I could hurt you.” I’m dangerous.

“I don’t think you will.”

“You don’t know that!”

“But I do,” HR reached a hand out to hold yours. Tension filled your heart as panic started to settle. “You wouldn’t let yourself hurt me. It would pain you too much.” HR squeezed your slightly shaky hand, his other hand still bound by the cross-sling. “My life is in your hands.”

“How can you trust me so much?”

“Because love cannot be built without a foundation of trust.” He placed a sweet kiss on the knuckles of your hand. “And understanding.” He took the other and kissed it, baby blue eyes shifted back to yours with such intense emotion. The adoration that filled the author to the brim for you. Just for you. Only you. The one who saw him for everything and anything that he is. His safe space – the one other thing he wanted to be for you as well. He wanted to eliminate any fears that resided in your heart, the pain and doubt that remained.

“Do you hate me?”

HR cupped your cheek tenderly as he leaned close, your heart wanted to stop as blood rushed to your cheeks and ears. Your half-lidded eyes shut slowly as his lips skimmed over your own. “Never in my life, angel,” the novelist whispered as he captured your lips in a tender and sentimental kiss.

Never in my life could I hate the one who my heart has yearned for.

#harrison wells x reader #harrison wells #hr wells x reader #hr wells #hr wells imagine #the flash cw #the flash #harrison wells imagines #earth 19 harrison wells #cw #cisco ramon #tracy brand #iris west #Iris West-Allen

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just-dreaming-marvel · 4 years

Text

Love and Medicine ~ 8

MASTERLIST

< previous chapter

Word Count: 4,175ish

Summary: Your roommates are annoyed and Gamora is determined to make you jump through hoops.

Notes: This is based off of Grey’s Anatomy 1x07. I do not own Marvel or Grey’s Anatomy.

When your alarm went off, you were naked in your bed. With a naked Steve beside you. A small groan passing between his lips, Steve reached around you to turn off the alarm clock and then cuddled into you.

“Hmmm,” you hummed, enjoying his arms around you way too much. “You have to get up now.”

“What?” Steve mumbled, half asleep. “What time is it?”

You smirked, rolling on top of him. “It’s 5:20, and I have pre-rounds. And you,” you booped his nose, “have to leave before they see you.”

You gave him a small kiss before rolling off of him.

“Oh, come on, now,” Steve grumbled. “Why don’t you just let them see?” He quickly rolled on top of you, pinning you down.

“No!”

“Please!”

“No! No!”

He began placing kisses all over you. Saying, ‘please’, between eat kiss.

“Steve!” You squealed. “St-stoppp!

~~~

“You two get any sleep?” Scott asked, walking into the kitchen where Val and Clint were eating.

“Oh, she could oil the bedsprings as a courtesy or at least buy a padded headboard,” Val complained.

“So, uh, who’s the guy?” Clint asked.

“You think it was just one guy doing all that work?”

“Yeah, do you mind if I don’t think about that?”

“Oh, you jealous, Barton?” Scott teased.

“I’m not jealous.”

“Well, I am,” Val responded. “But at least I know she’ll be having a long day at work.”

They all froze when they heard a floor board near the top of the stairs squeak. The three of them rushed over to the doorway, wanting to see who was coming down the stairs. Steve snuck down the stairs and out the door, seen by Val, Clint, and Scott.

“Well, at least we know that brain surgery isn’t his only skill,” Val commented, going to get more coffee.

“They—they can’t be…” Clint stared at the front door in shock. “He’s… he’s our boss.”

“Yep,” Scott replied, glancing at his watch. “We’re late. You know, she has been scrubbing in a lot lately on his surgeries.”

“No, Y/N wouldn’t sleep with him just to… no.”

“Well, if she’s not ashamed of it, why is she keeping it a secret?” Val wondered.

“Maybe she didn’t. Maybe it just happened. You know, spontaneously, last night.”

“Good morning,” you greeted, entering the kitchen.

“Morning,” Val and Scott responded.

“So…” Val started, “it sounded like you were having some pretty radical sex last night, all night long. Who was the guy?”

“No one you know,” you lied with a shrug.

Clint, Scott, and Val all gave each other a look.

“We’re late,” Scott said. “Let’s go.”

~~~

“I’m gonna beed a major rush to make it through this day,” Clint said in the locker room. “I need a kick-ass surgery.”

“Ooh, you a bad boy last night, Clint?” Peter taunted.

“No,” Val answered for him. “That would be Y/N.”

“You a bad boy, Y/N?”

“Do tell,” Natasha urged.

“Nothing to tell,” you shrugged.

“That says it all, huh?”

Val slammed her locker door shut, annoyed at your lies.

“Sorry, I have a sex life,” you apologized.

“Don’t apologize,” Peter said. “Embrace it. Share it. Count me in.”

“Yeah, next time, just let me know if I need to go to a hotel so I can get some sleep,” Val said.

“Am I missing something?” You asked.

“You were just a little loud,” Scott replied.

Everyone left except you and Natasha.

“Do they know it’s Captain McDreamy keeping them up all night?” Natasha asked.

“I hope not,” you answered. “I already have Gamora riding me, I don’t need my roommates thinking I’m getting special treatment.”

~~~

You yawned as you and Natasha met up with the other interns and Dr. Gamora. You just hoped that you didn’t look as tired as you felt.

“Barton, Romanoff, Lang, Quill, go on to the clinic,” Gamora ordered. She looked up, catching Clint watch Steve through a window. Steve was putting in eye drops. “Barton, patients are waiting.” Clint scurried off. “You two,” Gamora motioned to you and Val, “come with me. Val, you’re hanging with me today.” Steve walked over. “Good morning, Dr. Rogers.”

“Dr. Gamora,” he replied as you yawned. “Late night, L/N?”

“No,” you responded, “caffeine just hasn’t kicked in yet.”

“If you’re at all religious, you would want to start praying it kicks in soon,” Gamora retorted. “There’s a consult in the pit. Girl with a fever and abdominal pain. After that, Lee in 3311 needs his meds. Mr. Jackson’s IV fell out, and he’s a hard stick. Post-ops in 1337, 3342, 3363, and 2381.”

You had nodded along, trying to get your tired brain to understand what she was saying. “3381, 3342, 3363,” you repeated, “and 23… 81?”

Gamora simply glared at you instead of answering what you needed. “Why are you still standing in front of me?”

You quickly hurried down to the pit, not wanting to get on Gamora’s bad side anymore than you already were. You started your consultation with an eighteen year old girl named Jessie Todd. Her mother and father were both accompanying her. Jessie seemed nervous, biting her nails.

“I think she got some bug on her trip to Mexico with her friends,” Mrs. Todd said. “I told her not to go to a third-world country, but does she ever listen?”

“She’s been weak ever since and she’s lost weight,” Mr. Todd worried.

“Barely,” Jessie mumbled.

“And this morning, she passed out in the shower.”

“When was the trip?” You asked.

“A couple weeks ago,” Jessie answered. “I’m really fine. I just have a fever.”

“Okay, well, will you lie back for an exam for me?”

“No, please, I don’t need an exam. Just give me some antibiotics and send me home.”

“Well, maybe it is just a fever, but they called down for a surgeon, so I have to give the ok to let you go. So just let me do the exam.”

“Do the exam,” Mr. Todd urged.

“No. This is crazy. I’m fine.”

“For God's sake, Jessie, I don't want to spend my entire day here,” Mrs. Todd exclaimed.

“You know, actually, Mrs. Todd, this might be easier if we had some privacy,” you told the parents, sensing that Jessie was worried about their reactions to whatever was going on. “So would you two mind leaving the room?”

“That’s fine,” Mr. Todd said, guiding his wife away.

Jessie lied down and you began to push at her stomach.

“Ow,” Jessie complained. “Don’t push so hard.”

“Can you lift your shirt so I can examine your stomach?” You requested. With a sigh, Jessie slowly lifted her shift, revealing pink scars. “Where did you get these? Jessie… you've had surgery recently. These scars are still pink.”

“Don’t tell my parents.”

“You did this in Mexico so your parents wouldn't know? What did you have done?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Jessie—“

“I can’t!”

With a sigh, you walked away, ordering a CT for Jessie before heading to help the other patients that Gamora had for you.

~~~

You at just finished Gamora’s last job for you when she paged. You were quickly to go find her.

“You paged?” You questioned, finding her near a nurses station.

“Where are we?” She asked.

“I did the consult, did the IV, the meds, the Post-ops, everything.”

“How is your pit patient?”

“She’s febrile and has peritoneal signs.”

Both you and Gamora’s attentions go to Natasha, who is walking by looking ill.

“You alright, Romanoff?” Gamora wondered, not caring all that much.

“Fine,” Natasha responded, waving it off as she kept going. “On my way back to the clinic.”

“Anyway, about the pit patient.”

“I think she had some sort of illegal surgery done in Mexico,” you stated.

“Botched abortion?”

“No. She has four laparoscopic scars on her abdomen and won't say what they're from, the parents are clueless.”

“She’s a minor.”

“Seventeen. Freshman in college.”

“You order up for a CT?”

“Yes,” you nodded.

“So while she's there, the nurses couldn't get a Foley on Mr. Garay. He may need a Coude cath if you can't get a normal one in there. Write up post-op notes on all surgical-floor patients that had surgery within the last 24 hours. Be sure to document their EKG's and x-rays. Hunt them down if you can't find them.”

“Right away.”

~~~

You were exhausted by the time Jessie’s CT scans came back. Gamora was really working you to the bone. Of course, it didn’t help that you had spent most of the night up with Steve, having some of the most enjoyable sex you’ve ever had. But that wasn’t the point. Scans in hand, you found Gamora at the nurses station near the lobby.

“Dr. Gamora?” You walked up to her. “Jessie Todd’s abdominal CTs.” You handed her the scans.

She took them, holding them up to study them. “Is this girl fat?”

“Not at all,” you shook your head. “She’s a normal college kid.”

“So,” she handed the scans back to you, “what do you see?”

You took them back and studied them yourself. “Her stomach’s stapled. She’s had a gastric bypass.”

“And a bad one at, at that.”

Jessie Todd was moved into a patient room. So you and Gamora requested to speak to her parents outside of the hallway. You were tasked to explain to them what at happened.

“Gastric bypass is a procedure normally done on obese patients to help them lose weight,” you stated, after telling them what their daughter had done.

“Jessie?” Mr. Todd questioned. “She doesn’t need to lose weight.”

“Are you kidding?” Mrs. Todd responded. “This means the world to her. But it is so typical of this girl to take the easy way out. She's done it with everything since she was a little kid.”

“Mrs, Todd, nothing about this is gonna be easy,” Gamora said. “She's gonna face a lifelong struggle with malnutrition unless she has surgery to reverse the procedure.”

“Do the surgery,” Mrs. Todd ordered before turning to her husband. “I told her to watch the freshman 15. Don't eat junk, exercise. But when she came home Christmas, who had to take her out and buy her a brand new pair of size 6 jeans because she couldn't get in the ones I got her last summer?”

“Chrissy, you know, she tries so hard,” Mr. Todd retorted. “She does. She gets good grades. She gets A’s.”

“She had illegal surgery in Mexico.”

“Unfortunately, there were complications with the bypass,” Gamora stated.

“What do you mean?” Mr. Todd asked.

“She has what looks like an abscess under her diaphragm, and edema, which is a swelling of the bowel wall. I can't say for certain she'll recover completely.”

“Just do whatever you have to do to make her well, ok?”

“Of course, sir.”

Gamora walked away, and you stayed to check up on Jessie. It was then that Mrs. Todd entered Jessie’s room, angrily.

“Before you guys start,” Jessie quickly said, “I know you’re mad.”

“Disbelief, Jessie,” Mrs. Todd exclaimed. “Just disbelief.”

“I’m just concerned,” Mr. Todd added, much more calmly than his wife. “Where did you get the idea to do this?”

“The internet,” Jessie answered quietly.

“But, honey, there is a healthy way to lose weight,” Mrs. Todd said.

“Yeah, I tried that, but...it doesn't work for me like it does for you.”

“Hey,” Mr. Todd said, putting a hand on his daughter’s leg, “you don’t need to lose weight.”

“What are you eating?” Mrs. Todd quickly wondered. “And how much have you been working out? I mean, you know, most of the time, when people hit their target weight, they have to work to stay there.”

“Everyone gains weight in college, Mom,” Jessie responded. “It’s—it’s stressful. There’s... there's not enough time for exercise. I just thought if I wasn't worried about my diet, then… I could focus more on my studies.”

“So you took yet another shortcut? Life doesn’t work that way, Jessie.”

“Chrissy!” Mr. Todd exclaimed.

“What? You want to argue this?”

Huffing at his wife, Mr. Todd turned to you. “She has so much potential, if she would just apply herself—”

“Okay, okay,” you interrupted, having heard enough. “I think we should focus on taking care of your daughter. And, Jessie, your parents agree, the best thing to do is to reverse the bypass.”

“No!” Jessie shouted. “No, it's my body. I do not want surgery again. Please?”

“There were serious complications. And this is about your health.”

“But I’d rather be thin.”

“Well, I’m afraid the choice isn’t up to you,” Mrs. Todd responded.

~~~

With a sigh, you found yourself pushed up against the wall in the stairwell. You were tired and so over Mrs. Todd.

“Long day?” Tony’s voice came closer.

You opened your eyes to see him walking up the stairs. “You could say that,” you responded. “How’s trying to get a date with Dr. Potts going?”

“Not so well,” he sighed, coming to leaning against the wall beside you. “I’ve been bringing her coffee or tea every morning though. I’m trying.”

“You really screwed up,” you giggled.

“You’re telling me. How are you and Steve?”

“We’re… fine.”

“He told me you were up all last night.”

“What?!”

“Okay, he didn’t tell me. But I can see how tired both of you are. It doesn’t take a genius to figure it out.”

“It’s that obvious? Tony, are you serious? This could totally ruin—“

“Woah, woah, woah. Calm down there, Y/N. I’m just playing with you. Gosh, you need to take a chill pill or something.”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m just… I know we shouldn’t be doing what we are doing.”

“But you enjoy it too much to stop. I get it… I just wish I was getting some too.”

~~~

Natasha was standing in the hall looking nauseous.

“Romanoff!” Clint called, excitedly hurrying up to her. “I’m scrubbing in on a hemispherectomy with Rogers.”

“Get out!” She responded. “I would kill for that.”

“We're gonna cut out half a girl's brain and it's going to work. It's outrageous. Almost makes it hard to hate him.”

“Why do you hate him?”

“Oh, no reason.”

“You know about him and Y/N, don’t you?”

“You know?”

“When are you gonna figure out that I know everything?”

Noticing Val walking up from behind, Clint pointed at Natasha. “She knows.”

“What?” Val questioned. “About Y/N and the Captain?”

“It’s been going on for, like ever,” Natasha commented.

“Seriously?”

“And you didn’t tell us?” Clint wondered.

“Ooh, you’re a gossip, huh?” Natasha responded.

“I am not!”

“I am,” Val said.

“He’s about to go into major brain surgery on no sleep? Not very responsible.”

“Jealous much?” Natasha chuckled. “Sex all night isn't about being responsible.”

“No,” Val agreed, “it’s about sex all night. I can't believe you're not more pissed off about this, you of all people.”

“Well, Y/N works hard all day. She’s good at her job. Why should you care how she unwinds? I mean, you like to bake all night. Some people like to drink. Others like an occasional screaming orgasm.”

~~~

Gamora and you were carefully operating on Jessie in the OR. Gamora was letting you help with more than you thought she would.

“Handle with care,” Gamora advised as she handed you Jessie’s bowel. “This things—“

“Full of gunk,” you responded. “I know.”

“We need to free the bowel from the adhesions caused from the abscess. This poor girl. What was she thinking?”

“She wants her mother's approval. She wanted to please her.”

“And this damage is the result? Here, resect that.”

“Needle-tip Bovie, please,” you requested, handing the bowel back to Gamora.

“When you’re done here, you have post-ops waiting.”

“I know, Dr. Gamora.”

“Natasha also has the flu. So, you need to pick up the slack in the clinic as well.”

“Look, I’ll mop the floors, okay?” That earned you a glare from Gamora. “Sorry, that was inappropriate.”

“It's not the only thing that's inappropriate. While we're on the subject, you care to tell me what you think you're doing?”

“Look, I'll jump through hoops if you want me to. But what I do what I leave this hospital is my business.”

“Half this hospital knows your business. Flu isn't the only virus spreading around here.”

“I made a choice, and I know you don't respect me for that choice. But I'll live with the consequences.”

“Then I'll have lots of hoops for you to jump through.”

“I've done everything you've asked me to do. I may not do it your way but it gets done. So whatever else you got, bring it on.”

Suddenly, Jessie’s bowel burst. Spraying you with toxic waste. You could hear the people watching in the gallery go, ‘ew’.

“Okay, Dr. L/N, now that you’ve drained the organ, we can attempt to repair it,” Gamora said.

“Now my day is perfect,” you muttered.

The nurses tried to clean you up the best they could as you operated. Though they seemed to only make it worse. After the surgery, you and Gamora headed out into the hallway together.

“I need a shower,” you commented.

“No, I need a shower,” Gamora retorted. “You need to go tell that girl's parents what kind of kid they're getting back.”

“You're not gonna let me shower first?”

“That would be a hoop, would it not?”

“It would qualify.”

“Shower first, then.”

You rushed to the locker room. Val and Natasha were already there.

“Ew, what smells?” Val asked as you passed her.

“That would be me,” you answered, "or more specifically, my patient's insides all over me.”

“That makes me strangely happy.”

“Oh, Y/N,” Natasha grimaced, “you smell like—“

“Karma.”

“What?” You asked Val.

“Nothing.”

“Something vile is stuck in your hair,” Natasha told you, pointing to your hairline. “You know, just go stand over there, please.” She shooed you to the other side of the aisle.

“Ugh, how much do I love being a surgeon right now?” You mumbled.

“Karma,” Val laughed.

“What does karma have to do with anything?”

“I'm just saying, you've been given all the best surgeries. And now you smell like putrid goo. And you're giving off a stench. Karma's a bitch.”

Gamora walked into the locker room. “Dr. Rogers needs an intern in surgery,” she stated. “Which one of you is clear?”

“I’m good!” Natasha raised her hand. She was still looking pale. “Where do you want me?”

“You need to lie down somewhere.”

“I’m fine, I’m completely healthy.”

“L/N?”

“Of course,” Val grumbled.

“What is your problem?” You asked Val, annoyed.

“Um, you! Cause apparently you can help Captain McDreamy in ways the rest of us can’t.”

“You did not just say th—“

“Yes, I did!”

“Hey!” Gamora called out. “Natasha, hemispherectomy in OR 1 with Dr. Shepherd. Go.”

Natasha nodded and hurried away. Val marched off as well.

“Apparently, I’m not the only one with hoops,” Gamora smirked.

~~~

After showering, you found Mrs. and Mr. Todd in the lobby. As you walked, you explained to them what had gone on in surgery.

“We were able to reverse the gastric bypass, but we did lose a significant portion of her bowel,” you told them. “And because of the short gut syndrome, Jessie will never eat normally again.”

“Ok, wait, do…” Mr. Todd tried to put his thoughts together. “How do we help her here?”

“Well, getting proper nutrition will be a lifelong problem for Jessie.”

“Great,” Mrs. Todd murmured, annoyed, “as if we already don't have our hands full with her.”

“She gets good grades. She stays out of trouble. She's smart. I just think she feels like nothing she does is good enough for you.”

“If you somehow think that I'm responsible for this…”

“I think Jessie is killing herself to please you.”

“Oh, please. You have no idea what's going on in that girl's mind.”

“You're her mother. She worships the ground you walk on. She didn't do this for herself.”

“I think that this situation is completely—“

“Chrissy, shut up,” Mr. Todd interrupted.

Both you and Mrs. Todd looked shocked as Mr. Todd walked faster to Jessie’s room.

~~~

Clint had had an interesting day, to say the least. He had discovered that the anesthesiologist in Steve’s surgery was drunk. Bringing up to Dr. Rogers, both the anesthesiologist and Dr. Rogers got mad, throwing him out of the surgery. Which is why he needed another intern.

Durning the surgery, Natasha and Dr. Rogers quickly realized that Clint had been right. Allowing Natasha and another doctor to close, Steve requested Clint to met him outside of the OR.

“Let me explain,” Steve began.

“It’s fine,” Clint responded.

“No, there is a code among doctors. We're not supposed to ask each other questions, not within the walls of this hospital.”

“Okay, so, I was out of line.”

“No, you weren't. I was. I was out of line. Somebody should have taken responsibility. It should have been the guy doing the cutting. It should have been me. You didn't deserve what happened to you today. You did the right thing code or no code.” Steve held out his hand for Clint to shake. Hesitantly, Clint shook it. “You saw me leave the house this morning, didn’t you?”

Clint pulled his hand away. “Oh, was that you?”

“Hmm. I’m not using her. And I don’t favor her.”

“She’s pretty great, you know.”

“Mm-hmm. I know.”

~~~

You went to Jessie, getting her into a wheel chair so that you can walk her around while talking to her alone. You had made a phone call, and you needed to tell her about it.

“Did you fix me?” Jessie asked, after the two of you walked in silence for awhile.

“No, not completely,” you responded.

“So, I won’t get fat?”

“No.”

“Oh. That’s awesome.”

“Jessie, I’ve asked social services to contact your parents.”

“What? Why?”

“They can help you.”

“With what?”

“You don't know this yet, but life isn't supposed to be like this. It's not supposed to be this hard. And your mom… she isn’t suppose to treat you this way.”

~~~

You were so extremely grateful when you were finally allowed to go home. It was late, so you were expecting your roommates to be asleep. When you entered the kitchen, you found Val frosting a cake.

“I thought you’d be asleep by now,” you commented, searching for food.

“Yeah, well, I’m not,” Val retorted. “If you wait a few minutes, you can have a piece of cake. Baked it chock-full of love. Actually, chock-full of unrelenting, all consuming rage and hostility, but it's still tasty.”

“So you know?”

“I know.”

“Well, do you want the long, sordid version, or do you want the short version, where I started sleeping with a guy who turned out to be my boss?”

“Neither.”

“Val, cut me some slack here.”

“No. You went to Dartmouth. Your parents— don’t get me started on that. I know you’re trying to hide who your parents are. But I know. You grew up— look at this house! You know, you walk into the OR, and there isn’t anyone who doubts that yo should be there. I… I grew up in a trailer park. I went to state school. I put myself through med school by posing in my underwear. You know, I walk into the OR, and everyone hopes I'm the nurse. Y-you have their respect without even trying, and you're throwing it away for...what? A few good surgeries?”

“No. It's not about the surgeries. It's not about getting ahead.”

“Then what? A little hot sex? You're willing to ruin your credibility over that? I mean, Y/N, what the hell are you doing?” You huffed, shaking your head. “Oh, my… you’re falling for him.”

“I am not.”

“Oh, you so are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“You so are. Damn it, you poor girl.”

“You know, it's just that he's just so… And I'm just… I'm having a hard time.”

"Wow, you're all, uh, mushy and… warm and full of secret feelings.” Val handed you a piece of cake.

“I hate you!” You snatched the cake from her. “And your cake.”

“My cake is good. So, um, how hot is the sex?”

“Val.”

“What? Come on, my girlfriend broke up with me, I’m not getting any. Help a girl out with a few details.”

~~~

Steve showed up at your door an hour later, exhausted as well. You two headed up to your bedroom. You were both on either side of the bed, pulling back the covers.

“You know,” Steve slurred, “we could just…”

“Sleep?” You finished.

“We could, yeah, if… if you want to.”

“Yeah?”

You both crawled into bed. You turned off the lamp beside you before cuddling into Steve’s side. He reached over and turned off the lamp at his side.

“I could get used to this,” you whispered, falling asleep.

next chapter >

NOTES: from now on the taglist when be added by a reblog. I will reblog it using my second account, @just-dreaming-marvel-2. Just so that my main page doesn’t get too cluttered.

If you want to be added to the tag list, please dm me or send in an ask.

#steve rogers x reader #gamora x reader #peter quill x reader #natasha romanoff x reader #clint barton x reader #scott lang x reader #tony stark x reader #the avengers x reader #avengers x reader #marvel x reader #marvel imagine #marvel imagines #steve rogers imagine #Steve Rogers

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years

Text

Tom x You

Summery: Tom and his brothers have a pub. You, trying to avoid working on your new album, spend most of your time in there. Lots of flirting and bickering ensues.

Themes: Sort of frienemies to lovers, slow burn, mutual attraction but they are both to dumb to realise. General dumbness all around. Idiots in love.

Word count: 4k

Warnings: Drinking and swearing. Smut in future chapters.

PART I of IV

***

At 8 years of age your father hands you a worn guitar and with the patience of a saint teaches you how to make it play the holiest of sounds. Every day you practise, until your fingertips has hardened and they move effortlessly over the strings.

At 10 years of age you write your first song. It’s a puerile little tune about a sweet boy with hair like honey and an opportunity lost. It’s repetitive and nonsensical but your mother hums the chorus for weeks after hearing it.

At 14 years of age you meet up with a record label and when signing the dotted line on the contract you feel a chill down your spine and your grandmother’s stories about the crossroad demon comes back to you verbatim. With determination you still put your name on the paper in a signature you’ve spent hours practising. Only days later you hear your voice on the radio for the very first time.

At 17 years of age there are headlines in magazines about you, photos of men they claim you’ve dated and interviews with people who claim to be a ‘close source’ to you, even though you’ve never met them, spilling lies on every page. You find out your closest friend has sold information about you to the tabloids for over a year.

At 19 years of age you go on a world tour, though the only parts of the world you see are airports, hotels and playing venues and then later at night: nightclubs. You travel the world, but you learn nothing about it.

At 22 years of age and your boyfriend breaks up with you for an actress. There isn’t a day that year that tabloids don’t ‘report’ on it. He spends most of the time telling the world how much happier he is in his new relationship, and you spend most of your time staring down into a bottle.

At 24 years of age you feel drained, dog-tired and worn out. On a regular basis there’s photos of you stumbling out of pubs, bars and restaurants all over the internet. Your record label is threatening a lawsuit and you haven’t talked to your manager in weeks. You have no friends and your family doesn’t know what to do with you.

Okay, so maybe being a successful singer isn’t all that it’s cut out to be. Especially not when the entirety of the internet is making fun of you.

And yes, maybe you’re in a flunk and haven’t written anything decent in months. And okay, maybe you haven’t even picked up a guitar in weeks. And maybe throwing away your phone in order not to have to face the record label was a bad idea. And maybe, hand on heart, the right solution to your problems is not to waste your days away in a well-hidden pub in a backstreet in London with the cutest pub owner you’ve ever seen, with biceps that makes you want to drool. A pub owner who has no interest in you and finds you annoying beyond belief.

Yet here you are,

again.

***

“It’s Tuesday” Tom informs you as he hands you cherry coke and a straw.

So, it goes like this. Tom is obsessed with time. He’s always informing you of either what day of the week it is, or the time of day. As if he’s trying to shame you into realising that 10 am on a Tuesday is not an acceptable time to order a dry martini.

“So?” You ask, feigning ignorance as you open the can. “And don’t think I haven’t noticed that this is a coke and in fact completely free of alcohol. I mean in the good ol’ day they at least had the cutesy to put cocaine in there.”.

“Don’t worry” he says, scrubbing the surface of the already clean counter-top “there’s a shit load of other stuff that’ll destroy your insides in there”.

You try not to roll your eyes, honestly you do. You fail. “Oh no, is it sugar? Please, doctor say it isn’t sugar!” you wail dramatically.

“No, not just sugar” and you can tell he’s also trying not to roll his eyes at your exaggerated play acting. “You know, I saw this documentary once about what they put in coca cola and –”

“No, nope, no, no. Absolutely not” You shake your head vehemently as if that will stop his words. "I would literally rather hear you talk about goddamn golf for an hour than put me of one of life’s few great pleasures”.

This time he doesn’t manage to stop himself from rolling his eyes at you. “Oh, I think we both know you find more pleasures in life than coca cola”.

Before you can answer him something insanely witty the door to the office behind the bar opens and an anxious looking Harrison step out. “Tom, Sam says the fish delivery didn’t show up again so we’re out of cod and therefore fish ‘n chips.”

Tom rubs his face, looking worried. “Alright, I’ll call him up and see what happened.”

But Harrison still looks tense. “Also…” he trails off, losing courage.

“Also, what?” And Tom too sounds tense now.

“Well, Downey from the bank called, he says the invoice is way over due and he wants a meeting. I told him you’d call today”.

Tom keeps rubbing his forehead, as if to literally fight of a migraine, and his shoulders tense. “Yeah, yeah I’ll call him this afternoon”. Harrison nods and walks back into the kitchen

“You know, I cou –” but you don’t get to finish your sentence before he interrupts you. “Don’t” he says, voice sharp as a whip.

“But, it would just be a loan, honestly I – ”

“No, and I mean it.” And you judging by the tone of voice he uses and the stern look he gives you you’re well aware that he isn’t joking. It’s like his usually warm and kind eyes are nailing you down into your seat. “I’m not gonna borrow money from a customer, as you well know.”

The problem is that really wouldn’t be a big deal for you to offer him a loan or give it as a gift really. You love this pub. You love the people working here and the patrons and coming in for a drink or a meal or simply a chat and a laugh. It’s your safe haven. No one ever hardly ever bothers you here. No one asks you for a selfie or asks you about when more music is coming out. No one tugs at your sleeve or try to sneakily take a photo of you. Here, you are normal. And it would devastate you to see the Holland boys lose it all when you know you can help. You have more money than you know what to do with.

However, you know there’s no arguing with him when he’s got that look on his face so you don’t, just keep sipping on your cherry coke as your foot taps along to the song on the radio. From inside the kitchen you can hear the faint sound of the Holland twin's laughter.

Tom turns away from you to sort out the whiskey glasses on the counter behind him. But when picking up a glass he fumbles, and it falls out of his hand and lands right on his foot, though it fortunately doesn’t break.

“Ah, fucking bastard!” he shouts, grabbing hold of his injured foot.

“You shouldn’t swear in church, you know” ¨you say, as you finish your coke.

He looks at you indignantly, pouting like a child, “well, lucky for me, this is a pub.”

“You say potato, I say tomato, now make me a real drink.”

“For fucks sake, darlin’, you gotta eat something.”

***

So, it’s either late or early, depending how you look on it. On tube stations all across London early worker are already gathering on the platforms to take their commute to work. Not you. Not Tom either.

Now, Tom is an early riser and has been since childhood. His nanna used to say that he had energy enough for three children. Despite regular closing shifts at the pub he likes to be up at dawn. Says he likes to get an hour at the gym and a walk with Tessa in before he heads to the pub to make sure everything is in order. After having checked with Sam that everything is stocked for the day, he has his protein loaded breakfast while ordering supplies or read through whatever paper work he need to be on top off before opening up the pub for the day.

Tom hates having this routine disturbed.

So, it goes like this. Harry had been the bartender most of that night, since Tom had ‘other business to take care of’. Whenever Harry was bartender he’d usually spent more time drinking with you than he did serving up the other costumers. When Tom came back and saw the state of you, he’d sent you home, telling you that you’d had enough for one night and asking Harrison to walk you home. Then he’d giving Harry a proper telling off. You had dutifully walked with Harrison to your apartment, thanked him sweetly, and then as soon as you saw that he had passed the corner walked into another pub just across the street for more. It wasn’t as charming a place as The Hollands and their bartender sure wasn’t as handsome or as fun to annoy as the regular one at Hollands. But in a pinch, anything will do.

Upon closing hour however, as you made your way home, you’d discovered that your keys were missing. Being absolutely wasted this did not worry you in the slightest. You just strolled back on unsteady legs to The Hollands to see if you’d dropped them there. Tom, who had closed the pub for the night, was still in. From the windows you could see him going through stacks of paperwork in front of him, a frown on his face. Upon hearing you knocking on the window at 2 am he’d jumped out his chair to see what was going on. When seeing you three sheets to the wind, dressed in a thin dress on a cold summer’s night the frown on his face had gotten worse.

Now here you are, in his apartment, in the dead of the night, and he’s offering you a plate of tortellini. Tessa had been overjoyed to see you and after having been allowed to greet you she had then been sent to her place and out of the way of your drunk, stumbling feet.

“But I hate tortellini” you whine.

“Christ sake, Popstar, just eat the damn food”

“No, I hate it, Tom, I hate it so much, it makes me think of- of- ” you hiccup.

“Are you actually crying right now?”

“It makes me think of- of - cheese sauce and -”

“Sorry, but what now?”

“And – I – I – I hate cheese sauce”. You’re full on sobbing and he just stares at you in disbelief.

Then, somehow the world seems fall the wrong way around. It takes you a second to realize that you’ve slid down on the floor and that you’re staring up at the ceiling. Tom’s strong arm take a hold of you and he guides you to a sitting position, leaned up against the wall. With your face in his hands he stares at you in indignation but there’s something else there too. You’re drunk enough to dare to call it tenderness.

Suddenly you’re aware that you’re sobbing, but you can’t remember why that is.

“Fuck who knows” he responds and when you give out a sound that’s something halfway between a sob and a laugh he starts laughing too. “If I make you something else to eat, will you eat it then? You’ll feel better in the morning if you do”.

Your head feels heavy, so you lean it against his hand and nod. “No cheese sauce, please”.

He rolls his eyes, but he’s laughing too. “Sure, no cheese sauce for Pop Princess.”

“Oi!” You call out “You promised to never to call me that!” Pop Princess was the title the tabloids had given you early on in your career. He keeps smiling, but it’s a gentle smile, and trace the frown between your eyebrows with his finger, as if he’s trying to erase it.

“Will you please just sit here while I cook?”

You nod again, too tired to say anything. He gets up, and you can hear some pouring water and then he places a glass of water in your hand. “Drink” he orders, then he’s gone again, and you can hear the clattering of pots and pans as he starts cooking. You’re just staring into the wall, trying to make it stop spinning; limbs heavy with sleep and whiskey, a nice buzzing numbness in your head.

Then he’s in front of you again, looking at you with a frown “I thought I told you to drink that” and you look at the full glass clasped in your hands. “Seriously, you’ll feel better if you do”.

You roll your eyes “oh, please, Tommy. Remember who you’re speaking to. I’m the local drunk, there’s no need to lecture me in hangovers”. But you do as you’re told and chug down your drink and hand him the empty glass. “Good girl” he says and gets back to his cooking. Before long the delicious scent of food is spreading through the tiny, cramped kitchen.

You start humming a song you wrote years ago but never released, low enough so you think Tom won’t hear you over the sizzling pan. But he does.

“What’s that?” he asks, curiosity in his voice.

“Oh” you say, leaning your head back against the wall as you close your eyes in the hope that the world will stop spinning. “Just a song.”

Everything goes quiet for a while and you find yourself wondering if you’ve fallen asleep. But then you hear his voice. “Keep singing, please”.

It surprises you, the amount of tenderness in his words; such a gentle bequest. So, you do as you’re told. In a voice raspy from the whiskey but sweet from his kindness you sing.

“I’ve been holding my breath, I’ve been counting to ten,

Over something you said, I’ve been holding back tears

While you’re throwing back beers, I’m alone in bed

You know I, I’m afraid of change, Guess that’s why we stay the same,

So tell me to leave, I’ll pack my bags, get on the road,

Find someone that loves you better than I do, darling, I know,

'Cause you remind me every day, I’m not enough, but I still stay”

You trial off and he keeps quiet too and goes silent again. Then he slides down beside you, a plate of pasta carbonara in his hands which he offers you along with a fork. “Eat” he orders gently. You do, and it tastes delicious.

“God, Tom, you could rival Sam in the kitchen”.

He snorts but you persist. “Seriously Tommy, I’d hire you as a private chef if I didn’t know you’d be an insufferable employee”.

He snorts again, but you can tell he’s amused. “Wow, thanks a lot”

“Seriously, you’d always complain about my lack of organization, or the fact that I keep all of my face masks in the refrigerator, or that I never have any food at home or that I don’t eat at regular hours or that I sometimes just forget to eat and just have a Red bull for dinner instead or that I – ”

“Jesus Christ” he interrupts you “who the fuck let you be an adult? What’s wrong with you!?”

You’re wolfing down your food, so it takes you a moment to answer. “Someone said my problem was ‘a mind-boggling lack of general discipline and a staggeringly low ability to organise’” you finally say.

“Who said that? I mean they’re not wrong”.

“You said that” you point out as you finish your plate of carbonara. “Also, this was scrumptious, and also, may I sleep here tonight?”

He looks at you in disbelief “Yeah, duh, I’m not kicking you out? I mean, I thought that was the general idea of this”.

He grabs a hold of your plate and takes your hand in his other as he guides you both up to a standing position. He places the plate among the other dirty pans in the sink and then lead you to his bathroom. Giving you a new toothbrush, he orders you to brush your teeth while he changes his sheets. He hands you a shirt to sleep in and when you’ve changed you argue for a good 10 minutes while about who’s to sleep on the couch before he puts his foot down and say he’ll ban you from his pub unless you take the bed instead of him. So, you do.

His bed soft and comfortable and smell of his detergent. From the living room you can hear Tessa’s deep breaths and the sound of Tom tossing around on the sofa. You wonder how uncomfortable he is.

“Tommy just come in here instead” you call out, voice drowsy.

“No, I told you, you take the bed”

You snort. As if you were going to give this bed up, no chance. Not now that you know how comfortable it is.

“Yeah, duh” you answer. “Wasn’t planning on taking the sofa, but the bed’s big enough for the two of us, innit?”

Dead silence from the living room. Even Tessa seems to have been struck silent.

“You sure?”

You sigh. “Yeah, I'm sure, for fuck’s sake Tommy, just come in here”.

You hear the sound of footsteps slowly making their way across the floor, then he’s in the doorway. Clad in a pair of black boxers and a black t-shirt, awkwardly scratching the back of his head as he avoids looking at you.

You pull down the covers and he lay down beside you, keeping his distance in the bed. You have your backs against each other, staring into separate walls and even through the whiskey you can tell this is awkward. You want to ask him to hold you, but you’re scared he doesn’t want it. Scared he doesn’t even want to lay beside you. You are after all just a costumer in his bar. A costumer you know he can’t afford to lose.

You don’t know how long you lay there in silence, his scent surrounding you, the soft sound of his breath lulling you into further relaxation but eventually you drift off to sleep.

When you wake, he’s gone. A note on his pillow tells you he’s gone to the gym, telling you to take anything you want for breakfast and just leave the keys at the pub later.

When you close the door behind you you can’t help but feel that something tender happened in there, something important; but you know he doesn’t feel the same.

***

It’s Monday night, as Tom has been so kind to remind you off, and you’re plastered.

Earlier the pub had been full to rim of football supporters shouting and singing and sharing pints before a big game, filling the entire place with an excited buzz. Now they’ve all gone off to cheer for their heroes on the field and only the patrons remain.

Harry is bartender tonight, and Tom has placed himself in the back of the pub, a stack of paper in front of him that he keeps leering at. With a drink in your hand and a happy-go-lucky attitude you seat yourself on the opposite side of his table, determent to cheer him up.

“’m gonna write a song about you.” You inform him, voice only somewhat slurry.

“Go on then.” He doesn’t look up at you, just jots something down on the form in front of him. He’s wearing glasses tonight and they make him look so handsome you want to scream in frustration.

“Well, what rhymes with Tom? Rum!”

“Oh, Christ, no. No, I’ve changed my mind.”

“Tom, he serves rum and tequila.” You sing. “Wait, what rhymes with tequila?”

“Please don’t”

“Heliophilia!”

“Okay, ’m literally begging you not to do this.” He’s looking at you now, his caramel eyes filled with both amusement and genuine dread. You don’t listen, no, you sing.

“Tom, he serves Rum and tequila,

he loves the sun, it’s called heliophilia

his pub needs fundin’, he lives in London”

“Wow. That is a hell of a forced rhyme, pop princess.”

“No, no wait!”

“Wait? I will literally pay you to stop”.

But then you start singing for real, in a voice so sultry that it makes him freeze mid motion, hand just about to turn the page over.

“Have you’ve seen my bartender

he’ll serve you whiskey, he’ll pour you rum

so sweet it’ll make you tender

but all the whiskey in Tennessee

couldn’t have that man agree

to ever share a drink with thee

no, all that sweetness’s just for me

cause babe, he’s my bartender

Yes, have you’ve seen my bartender

He’ll hand you wine, he’ll sell you gin

I think it’s a sign when he hands me my wine

When hand’s touching hand, skin touches skin”

Tom seem to be frozen in place when you stop, and over at the bar you hear Harry give a loud whistle. “Fucking hell, popstar” he cheers.

Tom still doesn’t say anything, just observes you, seemingly speechless. And maybe you’re imagining it, but he’s cheeks seem pinker than usual.

"Well, at least I didn’t rhyme rum with cum” you say, trying to get a reaction out of him. And then “I did think about doing it though” and you lift your glass to him as if in a toast before you down it.

He snorts, back to his normal self and stare down at the paper again.

“Now, honestly, Tom. What did that piece of paper ever do to you?”

“Huh?”

“You’re staring at it like you want to set fire to it. You’d like me to do it for you?”

“No thanks, reckon he’d sue”.

“Who is he?” you lean over the table and closer to him and you swear you can practically see him ordering himself not to look down at your cleavage. “Is he god?” you whisper in mock horror. “Cause, I wouldn’t worry too much, Tommy. You see, God can’t sue. Well, someone in America tried to sue Satan once and they couldn’t cause they couldn’t hand him the papers. Turns out Satan hasn’t got an address. Reckon the same goes with God”

He rolls his eyes “oh, this guy definitely has got an address. He lives in Knightsbridge.” And then, in a voice unusually bitter he adds “posh twat”.

“Oy” you warn, jokingly, “those are my neighbourhoods'”.

A sound somewhere between a scoff and a laugh escapes him “Oh please” he laughs “please, you might live in Primrose Hill now, but you’re not Knightsbridge posh. Sorry to disappoint, Pop Princess”.

You glare, but it’s all in good humour. “So, who is this not-God-but-rich-as-God man sending you paper?”

The humour disappears from his face. “Downey, from the bank”. Then he turns to the bar and shouts, “Harry, hand me a pint, ye?”

“And a whiskey for me, please” you request sweetly.

“No way, Harry, she’s cut off for the night. Tell Sam to make her something to eat” he orders his younger brother who rolls his eyes but obediently begin to head into to the kitchen.

“Not tort -” you begin shouting as an instruction.

“Not tortellini” he shouts at the same time. “And no cheese sauce either” he then adds.

You smile at him and this time you swear he’s blushing.

“Who’s Downey? You ask. And you know you’re prying, but you also know that Tom needs help with something and if there’s anything you can do to help, you will.

“A bank man who wants me to pay my loans back”. He answers eventually after a long silence, when he figures you’re not going to give up and talk about something else. Harry comes back and hands Tom a pint and then leaves to take care of a costumer at the bar.

“A bank man, who lives in Knightsbridge?” You ask, bemused.

Tom smiles “oh, believe you me, Downey’s not your average bank clerk.” Then, in a serious tone, “look, I know you want to help, but there’s nothing you can do, ye? So drop it”.

“But I-”

“Drop it. Seriously, pop princess, there’s nothing you can do, I’ll figure something out”. He doesn’t sound harsh and the way he looks at you is positively adoring. Then he does something unexcepted. He reaches over the table and pulls a loose string of hair behind your ear. It’s a soft and sweet gesture and you want to reach over and kiss him but before you can he removes his hand and seconds later Harry places a dish of steaming pasta carbonara in front of you. You smile and thank him and he makes his way back to the bar.

You eat in silence for a while as he continues to read through stashes of papers. You decide to leave the subject, for now at least.

“Yours is better, by the way”. He looks up at you, confused. “Your carbonara” you clarify. “I mean, Sam is an incredible chef and you’re lucky to have him, but yours is my favourite”.

His cheeks heat up, again.

***

R E A D P A R T T W O H E R E

#tom holland #tom holland headcanon #tom holland imagine #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x oc #tom holland x fem #tom holland x you #peter parker x reader #peter parker x you #peter parker x y/n

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penguintransporter · 4 years

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Winning The Game Called Love (Hector Bellerin) PART V

Part V of this little piece that I enjoy writing so much. It is a bit longer, but if you ask me, totally worth your time. The entire story was inspired by the outfit in the picture, so I wanted to post it. Also, I kinda want to dedicate this chapter to one and only @varanest�� because of all the support I got, and of course all you anons that decided to write me - you have no idea how much it means to get encouragement for one’s work. Anyway, this was supposed to be the last part, but I think there will be one more after this because I don’t want to leave you hanging (epilogue maybe?) Let me know what you think...

Part I

Part II

Part III

Part IV

________

Aida wrapped her long coat tighter around her body, trying to stop herself from shivering even if she was well aware that she wasn’t doing so because she was cold.

Her battered Dr. Martens boots echoed as she walked along the edge of the vast parking lot, and except for few expensive-looking cars parked randomly and a very bored security guard, sitting in his small cubicle, watching Fawlty Towers – it was completely empty.

Aida pulled her phone out, nervously checking the time, but deep down she was just doing it in order to see if there was maybe a text message from Héctor, telling her where to look for him.

What if this is all just a prank?

Was he watching her now, laughing his arse off?

Just as she was about to jump on the train of doubtful thoughts and untrue conclusions, she spotted him – her heartbeat speeding up ever so slightly.

Héctor was leaning on the wall, illuminated by the spotlights surrounding the exit doors – eyes trained on his phone as he lazily moved his thumb across the screen. Aida’s stomach did a quick flip as she stopped for a second, observing him from from afar - letting the familiar rush of excitement run through her, followed by yet another shiver.

This time she didn’t even try to make herself believe that it was because of the low temperatures.

Deciding that she had been creeping on Héctor for too long – not that she could be blamed in the first place, Aida started walking towards him – her heart beating loudly in her ears, masking the noise that her boots made. Nervously, she smoothed down her clothes, exhaling softly.

Héctor looked up at her as she approached – a slow grin appearing across his face as he slid his phone in the pocket of his trousers. Aida smiled back feeling her bile rising as she quickened her pace, and before she could say or do anything, Héctor had already pulled her into one of those hugs that made any other hug she received less important.

Surprised by the sudden and unexpected contact, Aida wrapped her hands around him awkwardly.

It was a mistake, she knew it, but she couldn’t help herself – inhaling deeply, she let her guard down for just a few seconds, enjoying their closeness. Aida could tell that he recently had his post-match shower, both by his scent and the wet tips of his hair that tickled her face as they hugged.

“Nice to see you,” Héctor spoke, breaking the hug, and Aida, for the lack of better reaction, smiled softly as she took a reluctant step backwards. There was nothing more she wanted than to stay in his embrace for much longer, but she had to maintain healthy distance – after all, they weren’t even – heck, Aida didn’t even know what they were.

Still, that pretend distance that was supposed to keep her feelings in check meant nothing once Héctor gave her a cheeky once-over, grinning like an idiot. Not knowing what to do or say, Aida nervously pulled at the strings of the hoodie she was wearing – suddenly feeling warm throughout her entire body.

She was blushing.

You’re acting like an idiot, Aida.

Héctor smirked at her – index finger moving closer to her chin only to tug the string out of her grip gently, muttering something in Spanish.

Or was it English? Catalan?

“I hope you don’t mind me wearing it in public,” Aida muttered, smoothing down the hoodie while avoiding looking at him. When he didn’t say anything, she continued, trying to sound like her normal self that seemed to be lost somewhere between her feelings for the handsome right-back and the intense brown of his eyes, “I really enjoyed the match, thanks for inviting me.”

“All of it? Or just the last fifteen minutes that I was out on the pitch?” Héctor teased, giving her a small wink. Aida felt that familiar warmth wash over her yet again as he pointed at the exit doors behind him. “It’s a good thing that we won, then. That goal was a proper beauty.”

Aida, deciding that her sarcasm might be her best bet, gave him her best fake surprised face as he stepped forward, opening the doors for her and holding them in place. “Wait, what?” she asked, suppressing a smile, “are you trying to tell me that you weren’t the lads in blue?”

Héctor laughed lightly, adjusting the red beanie on his head, and it made Aida stop for a second when she realised how well put together he actually looked – despite playing a major game just an hour before. From the choice of his clothes to the tiny details like his cross earring and few statement rings on his long, tattooed fingers.

Stop staring.

“You humour me,” Héctor retorted as Aida she squeezed herself next to him and took a few steps towards the glint of light that was coming from the world outside.

“Look, I will stand here and all you have to do is try to kick the ball past me,” Héctor instructed, still crouching in front of her where he was adjusting ‘the ball’.

She enjoyed the silly competitions - never failing to make a fool out of herself willingly or not, and she had nothing against some football, despite being very, very bad at it, but as Héctor tried to explain the challenge, Aida noted two problems.

First – the ground beneath her boots was slightly muddy, sticking to the soles of her boots, and second – the ball that Héctor was fixing wasn’t actually a ball, but a pine cone that he kept hitting as they walked through the park since they arrived.

For some reason or another, they ended up in Highbury Fields – taking the empty pathway along the rows of naked trees and wintery bushes, and despite the silence between them, Aida enjoyed their stroll as she stole glances at him every now and then like a lovesick schoolgirl. The park seemed to be very quiet just for them, with only occasional passerby that didn’t even spare a second look at the professional footballer and a petite brunette with rosy cheeks next to him.

“It’s ridiculous,” she commented, adjusting her hat nervously. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I have two lefts attached to my body.”

Héctor chuckled at her, glancing quickly at her. “You just have to believe in yourself.”

“Easy for you to say,” Aida huffed, “it’s like competing against, I don’t know—have you seen yourself on the pitch?”

“Few times, but I am glad to find out that you did as well,” Héctor teased as Aida felt her stomach being evaded by thousands of butterflies. “Would it help if I motivated you somehow?”

Aida looked down at him, finding herself both annoyed and turned on with his cheeky smirk. She could sense that he had an idea on his mind, and frankly, she was slightly scared. “Go on, vice-captain…” Aida urged, placing both of her hands on her waist.

“That ball—,”

“—Pine cone, you mean?”

Héctor made a silly face at her, and once again, her stomach made a flip.

“That pine cone,” he corrected himself, “if you manage to get it past me, I am buying you dinner after this. There’s a great vegan place down the road, and I’ve been peckish for a while now.”

Aida blushed, imagining them sitting at the table together, candle burning in middle, and his hand slowly touching hers— she stopped herself, shaking her head lightly.

You need to stop watching Hallmark movies.

“And if I don’t?” Aida asked, composing herself.

“I haven’t thought about it,” he spoke as he got up, dusting his hands against his trousers before giving her a look under his eyebrows. “Come on, unicorn. Have faith in yourself because I do.”

Not only did she lost the challenge, but she has also managed to fall on her arse and stain her relatively new coat with the wet mud. Despite giving her best, Aida knew that with her two left legs and balance or rather lack of it, she wasn’t going to win this one, no matter how much he tried to make it easy for her.

“Well, that was embarrassing,” she grinned at him like a Cheshire cat, brushing her coat with her hands as he took off his hat for a second, running his fingers through his locks before putting it back in the place.

Héctor stifled a laugh before hitting the unlucky pine cone with a real force, making it fly and land along the bushes, few meters away. “It wasn’t that bad,” he grinned, and Aida rolled her eyes at him. “I’ve seen worse.”

“Who? My granny?” she joked as Héctor took a step closer, only to pull her hat over her eyes, making her gasp and swat his hand away. “I was actually looking forward to that dinner,” Aida added with a sigh.

“It can still happen, y’know?”

“That’s because you’re peckish, innit?” Aida teased back, blushing lightly as Héctor smirked at her.

Slowly, they made their way down the long stretch of park, towards the exit as Aida tried to come up with something to say. She knew that she had no need to keep talking, but she enjoyed the silly banter with him; it was relaxing her.

Aida looked around the park.

The dusk had already set – the layer of fog forming slowly, and despite the gloominess of the winter, it looked beautiful. She stuck her hands in her pockets as she observed the nature surrounding them.

“I was wondering…” Aida started softly after a while – a thought that has been bouncing around her mind, tickled her curiosity.

“Hmm?” Héctor hummed as Aida glanced up at him – her heart making a dip into her stomach.

Hot. Ridiculously hot.

“Why did you want to meet up after the match?” she asked, making a detour around a small pool of mud in front of her. “And most importantly, how did you get my number?”

Héctor laughed lightly, glancing at her and Aida quickly looked away. “Blimey, are you always this curious?”

“Sometimes,” she teased, but on the inside she was becoming a nervous wreck. Héctor stopped for a second; Aida did the same, feeling of anticipation growing inside of her as she waited for his answer. “Come on, Hec,” she added softly, using his nickname for the first time.

He took a step closer – his face shadowed by something else other than his boyish demeanour; something that Aida couldn’t put her finger on what it was.

“Let’s say that I suddenly got curious about magical creatures,” he finally answered – the corner of his lips moving upwards as he took a step back away, starting to walk again. “Also, you still owe me a sign language tutorial. Don’t think I forgot about that.”

It was Aida’s turn to giggle as she caught up with him. “Hate to say this, but not many birds would appreciate that kind of flirting, Héctor.”

“What about you? Would you appreciate it?” he asked nonchalantly and Aida’s breath hitched in her throat.

How can he say something like that and keep his cool?

For what seemed like ages, Aida tried to make herself breathe again. The only thing she was able to do as she tried to gain back her composure was to open and close her mouth like a fish. It certainly didn’t help that Héctor kept his eyes trained on her, smirking mischievously.

He was more than pleased with himself.

“I… I’m, ugh – idiot,” she groaned, burying her face in her hands.

Héctor chuckled, tugging at her coat sleeve, making her look up at him. “My God, you are unbelievable, but in a good way.”

Aida blushed a further shade of red as she looked at him, wishing she wasn’t because a certain type of tension was growing between them and it made her heartbeat accelerate.

“It’s all your fault,” she blurted out, quickly realising that she actually voiced her thoughts instead of keeping them inside her head. Burned with the realisation that she humiliated herself once again, she took a step back.

“Guilty as charged,” he grinned at her playfully, and all Aida wanted to do was to find a rock and hide underneath it for a while. “Y’know, I wasn’t joking with what I said about the dinner,” Héctor started, switching the subject casually as Aida managed to gain some of her confidence back – her cheeks cooling down ever so slightly, “but you still need to keep the end of your bargain.”

“And here I thought you forgot about it, silly me,” she joked back, trying to sound cool, but on the inside she was feeling the nervousness growing yet again. “What do I have to do?” Aida asked, pretending that she was ready for whatever he had in his mind.

“Kiss me,” Héctor responded nonchalantly as if he was asking her about the time or as if he was wondering if it was raining outside.

Aida swallowed – her eyes going wide for a second as her mind shut itself. She was desperately trying to find the goddamn switch, but it was in vain.

She was not ready for this.

“Fine,” she whispered, nervously sticking her hands in the pockets of her coat. “A kiss,” she repeated and Héctor nodded, looking at her with a small smile dancing on his lips as he waited. She nodded as well, more as an encouragement to herself before taking a step towards him.

Without wasting a moment, she tiptoed ever so slightly, giving him a peck on the cheek - softness of his skin surprising her for a second. Not pleased with the execution, but glad that she didn’t humiliate herself once again, she smiled, taking a step back and in the direction of the exit gates that were in front of them.

Before she knew what was happening, Héctor’s hand pulled at her arm, and Aida only blinked fast couple of times when she found herself facing him once again. He was gently pulling her closer towards him - one of his eyebrows rising slightly as he locked his eyes with hers. Aida waited for that cocky grin of his to appear on his face, but it didn’t; not this time.

She only saw moments like this in the movies and TV shows, and more than often she wondered if they existed in real life or if they were just a product of creative freedom. Whatever the case was, Aida wasn’t sure what was she supposed to feel because instead of the romantic anticipation she imagined when watching those, all she felt was a turmoil of butterflies in her stomach and a slight wave of panic rising inside of her.

Aida blushed a deep shade of red as Héctor’s arm sneaked around her waist, underneath her open coat, and for a second, she thought that her heart had stopped beating.

“For someone who knows the sign language, you really are very bad at reading them.”

“You didn’t specify— it’s not the same,” she breathed out shakily as Héctor’s other hand went up to her cheek where it settled perfectly against her jawline as he drew her in closer. The rings he wore felt cool against her burning skin as he watched her – eyes searching for a silent encouragement in hers. “Héctor,” Aida mumbled, heat rising inside of her, “whatever you’re about to do, can you just do it?”

She didn’t expect him to laugh, yet he did – throwing his head back for a second before looking back at her, and just when she was thinking that he was only teasing her, he leaned down, capturing her lips in proper kiss. The moment it happened, her eyelids fluttered close and she felt a tingle ran down her spine – her legs suddenly becoming weak. Quickly, she pulled her hands out of her pockets, sneaking them around his neck for support.

Maybe that was exactly what he was waiting for because Aida could feel him deepen the kiss, pulling her even closer.

There were moments, many of them, if she was going to be honest, when she wondered how it would feel to have his lips against hers, and now that she finally had the chance, Aida didn’t want to stop, and it scared her. Getting on her tiptoes, she brought herself closer, wanting him to know that she wanted the kiss; that she needed him to kiss her, and just as she started to relax into him, the kiss became just a gentle brush of his full lips against hers.

Much to her dismay, Héctor pulled away, and she suddenly became childishly shy, looking bashfully down at their shoes.

Do I say something now?

Is it wrong that I want to snog him again?

You just kissed Héctor, Aida.

“Much better,” Héctor smirked, giving his bottom lip a small bite as Aida glanced up at him, wondering what was going through his mind. Did he feel the same tingles as she did? Does he want to kiss her again as much as she wants to kiss him?

“Uhm—,” Aida trailed off, nervously looking away – her arms nervously swaying as Héctor took a step back while running his hand along his jaw. Aida felt a shiver of cold run through her, suddenly missing the the warmth of his hand against her face; his arm around her waist.

“Hungry?” he suddenly asked, sticking his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

Aida didn’t say anything, but nodded confusedly, closing her eyes for a second as they started walking towards the exit gate – a small but timid smile appearing on her lips.

#footballers #footballer fanfiction #Football Fanfiction #footballer imagine #football imagine #soccer fanfiction #soccer imagine #soccer oneshot #soccer imagines #hector bellerin fan fiction #hector bellerin fanfiction #hector bellerin fic #hector bellerin imagine #hector bellerin oneshot #arsenal fc fanfiction

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kookingtae · 3 years

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Yeah 40k posts crash when trying to reblog. We can open some of the posts. Just difficult to reblog. But if you self reblog and and we repost that we won't encounter issues. 🤷 Tumblr 🙄

wtf tumblr get it together bc that makes NO sense 🤦‍♀️ but thank you, i knew it was something like that!! even if i do split it up into two parts, the wait between the two chapters won’t be long bc ive jumped around writing different scenes out of order so a lot of the latter part will have already been written! also this is all still hypothetical bc i have no idea what the total word count will look like lol, but when i have a better idea i will definitely let yall know!

#ask #anon #falling into you

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soren-bleu-kun · 4 years

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BnHA Fics I’ve Read This Week 1

I read and review a lot of fics, every week. Here is the list from last Friday, to today. Let me know if I should I do this next week.

Bloom in Winter - God linking all the art for this was a bitch in my google document, but worth it. In this uncompleted and seemingly abandoned twelve chapter fic where Midoriya is forced to work with villains with his analytical abilities. The story picks up when he finds out that he’s going to have to infiltrate UA as a General Studies student in order to find a way to help kill his idol, All Might.

The Sun in My Eyes - This is a MomoJirou fic where the two girls meet at a young age and slowly fall in love as they grow up together. A fast read, and really cute.

Trust Fall - This is a cute little fic that I think is supposed to end on a note of a possible relationship between Shinsou and Midoriya. Basically, the 2A addition to the UA Cultural Festival is a cat café, and while chasing one down both Midoriya and the cat he was chasing end up stuck in a tree, and it’s Shinsou to the rescue.

What’s She Got That I Don’t? - This is a one-shot where we see Kirishima tell Bakugou that he has a crush on him. Getting rejected, he expected that. What he didn’t expect was for Bakugou to turn around and ask out Uraraka the very next day. This one-shot was good, but painful at times.

I. Shaky Hands - This is the beginning of rexcorvidae’s incomplete Whumptober Series. I did not review every single piece of this series, but it does kick off with a very good start. Dadzawa to the rescue when he realizes that - with all the damage that Midoriya’s done to them - his problem child can’t use a pen well, or a pair of chopsticks.

[Because this was a series of unconnected stories, I will be putting each one that I reviewed after this]

III. Delirium - Midoriya gets sick out of the blue in the UA dorms, attacks some students in his delirious state, and collapses. The whump is just spectacular and I love any story that features a character that thinks their friends are their enemies

IV. Human Shield - While taking Midoriya out for ice cream, he and Yagi get attacked. His brilliant solution to save his mentor? Jump in front of the bullet and almost die. There is some good Dad Might in this fic.

VII. Isolation - Warning, this fic deals with Suicidal Ideation. Basically, what would happen if Midoriya took Bakugou’s middle school taunting as far as it could have gone. It ends with him standing on a roof, read at your own risk.

XV. Scars - Midoriya has scars from the years of violent bullying that he went through and they don’t go unnoticed by his mentor. On the other side of the coin, Midoriya doesn’t want to tell Yagi who did it because he knows that if the people who tormented him don’t get to slide into being the heroes that they don’t deserve to be, they could be terrible villains. I honestly love this fic, it deserves everything.

XVI. Stitches - This is an AU where Nighteye finds Midoriya at a pretty young age, sees the sort of analytical work that he can do, and has him intern at his office [and holds onto his notebooks for him, since there’s a lot of dangerous information in there, even if Midoriya doesn’t understand that when they first meet]. This story takes place a few years into that internship, when Midoriya collapses at work after the stitches he put in himself after another round of violent assault from his classes gets infected.

XVIII. Muffled Screams - The last fic in this series that I reviewed, and it is a painful one, quite literally for Midoriya. In this story, he has been kidnapped, and he has one job. Don’t scream. Of course, this is difficult as he gets tortured, but he has to, because the villain promises that if he makes a noise, someone he cares about will die. We see this from the live feed that is being broadcast of the torture, with Yamada, Aizawa, and Yagi.

Is it the Thunder in the Distance - This is a good little one-shot featuring Yagi spending the night at the Midoriya household and finding his successor sleeping on the floor right outside of his room. All in all, this is a very good fic and I like it a lot. Note, the actual name of the fic is much longer, but I am not writing the entire thing out again.

If I’m Losing Again, Quiet Me Down - This takes place during the Stain Arc, when Midoriya is sitting in the hospital with Todoroki and Iida. While calling around to make sure that people know that he’s okay, he ends up having a panic attack. There is a soft ending to this one.

I’ll Carry You Home - This was a debut fic for the author on Ao3, and it features Yagi carrying an exhausted Midoriya home after a long day of training. Most adorably, he accidentally calls his mentor “dad,” and when Midoriya wakes up enough to realize what he said there is a lot of apologizing. All in all a cute story.

Growing Like You - This is a short one-shot featuring Midoriya finding out that one of the side affects of his new Quirk is that he’s growing, fast and a lot. Trying to find him something to wear, Yagi ends up stumbling across a box of his old UA clothes, and he gives it to Midoriya.

Feelings of a Fanboy - This is one of those “What if Midoriya had a Quirk” stories, and they are some of my favorite kinds of fanfics out there. In this one, his power is called Emotional Rush. Basically, the more he feels, the stronger and faster he gets. This goes up to right around/before the Stain Arc.

Father’s Day - This is a fic that features Hisashi Midoriya not really being around and Yagi stepping into the paternal role in Midoriya’s life, something that they both seem to need.

Define “Villainy” - This is more or less a crack fic where Tsuyu realizes that literally no one in her class has tried to stop her from straight up attempting to murder Mineta, and they will probably continue to let her because no one in the class actually likes him.

Anything, Anything - This is a fic that I already recommended to someone, and it is so good. This is a fic that features eventual TodoDoriya, where the two of them keep running into each other in the UA Dorms common room whenever they wake up from nightmares.

Those Hardest to Love Need it the Most - This is a Dadzawa fic where Aizawa finds out that Midoriya was extremely mistreated at his middle school and opens up an investigation in hopes of taking the place down for Quirk discrimination.

All the Signs - This is a crack fic for what I consider a bit of a crack ship, Huyumi. Basically, Fuyumi gets pregnant with Hawks’ kid and starts acting a little... bird like. The author, ohmytheon, is fantastic and I have read so much of their stuff.

Come Home - This fic breaks my entire heart. This is a story where Touya and Fuyumi Todoroki are twins, two halves of the same whole. This goes through their childhood together, right up to the end where Fuyumi watches Touya being Dabi on TV and refuses to rat him out. She just wishes that he would come back.

Who Will Protect Them - USJ 2.0, taking place when 1A has become 3A. After getting slammed into a wall and not being able to get back up, Aizawa wonders who’ll protect his class, before realizing that they’re more than keeping their own. He’s proud... and he’ll be even more proud if he survives this.

Darken Your Door - This is a fic that deals with neglect, emotional abuse, and manipulation. While on a run to a corner store with Midoriya, Aizawa gets to meet his students estranged father. It doesn’t take long for him to realize that his student is extremely uncomfortable around his parent. From then on he wraps Hisashi Midoriya in more red tape than he’ll be able to get out from under. No one talks to his students unless his students want to hear from that person.

Mouth Shut (Eyes Down) - A story in which Midoriya does not trust adults because they were the ones that let Bakugou and the rest of his bullies get away with assaulting him. He accidentally admits this to Aizawa after being stabbed when he thought he could “handle” getting stalked.

A Touch of Hope - This is technically a soulmates fic, where you find your soulmate after physical contact. Shinsou was not expecting to find his at UA, nor was he expecting that it would give him an opportunity to join the Hero Course if he can prove himself.

Voiceless - This is a shorter fic, only 1K, and it features Midoriya losing his voice when he gets sick and Shinsou taking care of him. It’s pretty cute.

Creating Music - This is a three chapter fic taking place over two days, the day before and the day of Valentine’s Day. This is a MomoJirou fic that is really cute and sentimental. I love it so much.

The Most Wonderful Time of the Year - In this fic, Midoriya is a dumbass and Shinsou finds his crush stuck to a pole by his tongue. He is not wearing a coat, and he has been stuck like this for a long time.

Hook, Line, and Sinker - This is a great EraserMic fic in a Quirkless AU, where Aizawa thinks that his tinder date it a catfish because there is no way internationally famous singer Hizashi Yamada just matched with him. Note, there is smut in either the second or third chapter.

Ask Me No Questions, I’ll Tell You No Lies - This is a silly little fic where Shinsou and Midoriya share a hotel room. Before you ask, there are two beds. There is a kiss, but that’s about it. A little OOC for Midoriya, but still pretty good.

Shinsou the Local Cryptic - This is a fic where Shinsou becomes an internet meme of his own creating. It’s honestly pretty fun, and I had a good time with this one-shot.

You Anchor Me Back Down - This is a one-shot with some fun art in it. When Todoroki is hit with a random Quirk that causes him to float whenever he’s happy, it’s difficult for him to keep his crush on Midoriya a secret. This takes place during their third year.

Cosmic Confluence - Wonderful Shinsou-Centric fic where he’s a reaper and it’s his job to watch over Izuku Midoriya until he dies. I wish that there was more of this fic that I could read because the idea of this is so interesting.

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the-cookie-of-doom · 4 years

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Good morning! Whats your favorite show/movie? Who are your favorite characters? Why do you like them so much? Also!! Did you have a good sleep?

Okay so I was a film major for a while, and I have opinions.

Penny Dreadful

I love this show. Like, so much. I adore it. I can not get enough of that show. Just all of the imagery, and the fantastic writing and acting. The episode intro alone is one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen. Eva Green is a goddess and I love everything she’s been in. The take on classic horror stories is So Good, and it actually became the inspiration for my Gay Frankenstein story! (Started as a stitch AU, and then went completely OC after I had Ideas) but the show itself is so intimate? I think it’s largely that the period they’re in, everything was so repressed and restricted. So when the characters break out of those moments, it’s more meaningful. And the love-hate relationship between Ms. Ives and Malcolm in season one? Exquisite. I could literally write essay’s about this show, but I’ll restrain myself and just say: it’s the best ensemble show I’ve ever seen. The characters come together, but they also each have their own distinct lives that sometimes intersect, but in s2 especially, are quite separate. They are constant with one another like ensemble shows usually portray. Also gothic horror and romance? My absolute favorite.

Anything by Guillermo del Toro

This man Owns My Entire Soul. I’m not even joking, everything he writes and directs is perfection. Crimson Peak is probably my favorite (I have a stitch AU for this too ;) ) because again, Gothic horror and romance. I’m a slut for that shit. Also Tom Hiddleston and Jessica Chastain? Delightful casting. I think it’s obvious by now that I love tragic relationships, so their dynamic is *chef’s kiss* amazing. they’re so damaged. And this quote right here is one of the BEST things I’ve ever read:

“But the horror... The horror was for love. The things we do for love like this are ugly, mad, full of sweat and regret. This love burns you and maims you and twists you inside out. It is a monstrous love and it makes monsters of us all.”

Engrave that on my headstone, please?? I’ve got a sort-of Dorian Gray AU (it’s delightful) that’s basically built on this entire premise. Mitch makes the mistake of falling in love with Stiles, and does many terrible things because of it. Mostly to himself, at least.

I think my love of Crimson Peak is very closely tied with The Shape of Water. another beautiful movie, I could wax poetic about this forever. it was beautifully written, and such an artistic movie. I love the way it was filmed, and the set design, and all of the subtle imagery. Such as Elisa’s apartment being cast in cooler tones, it always felt very damp and had evidence of water damage, compared to Giles’, a mirror image of her own, in more warm tones. This is another one I could (and have) write essays about. There is so much packed into this movie, from the themes on toxic masculinity and entitlement, to the conversation on queerness and race and disability, and how all the various relationships are portrayed. Like. there is so much to pick apart in this movie.

Aside from that, ofc Hell Boy deserves an honorable mention because i grew up on those movies. I’m pretty sure the Golden Army especially is responsible for who I am today, given all the lore on the fae in that universe. Wow, that explains so much about me... Also one of my first WoW characters was an elf named Nuala xD I still have her, too, and it’s been like 12 years lol

Near-Future Sci-Fi

Sci-fi is one of my favorite genres, I am a huge nerd for theoretical and astrophysics. But my favorite kind of sci-fi is the stuff that still takes place on Earth, rather than epic battles in space. Ex Machina and Annihilation are at the top of that list. Alex Garland is another writer/director that I love. He has the same kind of approach as del Toro, where he puts a lot of fine details into his work. And I love that it’s very cerebral; there are so many layers to Ex Machina. My English 101 prof actually refused to analyze it in class when I suggested it to him, because he didn’t think my class could. Basically handle? Dissecting that movie? Because a lot of it comes across as very surface level, but in some cases when you look deeper, it’s actually suggesting the opposite of what you might think at first glance. (And he was right, my fellow students were awful. I miss that class though, it was one of my favorites T_T Mr. Ryder was an awesome dude and super chill.)

Morgan is another good example. As you can see, I fucking love androids lol. Which brings me to another of my all time favorite movies: Cloud Atlas. I could literally watch this movie endlessly, I love it so much. The acting, the writing, the filming, all of it is top notch. And one thing they did in the movie that didn’t come across in the book, was reusing the same actors through the different eras in the book. That was just so neat, because it really encapsulates how connected these souls are, as we follow the threads of their story throughout time. If you haven’t seen the movie, I can’t recommend it enough.

Another one I always think of alongside Cloud Atlas, even though they aren’t related at all, is Predestination. It’s a great movie that explores the idea of fate and free will in a really clever way, utilizes time travel in a very organized way that I think was neat (think Umbrella Academy. They even use briefcases! As you can see, I love sci-fi bureaucracy, it’s fun. In fact The Bureau is another movie I enjoyed) and the main character is actually, explicitly trans, which was cool. You basically get to see the entire story of their life, and I don’t want to spoil anything, but it’s just. So good. Mindfuckery galore.

Shoot, and I almost forgot! Arrival! That is one of the best movies, and another one I could watch nonstop. It focuses on mathematics and linguistics and I swear to god, I almost altered my entire college course because of this movie. Amy Addams is brilliant, Jeremy Renner is so soft and nerdy, and again, it has an amazing take on time travel. I am very particular about how time is handled in Sci-fi, and this portrayal was one of my favorite. (Most of my physics studies have been dedicated to the theory of time, so like. Strong Opinions.)

Fantasy

Stardust! It wasn’t until Good Omens can out that I realized Neil Gaiman is responsible for most of the stories I loved as a kid lol, and I had no idea he wrote stardust! But that is such a beautiful movie (I have a Stardust AU lol) and it’s definitely one of my comfort movies. Captain Shakespeare is one of the best characters ever, bless Robert de Niro. I would die for him. Fun fact, i had no idea Ipswitch was a real place until like. 2019. I 100% thought it was made up for the movie 😂

Alongside Stardust, I’ve always loved The Golden Compass. It’s fantasy, but also with that old-timey steampunk science feel, which is so fun and surprisingly difficult to find!

Mortal Engines also has the same kind of feel, and it was such an epic movie in every sense of the word. I’m a little sad that after all the work that went into it, it didn’t get a dedicated following or fan base, because I feel there’s so much potential in it. But at the same time, fandom tends to gather around media that has plenty of flaws for us to repair with gold, and there wasn’t much room for that in Mortal Engines.

I’m going to put Jupiter Ascending here even though it technically fits with the sci-fi, because that section is long as fuck and also this movie has such a fantastic feel. Mila Kunis? beautiful. The CGI? beautiful. Eddy Redmayne? One of the best villain portrayals i’ve ever seen. The whole oedipal vibe he had was immaculate, as was their portrayal of reincarnation, and just. The world building. GOD. I get so weak for through world building. Also the fkn intergalactic bureaucracy when they’re basically at the space DMV? One of my all time favorite scenes in movie history.

Horror

I have very little room in my life for horror. As I said, I have strong movie opinions, especially when it comes to horror movies. I don’t like how most of them rely on cheap jump scares and overused gore and gratuitous rape scenes, instead of, y'know, actual good writing.

Which is EXACTLY why I adore It: Chapter 1 & 2. It has none of those things, but still manages to be so terrifying. They are my favorite horror movies, and I’m saying this as someone who has genuine childhood trauma bc of the novel. Like. I couldn’t shower/take baths alone until I was almost 10 T_T When I was 6-7 and saw kids play by storm drains, I would run over screaming about how Pennywise was going to get them. Like, I had issues man. I was terrified to see the first one, and wouldn’t go until I could go with my best friend after she had already seen it, so she could warn me when something scary was about to happen 😂

And, one of my favorite aspects of the movie, and the thing that gave me Mad Respect for Any Muschietti? The way he filmed Bev and her father. They have a character who is literally being molested, but they never once have to show it. And yet their interactions are still so viscerally upsetting to watch. Sexploitation puts me off of most horror, and the fact that Muschietti doesn’t use it here, even when it would be actually somewhat justified? *chef’s kiss*. I love him.

I love horror as a concept, I’m just really picky about it because I expect the writing to be good. I don’t like short cuts. But in a lot of cases, even if I don’t enjoy the movie itself, I love to watch analysis videos on youtube! I love to see the philosophy and symbolism in different horror movies, even if i don’t like to watch the movies themselves. It’s a fun hobby.

Misc.

Then in general, some other stuff I love in no particular order:

The Internship (Bless Dylan, Stuart is such a bitch and I love him)

American Assassin (ofc. The writing itself is eh, but Mitch is my man)

Dylan’s episode of Weird City. (I actually have a lot of feelings about this one. Jordan Peele is another amazing writer/director, I really need to catch up on his works.)

Dorian Gray (*chef’s kiss*)

Rogue One (Makes me cry every time)

WARCRAFT (Obviously this is a fav. It made me so happy, words cannot express.)

Coraline and most other stop motion animation. I’ve always had a soft spot in my heart for that.

Literally anything associated with Tim Burton. Fun fact, when I was 12 and in middle school, I planned to decorate my future house inspired by tim burton. Like, i had Plans.

Most adaptations of Alice in Wonderland!

So! this got long as fuck! But you said you like that kind of thing lol 😂 I had kinda Eh sleep since I was up so late lmao, and I kept waking up (as usual, rip). And I’m so mad I go up for nothing! The dude I was supposed to show my listing to never showed, and is refusing to answer my calls >_> It’s been 2 hours now, and I still haven’t heard from him. But whatever, I already have a full price cash offer on the house so who cares. And that means I can play WoW all day, now!

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deniigi · 4 years

Note

What is your favorite headcannon right now? 😊🌺 I hope you find a pretty flower today! Thanks for writing such beautiful works!

Hi anon!

Thank you for the flowers, here’s to wishing them your way too!

Man, I wish I could give you a single headcanon, but actually, I figure that this is a good chance to talk about a fuckload of headcanons I’ve been dreaming up lately, which have to do with a Big Project I’ve been working on with some other folks that y’all might know.

I just got the okay from the others to share, so I’m VERY excited to say that myself, @cassettemoon (writer of the Antichrist Verse), @pomegranate-belle, and @petrichordiam are all working together on a Marvel/Team Red Pacific Rim AU.

Here’s some of the concept art from it so far:

And here’s a wee snippet from the first chapter (We’re trading off each chapter who’s writing what, so it’s my job rn to write Steve Rogers. @cassettemoon is writing our dearly beloved Peter, @petrichordiam is writing Johnny Storm, and @pomegranate-belle is keeping things human by writing Foggy and perhaps some other incoming characters).

Steve Rogers POV:

Four seats sat empty in two Mark IV jaegers.

But they weren’t being filled anytime soon.

The new pilots already had their own jaegers and they scoffed at the thought of climbing into anything new. They didn’t care how advanced Stark’s tech was.

They had their own.

Two jaegers. One they called ‘BB’ and the other ‘the Beaut.’ These alongside a multitude of thrown-together bots made from scraps of fallen metal soldiers.

The three Bs were manned by a set of four.

Two teams.

Fury went silent when the four were called down from their roosts at the Punisher’s orders.

Two teams.

Barton bolted up straight upon seeing one of the guys and gave a shout that brought the pilot’s shielded helmet snapping around his way.

This guy seemed to recognize Barton.

“That you, Birdbrain?” a gravely, muffled voice shouted.

“What the fuck, you ain’t dead yet, Devil?” Barton shouted back, laughing. “I coulda sworn you went down in Jersey.”

“I ain’t dyin’ in fuckin’ New Jersey,” the pilot snarled like there was no greater insult.

The kid in black and blue next to him laughed. Their arm was threaded through the vet’s. Steve frowned at it.

Did the vet have a limp? A war wound?

“Round this way, Murdock,” The Punisher barked. “Front and center for inspection.”

“Front and center for inspection,” Murdock mocked to his greenhorn. “Like this blockhead owns me.”

His greenhorn snickered again.

Wow.

Fury was going to nip that in the bud.

“WILSON,” the Punisher roared, catching Steve off-guard and sending his hands scrabbling for his ears. “GET YOUR ASS OVER HERE.”

A cackle replied to the directive.

A scrape and thud answered after a bit and led Steve’s eye over to a hulking pile of custom-made armor holding its hands up to the eyeshield of the Beaut.

“Give us a jump, babycakes,” Wilson called up in a salacious tone. “Don’t worry, Papa’ll protect that ass of yours from—”

He didn’t finish because whoever was up there nailed in him the head with what appeared to be a mini-O2 tank. “FRANK,” this body roared, ducking out from his jaeger’s eye shield. “I WANT OUT.”

“You ain’t gettin’ it, kid. I told you there was no takes-backsies,” The Punisher snapped back. “Front and center. Now.”

He sniffed and turned back to Fury’s blank stare.

The kid up by the Beaut’s eyeshield threw his back two birds, then sprayed something down at Wilson when he got up that sent him cursing and grabbing at his helmet.

“Professionals,” Fury said slowly.

The Punisher hummed. “Get ‘em in their bot and they’re worth their weight in gold,” he said. “You’ll be sittin’ on a well of talent, so long as you can put up with the bullshit in the meantime.”

So yeah. I have a head crammed full of Pacific Rim headcanons right now anon, ranging from a Steve Rogers & Karen Page & Foggy Nelson blond dream team, to Peter and Bucky and a lot of other pilots all bound by a certain (secret) condition, all singing the same song with the same wrong lyrics over the comms while everyone else begs them to shut the fuck up.

It’s so much fun.

It’s going to be so good. Hopefully we’ll be able to get the first few chapters up for y’all to read soon.

Anyways, yes.

Pacific Rim AU headcanons are my fave rn. Thanks so much for asking ❤

#fic #pacific rim au #we gotta come up with a NAME GUYS #how'd we forget the NAME #whatever #we'll get there #just some sneak peeks: we've got a stark/banner team trying to drift with a kaiju #a curious-cat karen page trying to get in trouble at the shatterdome #a very sweet steve rogers chasing after a drift-drunk bucky barnes #and peter hellbent on getting his hands on a kaiju brain #it's a riot #join us soooooooon

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atths--twice · 4 years

Text

After the Credits

Hello there! Today is the 20th anniversary of Hollywood A.D. and I thought I would post my fic set directly after that episode. I’ve posted it before, but with a link to it and not HERE. I was new to Tumblr and didn’t know how to do much. I’m still learning, but I know a bit more now and thought I would reshare it here.

When I first started to write fanfic, I wanted to change the ending of My Struggle IV. I wanted to do it for ME, but others showed interest when I would make comments regarding what I was thinking, so I started writing it in earnest. It quickly moved to many stories and THAT particular story was posted months later, with many stories in between.

But this story... this is my baby. I actually posted it near the end of April in 2018 so it’s the anniversary of the story as well. I love this story. It’s fun, funny, lightly angsty, happy, cute, sweet, and sexy--VERY sexy. I’ve written over 100 stories and this one still remains the number one read story. I love that so much as I had an absolute blast working on it. I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter One The Limo Ride

Mulder and Scully spend the night after Hollywood A.D. putting Skinner’s credit card to good use. Fun times and hijinks ensue. Also, sex! Delicious wonderful sex!

They walk off the film set, hand in hand. Both still giggling over the absurdity of the film based so loosely on their lives. What a joke it has become.

Mulder opens the door that leads them into the main studio lot. He holds the door as Scully passes, letting go of her hand, placing it on her lower back. The lot is busy with people hurrying to different sets. For a second, Mulder loses sight of Scully as a large group of people descend upon them. Dear god, it is a wall of muscly men, very scantily dressed, coming straight at him. Mulder stops walking and waits for them to pass. He has to close his eyes as too much muscled men skin bumps him on all sides.

Scully turns when she notices Mulder is not at her side. She looks back trying to find him in the crowd of people. She sees him attempting to make himself physically smaller as the throng of half naked men squish past him. She feels a giggle bubbling up as she sees his eyes close, most likely holding his breath, wishing they would hurry. She starts walking back toward him.

He opens his eyes and comes face to face with more flesh. This time of the female variety. About thirty exotically dressed women are hurrying past him. They all smile as they pass and a few even touch his arms or even his chest. He cannot help the goofy smile that comes onto his face. As they pass, he turns and watches them go. They look back at him, giggling and waving. He looks his fill and then turns around, face to face with an eyebrow quirked and arms crossed Scully.

“Coooo!” he exclaims as he stops himself short from plowing into her. “Jesus, Scully! You scared me.”

“Hmm,” she says with a tilt of her head. “Yeah Mulder, I saw that you were a bit.. distracted. You see something that catch your eye?”

“Me? What are you talk? I was simply waiting for the onslaught of half naked men to pass by,” Mulder says, his face the picture of innocence.

“Uh huh,” she says, rolling her tongue against her cheeks. “But the uh.. “onslaught” of half naked women was no trouble?”

“Scully, I am certainly not blind to the beauty of a woman’s body. Especially when presented in such.. minimal packaging.” Mulder says as he slides his hands into his pants pockets, a sheepish look on his face.

She stares at him, eyebrow firmly in place.

He looks in her eyes. Then down to her lips as he licks his own. Then he leans forward and whispers in her ear, “However, it leaves not much to the imagination. It is so much more titillating wondering what could be under.. say.. a business suit..or even a little black dress... and then getting to use your hands, lips, and tongue to find out.”

He straightens up and takes a step forward. He hears her quick gasp of breath. He did not have to see her eyes to know they were dark with desire. He has been witness to it often enough recently to recognize it. He has seen it when he kissed her into a daze, when she has trailed her hand down his arm as they left the office- the silent invitation to come over. When he has made an innuendo and she can no longer simply ignore him. And his most favorite, when she looks up at him as he slides his cock into her. Every time her eyes are pools of desire from which he never wants to escape. He would gladly drown in them, if it means he could stay physically connected to her forever.

She is still standing there, arms crossed, but trying to control her racing heart and breathing. God, he sets her pulse racing so easily. Truth be told, he always could. But now.. now his whispers and closeness are not pushed away and called up later in her fantasies. Now his whispers fill her ears as he trails his fingers down her naked skin. As he squeezes her fingers when they leave work -telling her he will be over later. When he stands so close she can smell him, when he brushes against her and it is as if an electric current passes through them. Imagination no longer is needed because she knows how the crook of his neck smells and tastes. The way his body feels on every inch of hers. She shivers and turns around.

He has taken a few steps past her but has paused waiting for her to catch up. He is not looking at her, but he has his arm crooked out, knowing she will slip her arm through and join him. He waits and then feels her by his side. She surprises him and slides her hand down his arm and then laces her fingers with his, in his packet.

It makes him jump in surprise. This is different, they have never done this before. It feels so incredibly intimate. Considering the amount of time they have recently spent naked and sated, this small act should not make his heart pound in his ears. Her small hand in his though, touching his thigh, so close to his groin.. god, he feels his cock start to stir. If she moved her fingers just a little, she might find a surprise.

He pulls their hands out of his pocket and clears his throat, but keeps their fingers locked together. “So.. uh..” he says as he licks his suddenly very dry lips. “That uh.. credit card.. what did you uh.. have in mind?”

He glances down at her and sees laughter in her eyes. Jesus, she is so beautiful. She is so happy tonight; her eyes are shining enough to light up a city.

“Well,” she begins, her voice sounding like it did back in the studio lot; reminding him they were still young and alive. “What do you think about getting some food? That food at the cast party was a little too.. frou-frou for me. And, such small portions- such a waste of time. How about we grab a bite and maybe head to the beach?”

She suddenly grabs his hand with both of hers and squishes close to him as more people rush past them. He feels her body press against him, her breast against his arm. Any thoughts he may have had, go right out of his head. All he wants to do is fuck her senseless. Food? He could take it or leave it. The beach? He did not care if he ever saw it again.

If he is honest, all he really wants to do is go back to the hotel and spend the next twenty four hours with her-naked. They could order some room service, that was food, right? Christ, he has spent seven years not being naked with her and he wants to make up for lost time.

“Scully, you know, they have this amazing invention called room service. We could order in, maybe watch a movie.. whatever.” He says nonchalantly, as if his only thought is not getting her out of her dress, seeing which panty set she had on tonight, taking it off and making her come on his tongue.

They reach the street where the limos sit waiting. Scully feels so happy and carefree, she needs to do something. As much as she enjoys sex with Mulder, and oh god.. does she ever, she wants more than that tonight. She knows if they go to the hotel, they will end up in bed, no food, until they were both satisfied by each other’s bodies. God.. it makes her wet to think about it, and she almost relents. But, she wants to do something fun with Mulder that did not involve being naked. Spend some time in the California ocean air.

She takes her hand from his in case someone from the film is out here and is watching. Turning to him, she looks up at him and motions for him to lean down. She stands on tiptoes at the same time and whispers in his ear.

“Mulder, I want to get some food, take a walk on the beach. Do something fun with this credit card from Skinner. A non-work activity that we can remember and enjoy. But Mulder,” she puts her hands on his chest and trails them down to his waistband. “rest assured, you will definitely be coming inside me tonight. Hopefully, many times. And I am looking forward to coming on your tongue. You know how I enjoy that every time you do it. How wet you make me.”

Mulder is breathing like a man who has just finished a marathon. As she steps back, she gives him a sultry smile and waves to the limo driver. He grabs her waist and puts his mouth against her ear.

“Fucking hell, Scully..” he rasps hoarsely. “You don’t play fair. I don’t get to see how your body is responding, but mine is on full display. You’re going to pay for this later.”

Now it is her turn to breathe hard as she feels her core throb. She feels herself get even wetter. She knows how much the dirty talk turns him on, just as it does to her. God, they have been mind fucking each other for years, no wonder they both get off simply from the other speaking. She had actually come just from Mulder talking to her the first time they had sex. He had not touched her. Just told her what he wanted to do, how he would do it, and how amazing it would feel when he did. After she had had a mind blowing orgasm, he had made good on all he had promised. Slowly and with immense care.

He begins to straighten up and attempts to conceal his arousal, just as the limo reaches them, she whispers back to him, “You can’t see it, it’s true, but just know that I am positively drenched. It’s a good thing I decided to wear panties..”

The limo driver stands there and clears his throat. Scully turns toward him with a million dollar smile. Mulder feels his knees actually go weak and he turns his back to the both of them. He is painfully hard and knows it is going to be difficult to hide. He takes off his jacket, commenting on the heat. He keeps his jacket in front of his crotch as he hears Scully and the driver discussing places to eat.

“Mulder,” she calls in a voice as sweet as honey. As if she had not just told him she wanted him coming inside her later. That she wants to come on his tongue. God, she is a vixen. “What do you feel like eating?” Her eyes are dancing with mirth. She knows exactly what she was doing to him. He stares daggers at her.

She is trying so hard not to laugh. She knows exactly where his mind has gone with that question. She smiles so happily at him, he smiles back. “Whatever you want is fine with me, Scully,” he says. He really does not care. If she is happy, then so is he.

After some discussion with the driver, they decide on a Mexican place that boasts serving the best guacamole. Bonus, it is close to the beach.

Scully climbs in the car and slides across the seat. Mulder slides in after her. He keeps his jacket on his lap, still keeping himself covered. As they began to drive away, she kicks off her shoes and he reaches up and unties his tuxedo tie. This one is worse than the every day ties he has to wear. He pulls the tie out of his collar and puts it in his pocket. He undoes the first few buttons on his shirt, then rests his head on the back of the seat, turning toward Scully.

She has been watching him. He looks so handsome in his suit, but watching him loosen himself from the confines of it, is sexy as hell. She recalls all the late nights, on so many cases, when he would sit across from her with his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up. She sees him smirk. She knows he knows where her mind has gone.

Two weeks ago, they barely made it further than her entryway, before they were on the floor engaging in fast, frantic sex. They had been on a case, a tough one. They had agreed to no physical activities while working. God, but it was difficult. This was still so new, it was hard to keep their hands off each other.

He had walked her upstairs after catching all the flirty sexy eyes she was throwing his way. After they had walked in, she pushed him into the door and shoved her tongue in his mouth. Clothes had been ripped off, bodies caressed, completion achieved.

After, she held him close, still joined, on the hard floor, uncaring and unwilling to have him move. She stroked her nails up his back and in his hair. Mulder had been surprised by her eagerness, but incredibly pleased. He murmured so to her as he lay on top of her, trying to catch his breath. She had given a low chuckle and told him it had been how he was dressed. His sleeves rolled up, his tie hanging down. All these years how sexy she found him when he had sat there with her, dressed in the same way. How she had had to stop herself so many times from climbing in his lap and fucking him senseless. Now though, she had said with a thrust of her hips, feeling him stir inside her, now she could do something about it.

She breaks from her memory as she hears Mulder asking the driver a question, never taking his eyes off hers. “So, about twenty minutes?”

“Give or take,” the driver replies

“It’s been kind of a long night. Hope you don’t mind, but I’m going to close the partition so we can rest a little,” Mulder says, his eyes burning a fire into hers. He did not wait for an answer, just put the partition up.

“Mulder,” Scully starts to say, but is cut off by his mouth on hers.

He kisses her slowly, savoring the feel of her lips. He licks across her lips and pushes his tongue inside. He buries his hand in her hair as she shifts to climb onto his lap. She straddles him as their kiss deepens. He holds onto her hip and keeps one hand in her hair, anchoring her to him.

God, she loves kissing him. She has spent so long glancing at those full lips, wondering how they would feel on her mouth and her body. Now she has access to them any time. He is an amazing kisser, making her knees weak and body tingle.

He breaks away, catching his breath. Then he begins kissing her jaw, her neck, sucking her earlobe.

“Mulder,” she murmurs as she rocks her hips against him. “You need to move your coat.”

His head snaps back and he looks at her in surprise.

“What?” she asks looking innocent and sinful at the same time. “Did you think you could kiss me like that and I wouldn’t want more?”

“Thought about it, but didn’t expect it,” he says as he brings his hand to her inner thigh. His thumb stroking small circles, setting her skin on fire. His hand starts to creep up. Jesus Christ, he can feel her heat already. He pushes her dress up and his thumb brushes across her panties. God, she was not lying, they are drenched.

She gasps when he touches her and throws her head back. He rubs his thumb across again and she whimpers. His other hand reaches for the zipper of her dress.

“Mulder,” she says grabbing his hand from her zipper and bringing it to her breast instead. “We don’t have time for that. Fast, hard. I want you inside me. Move your coat. Get your pants open.”

She climbs off him and stands bent over enough to work her panties off. He watches her with lust in his eyes, but does not move. Goddamn, she is truly the sexiest woman he has ever seen.

She holds her panties in her hand and looks at him. She raises her eyebrows and looks down at his lap. He grabs his coat and tosses it without a care. He starts to struggle with his button and zipper, never taking his eyes off her. Standing there with her panties in her hand, knowing how wet she was, makes him incredibly hard.

He finally gets his pants open. He raises up enough to pull them down over his hips, taking his boxers with him. His cock springs out and he grabs a hold of it, stroking. She bites her lip as she watches him touch himself. It is so hot, watching him do that.

She had urged him to let her watch him one night. Watch how he liked to touch himself so she could learn what he enjoyed. Just before he had come, she had taken him in her mouth and swallowed every drop. Their love making that night had been hot and dirty. They said filthy things to each other and tried many different positions and places in her apartment. Scully had lost track of how many times she had come. It had felt like she had a nonstop orgasm. Never had anyone made her feel so wild and carnal as he did. He knew exactly how to touch her, to make her scream, make her wet, make her come. It was like he had a guidebook to her erogenous zones. Even from the very first time, he played her body like a well tuned instrument.

She steps toward him and straddles him again, her knees on the leather seat. She pulls her dress up to her waist, still holding her panties in one hand. Mulder looks down at her body as he continues to stroke his cock. He can see her pussy glistening with her juices and his cock throbs.

She puts her hands on his shoulders and lifts up higher and closer to him. He looks back up at her as he runs the head of his cock across her slit.

“Fuuuuuuuck,” she breathes out, staring down at him. “Jesus, Mulder. Oh my god...”

He pushes the head in as she starts to sink down. They both hiss at the contact. She is so wet, he slides to the hilt with one thrust. She sits flush against him as they try to control their breathing.

She wraps her arms around his neck and places her mouth on his ear. “We have about ten-fifteen minutes before this car stops and we need to be presentable. Think you can make me come in about seven minutes, Agent Mulder?” She raises off his hard cock, her pussy slick and tight around him.

“No, Agent Scully,” he says as he slams her back down. “I think I can make you come in five.”

With speed and agility she did not anticipate, she finds herself on her back on the floor with Mulder still deep inside her. He begins to pound into her, her legs wrapped around his hips. He bends down and sticks his tongue in her mouth. He knows that she likes that. She had told him, the feel of his tongue in her mouth while his cock was inside her, made her feel like she was being fucked at both ends. She called him, after he had left one night, and told him how she had taken out her vibrator and fucked herself with it while thinking of his cock and tongue. He had stroked himself to an orgasm as she told him how it had felt.

He strokes his tongue in and out as he did his cock. He feels her tighten her legs around him and her internal muscles grip him. He knows it will not be long for either of them.

Scully reaches under his shirt and scratches her nails down his back, landing on his ass and pulling him close. She can feel her orgasm coming on. Christ, it does not take much. With other lovers, she had needed more.. everything. But with Mulder.. Jesus.. she seems on the cusp all the time. Seven years was a long time to deny physical needs, true, but it was more than that. They were connected in so many ways, that sex just added to it. Made it better. God.. so much better.

“Three minutes, Mulder,” she says as she pulls her mouth from his. “I’m close... so close. Talk to me.. I need to hear your voice.”

“Mmm Scully, three minutes is more than enough time. I’m close too. God, you feel so good, Scully. Every time.. so good. Do you need..” he trails off as he brings his hand to her clit. He starts to rub and she stops him.

“I.. no.. just.. just..harder.. faster. Talk to me. Your voice makes me come. Your voice..”

He swells inside her as he starts pounding faster and harder. He moves his hands down and cradles her head. He leans close to her ear. “Scully.. god.. I am so close. Oh.. god.. do that again.. yeah.. do you feel how hard I am? How hard you make me? Oh Scully.. you just got so wet. I felt it.. come on Scully.. come for me. One minute Scully. Come Scully.. come..,” he nips just below her ear as his thrusts became faster and sloppier.

Scully scrapes her nails up his back and digs them in his shoulder blades. She cries out as his words bring her over the edge. She feels herself coming and him right behind. He keeps thrusting as he empties himself inside of her. He kisses her again as he feels her pulsing and releasing around him. She is humming against his lips, her body thrumming. God, he is so good at this. So good. A couple more thrusts and they are still.

Mulder raises his head and looks at her. Her eyes are closed and she has a happy smile on her face.

“Time’s up, Scully,” he says with a smile of his own.

She opens her eyes and chuckles. “Five minutes on the dot, Mulder. You’re good.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at her as he begins to pull back and then out of her. On his knees, he looks around and finds some linen napkins. He wipes himself off and then pulls his boxers and pants back up, but does not button them. He then turns and uses the napkin to gently wipe up Scully. He reaches up and takes her panties out of her hand and moves to her feet to slide them back up her legs. They are still damp, but better than nothing.

“Up,” he says as he got them to her hips. She lifts her hips and he slides them into place. He pulls her up and pulls her dress back down. She feels weightless and blissful. She reaches over and starts tucking Mulder’s shirt back into his pants.

“I can do that,” he says, as he moves her hands away. She turns and grabs her shoes as she sits down. She slides them on as she watches him tuck his shirt in and button his pants. He puts the napkin he used on them in his pocket, planning to throw it out when he found a trash can. He looks at her and they both grin. She smoothes her hair and starts to take out her headband.

“Leave it,” he says, reaching for her arm to stop her from removing it. “You look so adorable with it on.”

She smiles again and leaves it in place. He picks his jacket up and puts it back on, no longer needing to hide his erection.

She rolls the window down, telling him to do the same. “It’s stuffy.. and it smells like sex in here,” she says as he gives her a questioning look. He nods his head, smiling, obliging her as he sits next to her. She reaches over and locks their fingers together.

“Thank you,” she says in a low voice. “That’s one..”

“One?” he asks her, confused as he rubs his thumb across the inside of her palm.

“Of many,” she says nodding, watching his thumb.

He looks at her with a frown, not understanding her meaning. The limo is beginning to slow down and he turns toward the window. She tugs on his hand, silently asking him to look at her. “I told you earlier..” she leans close, kisses his cheek, and whispers in his ear. “You will hopefully be coming inside me many times tonight... so.. that’s one..”

She sits back, smiling sweetly, keeping her eyes on him, as the limo stops completely. He leans in and kisses her softly. “In that case, I promise it’s not the last of the night.”

The door opens and he pulls back from her, reaching for her hand to step out of the car.

#Hollywood A.D.#sexy times #limo sex #happy #new relationship #discovering things about one another #putting that bureau credit card to good use #not exactly what Skinner had in mind

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avengersassemble-fics · 5 years

Text

im quite literally shaking typing this so sorry if it jumps around

this is in regards to the new post i published tonight. a kylo x reader fic i was excited to share with you all. it was different from what i have been used to writing (marvel, happy go lucky, everyone is happy and no problems in the world yadayada) it was different and i wanted to write things that were different from when i first started this account eons ago it seems. i wanted to make this comeback in 2020 and it started with my mando piece i had began working on in november. then the anakin one followed after i rewatched revenge of the sith and rogue one (how THAT inspired it i don’t know what to tell ya).

one thing i felt i had wanted to write from now on was making my character (the reader y’know) stronger. more capable. didn’t need to always be saved. because i felt like i didn’t need to be saved anymore. i feel like im in a place in my life now that i know not only my worth, but that im important enough to be my own person and not rely on “is that guy gonna text me back” or “he really just wants me to come over to suck his dick and maybe if i do!! he’ll realize im the one!!” or just honestly sitting here just waiting for something to happen.

anyways, that didn’t make a lot of sense but it feels important to me.

i started the kylo piece a few days ago. if you know me then you know that i have not enjoyed the new trilogy. at all. every time a new movies is released i would express that in a post. it was disappointing considering i love this fucking movie franchise, but then again i know jj abrams. i saw it with the star trek reboots, and i just had that inkling when it came to these movies (but that can be discussed at a later time). the point is, i didn’t really like the new movies. recently, with the clone wars series coming out again, i have been on disney + like there is no tomorrow.. literally, locked in my room and just eating and watching these movies again. everything again. ahsoka tano is that bitch.

skip this part if you dont want spoilers for the fic i guess:

the force bond between rey and kylo was the key aspect of the thought for this fic (honestly along with the anakin one but it hadn’t happened yet so spoiler i guess). i wanted to explore what that would be like with two people, working closely together, and that resentment turning into friendship. that was my plan in my head. to have the two become friends as kylo tried to figure out why they were connected, and the reader trying to figure out what had happened to her family. the connection was supposed to bring up these memories of her life as an orphan, but before that what had happened to her family, her home, her village, and the truth behind that was going to have her leave the first order.

that was going to be the story. unfolded slowly to really build up some kind of trust. one thing i knew i would be able to accurately portray is the fact that kylo would not just easily trust someone. it would take time

now i had never written kylo before. i honestly just kind of went off on a whim of what i thought an asshole who didn’t care about anyone would treat another person (i mean the boys ive had to deal with would really put kylo to shame fuck dude). so, he destroys things. doesn't care about who is around, doesn’t care that someone has to fix that, right? because it happened to me. no one cared about how they would treat me and how that would affect me. i had to clean myself up after that, and not feel so fucking worthless.

that’s the feeling i was going for. that’s part of the reason why i mentioned that in the fic about being a maintenance bitch. because having to repair something over and over again is aggravating. and i thought the wording was funny. i wanted the reader to come off as a cool and doesnt fucking care about what they say because they’re confident in the fact that they know what they’re saying is right. witty, cool, and not afraid of a guy who throws literal tantrums!

i think im getting off base but--

i did not write this fic thinking that within the first hour or two tafter publishing hat i would get a message from another author saying that this was similar to their work. my heart dropped when i got the notification. and low and behold, i read the first chapter of theirs and yup yeah they are pretty damn similar.

of all my years on here i really never thought that i would be sitting here in the dark, writing like a mad woman, because it looks like i blatantly copied someone else’s work. because i would never do that. i would never go and copy someone’s ideas because i know that thinking it would happen to me has plagued my mind ever since i started posting on here.

in case you were wondering, the other name of the fic is called “fix your attitude”. it was posted a few years and it is so widely popular that i can’t believe ive never seen it. by the first chapter i can tell you its great and go check it out. really, please do.

i guess im writing all this as an apology to not only that author, who is so so sweet and understanding and isn’t upset at all, but also to those who see me as a copier. i never.. god i really never thought this would happen. i guess great minds think a like..? aha? i promise i would never ever do this to anyone. and im so so sorry that it looks like i have.

i think im done for the night. again. im so sorry to those who this may have upset. and to that author. if you’re reading this im sorry again, and thank you for being so sweet.

xoxo

caitlyn

ps- the only reason im not tagging the other person is because i hate feeling like im bother people and she has enough to deal with as it is about this (hence the few people who messaged her) and my anxiety is syaing no dont do it but another part of me is saying if you don’t, thats shady you stupid bitch so here’s that.

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noir-obenio · 5 years

Text

6079

"Best Care, Fair Share"

a MASH AU: ROTG × HTTYD [I am a bit skeptical about writing and publishing this. I already have a whole plot for this, I'm just publishing this first chapter to see what you peeps think. Criticism is very much welcome] WARNING: Some graphic depictions of violence Characters involved (in this excerpt): Captain Hiccup "Fury" Haddock Captain Jack "Frost" Moore Major Heather Weisling Colonel Thuggory "Meathead" Phillips Major Gorman "Grim" Gormless Corporal Finley "Fishlegs" Ingerman Corporal Trevor "Tuffnut" Thorston Captain Samuel "Sandy" Hoffmann **future chapters will involve a LOT more of the characters though**

- -

Pungent—the only word to describe it. The air stinks (probably because of the humidity), the smoke stinks (artillery fighters use too much powder and chemicals), the people stinks (they reek too much of dried blood and grime), the muck stinks (you wouldn’t know if someone shitted in here), the blood stinks (so stale, it gets everywhere)—this crummy war stinks (you don’t need a description for this).

Bullets can be heard from any point. Turn around and one of them might just hit. March ahead and suddenly, there’s death greeting halfway. It’s raining harshly, but there’s no thick mud around the boots, no sound of the titter totter of the raindrops, just traces of dust, dry soil and dripping blood—there’s the realization, this rain can never end. The raining of bullets, of shells, grenades—every explosive on the arsenal had been fired but still, it will never stop—all that was left was screaming.

All of it, I heard while patching up wounds in the operating room. When you’re four miles from the front, it’s not impossible to miss such heavy sounds and feel the small tremors in the earth. Dust gets in my eyes and I have to persist, even in the prickling pain, just to get my patient through. Four miles away is not enough distance to ignore the explosions—the war keeps going on and on, taking the next chance and the next to damage the other. If we could only take a day to close our eyes, not hear the explosions ripping everything apart, forget the war, even for a while and stay in that lucid dream forever, but the shelling was too powerful, even for all our dreams combined.

About several miles up from the ground, there was a deafening grumble of a million sounds pouring through. Every meter per second felt indifferent from a looping infinite number of time. Behind him, artillery fighters from both sides still duel. Below him, soldiers are advancing, carrying their rifles pointed up and helmets down. Smoke shielded their vision, apparently, a shell had just hit the ground. Multiple soldiers must’ve died but there was no time to inspect it for himself. It wasn’t safe to land in the middle of the trench and check on the soldiers there—he had orders. Orders that he has to obey—besides, there were already a handful of casualties aboard with him and it was only him who is unscathed. Passing through the smoke, it was already clear of soldiers. The trenches are left emptied, apart from the dead soldiers, and remnants of the war were very evident, very cold. The chopper pierced through the cold wind. It was winter but there wasn’t much snow—it melted already. The heat of the war was unbearable, even in the strongest snowstorms. The mud became too thick, too hard to pass through. Almost zero visibility on the ground because of the thick smog, but that wasn’t much of a challenge than winning the battle. Through the glass, he can see the shells firing away from the small hills and then he mumbles a little prayer, hopefully it hits something else and not him. The pilot turns a little over the right, the fog became a bit lighter and snow was much thick from the mountaintops. The pilot checked on the casualties aboard his chopper and felt relieved that there was still some slight movement. They were wrapped around in a lot of layers, shielding them from the winter weather, while the pilot had to endure the cold, piercing wind by himself. He headed straight into the mountain range just ahead and he huffed a breath of relief. It all looks much familiar now to him, and he felt much safer now that he was inside.

The chopper glided along the mountain range cautiously, his engine humming, out of the tension—finally. The sound of the bombings were getting fainter, but it didn’t mean they were out of earshot. From the pilot’s peripheral vision, he could see another chopper flying in a distance, going about the same direction he is. The pilot carefully goes around the mountain.

Finally, after a few minutes of flying still, from a distance, he could spot a landing pad—the landing pad of where he needs to go, and the pilot set gears to land.

There is a camp ahead, and he could see the tiny people rushing out. The commotion in the camp was something similar in the battlefield—like they were gearing up to start their own battle. The pilot slowly landed his chopper down the makeshift landing pad, a patch of elevated ground in the base of the mountain. Before long, the chopper was surrounded by jeeps and medical staff ducking and running towards it. The corpsmen unbuckled the casualties from the cots and carefully lifted them off and brought them over to the jeeps. The pilot released another breath, finally, he made it safely back without any trouble. He watched as the nurses crowded over the patients he brought in, and two doctors kneeling at the hood of the jeeps, undergoing triage. The jeep pulls away and drives back to camp slowly, carefully minding the patients, the doctors, the nurses and corpsmen assisting. It was up to the doctors now, his thoughts before pulling up again.

The jeeps made it back to the camp with no harm done. One of the doctors immediately jumped out of the hood of the jeep and watched as the corpsmen carefully lifted the patient off the jeep and into the ward. He yells out some instructions, an IV and a unit of plasma—he was a usual case. The doctor runs, towards the compound, which were filled with casualties in stretchers, awaiting triage. Later, another ambulance just arrived and the corpsmen pulled the doors open, retrieving the casualties inside and placing them down the ground with the other casualties awaiting triage. Another doctor inspects them, shouting instructions amidst the loud commotion in the camp. The corpsmen took another patient away and into the pre-op ward. The nurses follow along, helping them prepare these patients for surgery. The doctors hop along the casualties, tagging them and giving out instructions. The commotion around the camp remained bustling, especially with the newest arrival of a bus, full of casualties. One of the doctors flipped open the doors and entered, inspecting all the patients inside. A nurse soon followed.

When the doctor ducked down and inspected the next patient, he sucked in a breath and felt his stomach curl—the kid was dead. The nurse knew the look in the doctor’s eyes and bent over the window, calling out for the chaplain. By the time, the chaplain had arrived inside the bus, the doctor was almost done with the casualties inside—a lot of which are on a level two priority. The chaplain blessed the dead soldier with a prayer, a sad look in his eyes. The boy was too young.

The doctor suppressed the distraught inside him and finished doing triage on the wounded and the corpsmen cleared the bus of the casualties, bringing them in over at the ward. Some of the patients were already hooked up on an IV, while the others are being cleaned of their wounds and the blood that scattered over their body. The doctors suited into their scrubs and their masks were securely tied in their heads, their hands, brought up and suited in surgical gloves. They entered the operating room and found themselves a table where nurses and corpsmen were waiting. They can hear one of the doctors attempting on a joke—it was funny, but none really had time to manage even a chuckle.

The first wave of casualties flow inside the operating room. There was pressure, there was tension so thick, the scalpel wouldn’t have been enough to cut through it. They weren’t supposed to take so long on these operations. It was just “get the patient safe and stable, out of critical condition and move on”. It wasn’t their duty to perform such perfect surgery—not like what it was supposed to be. Over two hours passed before the next patients were brought in and the next and the next, until they stopped counting the hours, the number of patients and how much gloves and sponges, full of blood, were scattered on the floor. It didn’t dawn on them—(they weren’t even aware of the sunset) the windows were filled with thick fog and outside, light didn’t even shine—how long they were occupied inside.

There was a comforting thought though, that their patients transitioned and became much more conscious and didn’t need too much treatment. They knew that they were almost finished. Thank the gods.

Hours past, the clerk, largely built but very rickety, came rushing into the operating room, looking troubled and afraid. He went over to one of the tables and breathed a few deep breaths before he announced the news—and possibly get stabbed multiple times later—“Um… Colonel… everyone… c-choppers are coming—new casualties are coming in any minute!” he announced.

There was booing, grumbling, cursing and sponges filled with blood were thrown at him instead, “It’s not my fault the war keeps bringing us casualties—blame the Revolts!” he cried out before he ran outside the operating room.

“Damnit! We’ll never get outta here!”

“Put a clamp on it, Frost!” one of the nurses said.

“Would you stop calling me Frost?” he grumbled.

One of the doctors hurriedly finished bandaging his patient’s shoulder before he stripped off his gloves and his gown, “I’m going to go perform triage—anyone with me?” he asked.

“I’ll go with you” answered Frost before finishing the suture he made.

The surgeon removed his gloves and gown and exited the operating room. Entering the pre-op ward, they found a few more patients left, resting uncomfortably in the cots, enduring the pain they have accumulated. A young corporal and a nurse were watching them, checking their vital signs and making them much comfortable as possible. The two doctors grabbed some thick coats, slipped them on and went outside, the cold winter wind slapping them awake.

“Do you remember how long were we inside the operating room, Fury?” Frost, the lanky, brunette man, asked.

“I don’t even remember the last time I even breathed” answered Fury, the other lanky, brunette man.

“Attention, all available personnel—new wounded are coming in the compound, I repeat, new wounded are coming in the compound” the PA announced.

Medical personnel rushed out the ward and met with the doctors outside. The distant roar of the engines was heard, and jeeps and an ambulance were seen from a distance. From the sky, the chopper was closing in and landing. At least, it’s only one chopper. The corpsmen carried the casualties off the ambulance and Fury met with them and inspected the wincing and writhing patient, “I’m afraid this one needs to be treated ahead of the remaining patients” he said, “Start an IV and ten milligrams of morphine and a few units of plasma, he needs to be in a table, stat!”

The patient was taken into the ward. Fury climbed inside the ambulance and found another patient inside, the same state as the patient before. He repeated his instructions to the corpsmen on standby outside the ambulance. He exited the ambulance and rushed towards the other casualties. About half of them were already dying and dead while the other half still had a shot in life. A little later, he noticed the chaplain running out of the ward and rushing towards the dying men. Meanwhile, Frost was up on a jeep, going up the landing pad and meeting with the casualties on the chopper. Fury spared him a glance before he entered inside the pre-op ward and got rid of the coats. The last of the patients that were brought in yesterday were gone and in the operating room—which was a relief. The new casualties were many, but much lesser than the number of yesterday’s casualties. Good grief. Fury proceeded to scrub up and a nurse assisted him in putting on the gloves, the surgical gown and helped him reattach his mask. He entered the operating room once more and a wounded patient was already laid on the table.

Fury looked into the wound, which was off the pressure bandage. A corpsman took it off and threw it somewhere else and forgotten immediately. Fury winced, seeing how deep the wound was. His guts were almost sprawled out of abdomen, but Fury wasn’t as much disturbed. He had seen a few hundred of these before, he was just left to wonder what the kid had to go through to sustain this kind of injury. He turned to the nurse beside him, “Clamp and suction” he instructed the nurse.

The nurse grabbed the suction tube and placed it on the wounded abdomen, then, she grabbed the clamp from the table with her free hand, “Clamp” the nurse responded, putting the instrument on the doctor’s hands.

“How many out there, Fury?”

“About twenty of them, Thug” he answered, “Scissors”

Later on, Frost came bursting inside the operating room, in full scrub. A patient was brought inside, hooked up and nurses have prepped him for surgery. Frost stepped up as the corpsmen immediately pulled away from the table and exited the room. He looked at the nurse across him, clearly horrified of the sight in front of her.

“I don’t know what the heck happened to this guy, he’s got shrapnel wounds all over his thoracic cavity” Frost hurriedly said, “Raise this kid’s morphine to twelve milligrams—!"

“Pressure: 80 over 60”

“Give me some O negative blood!” Frost called, “Start an IV with a bore needle—c’mon!”

“If you’re gonna need some assistance, just call for anyone of us” one of the doctors said.

Tension loomed over the operating room again, apart from the clatter of surgical instruments and the mumbles of the doctors, there was a nerve-wrecking silence. It had been an hour already, many of the wounded treated in the operating room have been brought to post-op. A sergeant entered from the post-op ward and approached the colonel with a hesitant look on his face, “Colonel, I’m afraid we have insufficient space in post-op for the remaining patients” he said.

The colonel turned to look at the sergeant, “There’s no more room?”

“We have already moved a lot of spare cots inside and post-op is already flooding with patients, we couldn’t accommodate anymore”

“Get one of the tents from the supply room, set it up beside post-op, and you can put those who have light injuries inside” the colonel answered, turning back to the patient he was almost finished operating, “Suture”.

The sergeant responded and ran back to the post-op ward to do what the colonel tasked. After finishing patching up the patient, he raised his head and spotted a staff by the doors and called out for him, “You, corporal by the doors! Go check out how many are still in pre-op” he ordered.

The corporal pointed at himself, unsure of the colonel’s orders, “Yes!” the colonel called.

The corporal pointed at the door behind him and the colonel replied with another exasperated “yes”.

The young man entered outside the operating room and counted the people still in the pre-op ward, awaiting treatment. The corporal entered back inside the operating room, “About six more people, colonel” he announced.

Everyone in the room cheered. The colonel smiled, but it went unnoticed behind the large mask, “Okay, corporal—?"

“Corporal Thorston, Colonel!” he proudly answered.

“Thorston, bring in another patient”

Corporal Thorston nodded and rushed back into pre-op and came back with another corpsman and a patient between them. The patient was brought into the table and a nurse came by, holding up a couple of x-ray scans towards the bright light. The surgeon took a second to glance at his medical staff and nodded. The colonel studied the scans carefully before he got started. A nurse took over and prepped the patient for surgery, placing an IV on him and hooking him up on a unit of blood.

Over the other tables, another doctor had called in for the next patient and replaced his gloves with a new pair. Another doctor from another table was suturing his patient. Fury was still head deep in surgery, taking out shrapnel from the patient’s wounded backside. Another surgeon was retrieving a shrapnel from the patient’s abdomen. Frost was still operating on the same soldier he came in with and he was looking very much frustrated already.

“Frost, his pressure’s 60 over 40 and his pulse is 50 and I’m afraid is fading fast”

“Hey, Fury—I need your help over here” called Frost, “Start another IV, quick!”

“I’m sorry, I’m really busy here, I can’t leave this guy” Fury replied, apologetic.

“I’m available” called another doctor, walking over Frost’s table.

“Hey, Gorm” Frost greeted sweetly with an unnoticed smile.

“Knock it off, Frost” his rugged voice boomed.

“Yeesh, still as stony as ever” Frost grumbled, “You know, you should be the one called Frost, not me—you’re so cold”

Gorm ignored Frost and checked on the patient, “What do you need, kid?” he asked.

“I need you to help me with that retractor—I need to get his ribs apart” Frost replied, “I need to swoop in and find any shrapnel left in his chest. I’m afraid it’ll pierce the heart and this guy is lost”

Gorm adjusted the retractor and the ribs opened wider for a bit so that Frost could see inside the chest cavity, but blood flooded the chest cavity, “Suction, quick! I think I saw a small shrapnel near the spleen” Frost called.

The nurse quickly grabbed the tube and hovered it above the pool of blood. The chest cleared a little and Frost could see the chest cavity again, “Okay… lap sponge” he requested.

The nurse handed him the sponge. Frost dabbed the chest clean and threw the sponge away before he asked for a clamp. The surgeon was quiet, carefully pulling the tissue apart to reveal a much better view of the spleen, then he asked for a wheaty retractor which Gorm helped place. The shrapnel was very little, almost unnoticeable, but reflected enough light for it to be noticed. Frost swept it up with a pair of forceps and disposed of it in a tray. Frost gave out a relieved sigh as he placed the instrument on another tray of used instruments. Frost’s bright cerulean eyes shifted up and found Gorm giving a nod. His eyes turned up and found the colonel standing behind Gorm. He also gave out a nod and the side of his eyes crinkled—probably smiling, Frost thought.

“His pressure’s still low”

Frost hunched down again, ignoring the pain his back was giving him. He had been hunching down at this soldier for a couple of hours, his back was already crying and the rest of his body felt stiff. He could use a little rest, but it’s not going to happen anytime soon, especially with this soldier giving him a hard time.

“Goddammit, can’t this kid give me a break?” Frost grumbled underneath his breath, “I need a clamp”

After being handed a clamp, he went in again on the patient’s chest, trying to open some places where the shrapnel could have pierced. He was rushing now, going over the places he had already checked before to see if there were any strays he missed. That couldn’t have been possible though, but he kept checking. Gorm was willing to help him go over the chest again.

“Okay, I got the aorta” Gorm said.

“I need a retractor” Frost ordered.

“Nurse! Suction” Gorm called.

“I got no pressure”

Frost felt his heart skip a beat. He felt the life suck out of his own body, but he kept on, working around the clock mechanically fast—if there is still any chance to save this guy. He’d take it.

“Father!” one of the nurses called.

“No, no—I won’t give up on this guy—not now, after he gave me such a hard time” Frost argued, still going over the patient’s chest.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, trying to pry him away gently. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Fury behind him, “Don’t” Frost warned and Fury backed off.

One of the two nurses looked over at the priest with a desolate look, her face was a little sweaty, after all the pressure and tension in the operating room. Her tired, green eyes pleaded at the priest, looking down and meeting his eyes. The priest nodded and turned towards the table, fixing a cross with his hand and silently began to whisper a prayer for the poor, dying soldier.

“Father!” Frost scolded, catching glimpse of the priest praying, “Nurse—give me a knife! C’mon, I said give me a knife!”

But neither of the two nurses were respondent. They looked grim and sad, instead. The soldier’s fate was sealed—he was already dead and there was nothing anyone of them could do for him. The nurses had accepted that fate, but Frost still wasn’t giving up and grabbed the knife himself. He started working on the patient again. The priest had already finished praying, Gorm had already stepped away from the table, leaving Frost to work all alone.

“Frost” Gorm called, “The man’s gone”

“Frost” the colonel finally steps in, “There’s nothing you could do for him now”’

His hand was shaking. The knife hung dangerously too loose from his hand and could fall at any moment. One of the nurses gently approached him and took away the knife from his hand, settled it down at the table and slipped away from the table, taking her sorrow with her. Frost took a few strides away backwards and watched as Gorm started to close up the patient. He didn’t move, his breaths were very deep and slow, his eyes were wide open, staring at the dead soldier in front of him. I could’ve saved him. Frost repeats it in his head like a mantra, it was before he was startled back to reality by a hand dropping on his shoulder, “Jack” the voice called.

Frost blinked and turned over to Fury who had an austere look on his eyes. His emerald eyes and dark auburn eyebrows were crinkled and furrowed together, telling him to pull it together. The man’s hand left his shoulder and back to his side, “I’m sorry—I really am” he says, much gently.

“We’re doctors and it’s our job to save every life we could—but sometimes, we forget the last word of that sentence—could” said the colonel, “It’s war. Men will die, Frost, and not everyone we get our hands on could even escape that”

The colonel left the operating room, pulling out his gloves and gown on the way. The operating room was now mostly empty. Most of the staff were already outside, cleaning up and getting dressed back in their fatigues. Those left inside were some corpsmen and nurses in charge of cleaning the operating room. Sponges and bandages filled with blood were everywhere, almost filling the floor. Surgical equipment were sprawled on the tables, filled with grime and blood. Used IVs and plasma containers, all in a pile under the tables. Everyone could agree it was the epitome of hell.

Gorm had finished fixing the dead soldier and the corpsmen took him away. A nurse had started to clear the table off the instruments and clean the blood that splattered on it. The instruments, each being gathered and undergone sterilization. Everything was being cleaned as fast as the sleep-deprived staff could. It had been a painful seventeen-hour surgery. Give me a break already, grumbled each one of them.

Fury grabbed Frost and they walked out of the room, taking off their gowns and scrubs and putting on their worn-out fatigues and boots. Frost was quiet the entire time and Fury didn’t attempt to make conversation. Gorm didn’t lift his lip either and went out of the ward whilst slipping on his thick coat. Fury and Frost were the only ones left inside and the silence was deafening.

“So, ugh… do-do you wanna grab a little something at the mess tent?” Fury croaked.

“Eh… I don’t see why not” Frost replied, shrugging nonchalantly; his tone like his usual, cheery self.

Fury stood up, went over the laundry baskets and threw his scrubs in. Frost followed and they both grabbed their coats and stepped outside the ward.

Once again, they felt the cold winter wind slapped their faces, smacking them awake. Fury stretched his arms and yawned offhandedly, showing off his fatigue for all the war to see, “I could sleep for days!” Fury bawled out.

Frost managed a light chuckle, “I’m too tired to make a joke” he muttered with a small smile plastered on his face.

“Captains!” called out a feminine voice.

They both turned to the source and found a tall, raven-haired woman dressed tidily with a clean, but worn-out olive coat, her fatigue tucked in seamlessly, fastened with her garrison belt under and her boots tied securely. She had her hair in a loose braid from her tight bun earlier in the operating room. Her emerald eyes were gleaming with authority but with a hidden gloom and tiredness. She walked with her hands in her pockets, taking careful strides because of the muddy floor and the ice, “I just want to say you’re work in the O.R. today was commendable” she said.

“Oh, Heather—our beautiful goddess with hair like silk and voice of an angel” Frost coaxed.

“That’s major to you, Captain” Heather rebuked.

“Our beautiful major goddess with hair like silk and voice of an angel, I had a great time with the assistance of your hands today” Jack coaxed again.

The major rolled her eyes and went towards another direction, towards her tent. Frost pouted, looking dejected as he followed the major with his eyes as she walked away. Fury just laughed at Frost’s rejection, tears almost trickling down from his eyes. He just needs a laugh every once in a while.

“Someday, Fury, I tell you—you’re gonna wind up pining for a woman and she’s gonna reject you in lightning speed” Frost threatened, resuming his walk.

His walk was a bit relaxed now, Fury picked up on it right away. He was glad that his friend was reverting back to his usual self. The men had known each other since they arrived at the MASH unit. The jeep ride going there was very miserable, but each other’s company made it very bearable, at least. Their friendship has kept both of them sane for most of the time and with every minute of every day spent with each other, they would have known the other like a medical textbook. Fury followed his friend, catching up on his strides to walk alongside Frost.

“At least, I won’t be as disgusting in flirting as you are” Fury commented.

“You don’t even know how to flirt to girls”

“Let me tell you—I’m a genius at flirting! I’m a master” Frost boasted, “If flirting was a major, I’d have a Ph.D for it right about now”

“And how come you haven’t landed with one girl in this camp yet?” Fury countered.

Frost stopped to turn to look at Fury. They are just outside the mess tent now. They both could hear the clattering of forks, knives and trays and the faint chatter of the people inside. “Hiccup, Hiccup, Hiccup, my dear little boy… they don’t know how to respond to such genius, such magnificent, such graceful philandering I can muster” Frost responded with a playful smirk.

Fury opened the door to the mess tent and shoved Frost inside, “Eat. Your mind’s too bushed to think straight”

“No, I’m telling you—I’m a flirting professional slash genius”

At the end of the day, after I had dealt with the fire and the rain, did I find a little solace at the 6079. We had found solace in each other. We were family, that was something I have always been happy of. We shared the pain, the bits of happiness, the fear, the laughs, and the tears.

It was with the right companions did I managed to survive all throughout the war.

- fin.

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isitgintimeyet · 6 years

Text

The Ties That Bind

Thanks for all your feedback on the first chapter. I loved reading it all! I hope you enjoy the second chapter.

Once again thanks to @mo-nighean-rouge for the beta

Chapter 2 : A Recreational Activity (well, a few)

The power of a glance has been so much abused in love stories, that it has come to be disbelieved in. Few people dare now to say that two beings have fallen in love because they have looked at each other. Yet it is in this way that love begins, and in this way only. -Victor Hugo, Les Misérables

Jamie groaned and hoped that the banging inside his head would stop soon. This was the problem with drinking wine. Generally Jamie tried to steer clear of ‘grape’ and stick to ‘grain’. However, last night, he had supped copious quantities of both and now was suffering the consequences. He stretched his hand out hoping to find a glass of water and possibly even two aspirins left on the bedside table by his more responsible alter ego yesterday. There they were. Gratefully, he sank back onto the pillows and waited for them to do their work.

Parts of his alcohol-induced dreams came back to him… miles and miles of hotel corridors and he was chasing, chasing... a woman with the most gorgeous legs he had ever seen. He kept chasing her, but she wouldn’t stop and she wouldn’t turn round. A flash of wild dark curls and…

The banging in his head seemed to be louder now. “Unca,” a cross little voice added to the general cacophony. “Unca, get up now. Mam says now. ‘Tis beckfast and then ‘wimmin’. Mam says.”

Jamie forced himself out of bed. Fastening the towelling bath robe, he opened his door. His little nephew rushed past him and started jumping on the bed. Jenny stood in the doorway, her eyes darting all round the room.

“I go ‘wimmin’ with ye, Unca, wiv Spideyman shorts. What ye shorts, Unca?”

Jamie sighed and looked at his sister. “She’s no’ here. She didna stay. Nothing happened.” He grabbed Wee Jamie round his middle, lifting him high up in the air. “And who said I would take ye swimmin’, ye wee fishie?”

“Mam said so, she did.”

Jamie gently set his nephew on his feet. “Aye, well, yer mam makes an awfa’ lot o’ decisions fer the men in this family. But I guess I canna refuse, no’ if I ken what’s good fer me.”

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

Claire lay on one of the day beds next to the swimming pool and wiggled her toes, admiring the newly applied scarlet polish. She set aside the copy of Hello! she had been skimming through and turned to Geillis.

“This was such a good idea of yours, G. Total battery recharge today… and we’ve even had the whole pool to ourselves. I don’t reckon we’ll be seeing any of that wedding party any time soon. Not if last night was anything to go by.”

“I am rather full of brilliant ideas,” Geillis agreed. “Although I feel we may have missed an opportunity last night. So many men...”

“... And no doubt so many wives and girlfriends!” Claire interrupted.

“Och, well,” Geillis dismissed Claire’s interruption. “Guess we’ll never know.”

“Anyway, so I’ve a body wrap, then hot stone massage in twenty minutes. I’m going to head into the sauna for ten minutes first. You coming?”

“Aye, may as weel. I don’t reckon there’ll be anything worth hangin’ round here fer today.” Geillis gathered up her belongings and followed Claire into the sauna.

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

Jamie sat in the male changing room, blowing up his nephew’s armbands (Spider-Man, obviously a theme here) while Wee Jamie hopped excitedly from foot to foot.

“Now, afore we go in the pool, are ye sure you dinna need a wee? Ye ken what I told ye, as how if ye wee in the pool, the water turns bright blue?”

“Nah, Unca, c’mon now. Wanna go ‘wimmin’.” The little lad pulled his armbands up, grabbed Jamie’s hand and headed for the door. “C’mon, c’mon.” He paused and stared intently at his uncle. “Ye no Spideyman shorts?”

Jamie looked down at his blue checked board shorts and tried to look sad about this. “Sorry lad, I’m too big fer such a fine pair.”

As they entered the pool area together, Jamie looked around. It was totally deserted, which, Jamie thought, was hardly surprising based on the amount of alcohol that had been consumed the day before. An abandoned magazine lay on one of the day beds.

Wee Jamie pointed to a small passage way on the other side of the pool. “What’s ‘at?”

“Ah, nothing for ye. Just the sauna... it’s awfa hot and no’ fer children and the girls’ changing room is down there too. That’s definitely no’ fer us lads, eh?”

Following Jenny’s instructions to “wear the lad out, we want him tae sleep in the car going home,” Jamie stayed in the pool, playing with his nephew until he noticed the lad’s eyelids start to droop. He scooped him up and carried him back to the changing room, intending to just wrap him in a towel and leave the tricky drying and dressing to Jenny.

Wee Jamie held tightly to his uncle’s neck. “You fib, Unca. Ye did. I wee’d and I wee’d but no blue.”

Jamie chuckled. God, he loved this little lad something fierce and maybe someday, God willing...

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

Claire picked up the two whiskies from the bar and made her way to the table where Geillis was sitting. The pub was quite empty at the moment, just a handful of people, like them, having a quick drink after work before heading home.

Geillis looked Claire up and down appraisingly. “Ye ken I love ye, Claire, but could you no’ wear something a bit, weel, more alluring when we’re out?”

Claire gazed down at her old jeans and plain black tee shirt. “G, I’ve been on my feet in theatre for the past 8 hours. I’m so knackered, you’re lucky I managed to change out of my scrubs and into this! Besides, however can I compete with your alllllluuure?” She drawled the last word out jokingly. “Maybe you have the allure for both of us? I can be your duff.”

Geillis raised a quizzical eyebrow.

“Designated ugly fat friend.” Claire explained with a smile. “According to the movie, every friendship group has one. You and me, we’re a friendship group, ergo, I must be it.”

“Claire, ye may be many things but fat or ugly never.” Geillis said, “Yer hair’s a wee bit wild, mind. Do ye no’ fancy a Brazilian blow dry?” She ran her fingers over her sleek strawberry blonde locks.

“And here’s me thinking a ‘brazilian’ was about a different part of my anatomy altogether!”

Geillis smiled, then a serious expression crept over her face. “But, Claire, ye dinna think ye’re fat or ugly really, do ye?”

Claire stared at the beer mat on the table, her fingers picking at it, ripping it into tiny shreds of paper. She really thought she’d outgrown that nervous habit.

“Well, no, but, it’s difficult to explain. Frank...” She could hear Geillis tutting at the mention of his name. “Frank had certain… er, expectations of how I should be. How I should behave, how I should look. The disapproval on his face if I took an extra roast potato, ordered dessert, poured myself another glass of wine. There was always someone younger, more self-controlled, thinner. So, for a while I tried to become the person he wanted me to be. I tried to see myself through his eyes and I saw the fat arse, the lack of control, the not-really good enough...”

Geillis leaned closer and gently placed her hand on Claire’s. “Thank God ye got out of there. That wasna a healthy place tae be, Claire. Ye know ye’re worth a lot more than that.”

“I know. And I am joking about that duff business but occasionally, old habits are hard to break. That’s why I’m not after a serious relationship. I’m not sure I’m ready to let someone see me as I really am.”

“But a fling will do ye no harm at all. It will do ye the world of good, let ye see how another man treats ye. In fact, we need a list. A checklist. When ye’re in theatre, ye dinna start cuttin’ till ye know everything is in place, all the boxes are ticked. So we make a list of what ye want and ye dinna start, er, flingin’ till a man ticks all the boxes.”

Claire finally put the mangled beer mat down. “A list, really?”

“Aye, it’s scientific, ye ken.” Geillis picked up her bag and rooted around for a piece of paper. Finding an unused paper napkin, she smoothed it flat on the table, extracted a pen from the depths of her bag and sat poised ready to write. “Ok. Point one…” She scribbled something down quickly.

“Come on, Let me read it.” Claire laughed, turning the napkin round. “Must look good in, and out of, a kilt. G, you have a one-track mind.”

“Och, it’s a fling we’re talking about, ye only need one track, I reckon. So, what about point two?”

“Well, I may as well play along. Point two must be no complications.”

Geillis obligingly wrote that down. “Next point. Enjoys a drink. Likes to let his hair down.”

Claire took the pen from her friend and added another line. Geillis read it upside down. “Really, it’s a fling ye’re after. Ye’re tellin’ me if they dinna like the X-Files, that’s it? Is that a deal breaker?”

“What can I say? The heart wants what the heart wants.”

“Fine, but I’m adding this one then. Fancies ye as ye are. No changing ye.”

The pub was starting to fill up. Most commuters had already made their way home, to be replaced by those heading out for the evening, coming into the pub for a quick drink before their evening plans properly began. Even on a drizzly Thursday evening, it was getting to be standing room only. Claire noticed several people eyeing their table enviously. She drained her whisky glass and stood up.

“I think that’s me done for this evening. Any more and I’ll have to be put to bed right here. I’ll just pop to the loo and meet you outside, G.”

As Claire crossed the room to the toilets, Geillis started to gather her stuff together to leave.

Immediately a woman rushed to the table, plonked herself in one chair, and stuffed her bag on the other chair. She eyed Geillis, willing her to hurry up and be on her way. Geillis ignored her and continued rifling through her bag, her movements deliberately slowing. Eventually, Geillis decided she’d had enough of the game, turned away and walked to the exit.

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

Geneva caught Jamie’s eye as he moved away from the bar, drinks in hand, and pointed to the seats she had found for them. He sat down, taking a deep slug of his whisky as he put Geneva’s vodka, lime and soda on the table next to a tatty old napkin.

“Someone’s shopping list, no doubt.” Geneva dismissed it with a wave of her hand as Jamie picked it up and carried on telling Jamie about the difficulties in trying to find the correct colour for a new bedroom throw. “...Not really a teal, but not quite a cerulean colour either…”

Jamie knew his role in this. It was just to nod and murmur appreciatively at appropriate points in the story. That gave him time to think… unfortunately. Thinking made him realise that Jenny had been right three weeks ago at the wedding. Geneva was not the one, he didn’t need to try again just to see. And she did talk utter shite.

He groaned, which Geneva seemed to take as indication of his deep interest in her tale of home furnishing trials and tribulations. He should never have slept with her. He hadn’t intended to but last night, as the blood left his brain and migrated south, he had lost the capacity for rational, coherent thought and had followed his baser instincts. Which had been a very bad idea.

Jamie glanced at the napkin he was still holding. Straightening it between his fingers, he began to read. A woman with long strawberry blonde locks suddenly leaned over and gently took the napkin from his fingers.

“Thanks, it’s fer scientific research, ye ken.”

He watched as she walked to the door, to her waiting friend. Her friend with the long shapely denim clad legs and mad curly hair and her face, so full of life with sparkling eyes he longed to dive right into.

“What an odd thing to want.” Geneva interrupted his contemplation. “That couldn’t have been scientific research. On a used napkin. Some people are just strange.”

Jamie felt his breath catch in his throat. Jenny had been right - he recognised it. What to do now?

#outlander fanfic #outlander fan fiction #modern AU #Jamie Fraser #claire beauchamp #the ties that bind #chapter 2 #fluff #bit of angst #first time writing #sorry i dont know how to add links to previous chapter here

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