#like yeah sure christmas was rough her birthday was rough. it's whatever. but THIS is when she's supposed to be here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

peter-parcoeur · 4 years

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Good girl gone bad | (frat!tom)

request: How about frat cocky Tom at a Christmas party, wearing something that shows off his muscles, and he keeps flirting with y/n, who hates him. Throughout the night, he slowly wins her over, and once he has her in the palm of his hand, he makes her compliment him and then worship his muscles and then get on her knees and suck on him through his boxer briefs and then finally he f*cks her face and he's dirty talking and boasting all the way through :)

disclaimer: Hiii, so this was a request (sadly anonymous but if you’re out there reading this, I hope you enjoy and this lives up to your expectations...) this is my first attempt at fratboy!tom so I apologize in advance if that’s not exactly what you expected from it or whatever. Also I’m french so, some unfortunate spelling mistakes may occur and for this I apologize too! (damn I do really know how to sell myself, don’t I?) Anyway, enjoy your reading and please give it a ♥ if you liked it and a comment if you either really liked or hated it. Annnnd I’m talking too much.

warnings: smut smut smutty smut is to be expected, obviously. includes: brat!tom, braggy!tom, boasting!tom and some serious potty mouth / enemies to lovers (well, more like enemies to fuckbuddies idk) / oral-sex / face-fuck / dirtyDIRTY talk/ fingering / brief mentions of self luuuuvin (that’s masturbation, for you) / dom!tom + sub!reader / I guess a little bit of humiliation and praise kink idk if that’s triggering so just in case... / roughness... I guess that’s it? probably enough already.

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« Come on, it’ll be fun! God knows you could really use some fun… » your friend’s voice almost begged over the phone as you safely locked it between your cheek and your shoulder to open the door to your dorm room, your keyrings grazing the piece of metal surrounding the lock with a soft, clicking noise.

“Yeah cause hanging out with complete morons as they get shit-faced on cheap vodka is totally my idea of a good night...”

“ Urghhhh, Y/N please, are you really gonna be a Grinch about it?”

“ Well, it’s a Christmas party so I guess that’s convenient?”

You could tell your friend was getting frustrated by now, the slight change of tone in her voice making her sound desperate. Kicking off your shoes and dropping your books above the mess on your desk, you immediately crashed onto your bed with a loud, exhausted groan as this never-ending day had managed to push every single one of your buttons. You felt completely drained and yet, your best-friend wanted you to join her to some frat-house where, apparently, the “most incredible” Christmas party was about to be held? Uh-uh. No way. Your actual plan for a Friday night (= eating take-out food in front of some true crime documentary on Netflix) seemed much more appealing than the effort your friend seemed to require from you.

“You’re really gonna bail on me? What if something happens to me?”

“Now this is guilt pressure and you’re so much better than this! “ You laughed, “plus… I know you wanna go just so you can make out with Harrison… You really don’t need me for this and truth be told, I really don’t need to see that guy shove his tongue down your throat!”

“Maybe YOU need someone to shove his tongue down your throat “

“I’ll pass, thanks “

“Come on, how long has it been since you’ve got laid? “

“That’s… way beside the point?””

Still, you thought about it.

How long has it been, really?

Well. As far as you could remember, there were a couple (disastrous) tinder dates at the beginning of the semester. Nothing major even though the sex was still okay. Then you had decided to delete the app so you could focus on your studies, thinking that, eventually, life would grant you with an actual IRL, cute boy who could actually work a little harder to get into your pants whereas it had taken a single swipe on a screen for the previous contestants.

But for now, as the semester had come to an end and Christmas break was around the corner, it only occurred to you just how busy you had been, studying all night long and running on fumes and gallons of coffee. Maybe your friend was right. Maybe you truly needed to blow off some steam. Sometimes you wished you were more like her, carefree and less picky when it came to boys and random flings. Like her current crush, Harrison.

Harrison was a typical heartthrob with the face of a Greek God, so it was only natural for him to act like a brat and play with girls as he wished. With his piercing blue eyes and dreamy smile, girls could only wish he would look at them twice. But still, he wasn’t the worst part of Team Jackass, as you liked to call them. Their captain was actually Tom Holland. Football Quarterback, Tom collected girls’ hearts like trophies and held his pride within his questionable reputation. Party animal, heavy drinker and confirmed exhibitionist since he’d been caught fucking a cheerleader in the middle of the football field right after a game, his name was on everyone’s lips, whether they whispered gossips down the faculty’s corridor or muffled into a pillow as he dived into another naïve, besotted girl with the promise of an encore. To this day, all of the girls he had laid his eyes on were still waiting for a call-back.

You pulled a disgusted face at the thought of witnessing his little hunting game one more time. Tom was actually one of the main reasons why you usually skipped any frat party now. There were just so much time you could waste, sipping on some funky tasting “home-made” punch as “Football superstar” Tom Holland bragged about his athletic skills or how many girls he had fucked over the last couple days. Sometimes, it felt like a competition between him and his brain-dead friends. Somehow, you just knew he kept score of his one-night stands. Maybe he’d give you five stars for trying anal, a deep throat would give you another six and god forbid if you flattered his enormous, gigantic cock, well then, by all means, the throne would be yours. There was just something about him that screamed and irradiated praise kink.

“Y/N? Have I lost you?”

Your friend’s voice brought you back to reality as you seemed to have blacked out for a while.

Then, out of nowhere and unexpectedly, the words came out of your mouth.

“What time is the party then?”

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For every party, there’s a dress code.

Surely, a “Christmas” party just couldn’t be, without a fair splash of colorful jumpers or any subtle hints at Santa Clause as an excuse for a last-minute theme. Still, standing in front of what could only be Wednesday Addams’ wardrobe, you were suddenly hit by your lack of interest for any piece of clothes that wasn’t a shade between black and white. Was beige even a color anyway?

For a brief second, you considered wearing your infamous Christmas onesie, basically a fluffy one piece with a zipper, an oversized hood and covered with snowflakes and candy canes. The jokes would never end but no one could blame you for being ‘off theme’, then.

In the end, you settled for a rare “colorful” top which, luckily, happened to be whatever shade of green Christmas trees actually were. It was also skin tight and you knew for a fact it made your chest looks twice its size because of the way the velvet fabric enhanced your waistline. It was nowhere near provocative with its long sleeves and turtle-neck so you figured you could be a little bit more risky with the bottom part of your outfit, grabbing the black mini-skirt you’d bought a week before on a splurge, even though you didn’t know if you’d ever find the confidence to pull it off. It was short, there was no denying that as you turned around in the shop’s fitting room to catch a glimpse at your backside, knowing your whole ass would be exposed if you ever dared to bend down even so slightly.

Still, you felt sexy in it and as a girl who happily traded a sexy dress for yoga pants and an oversized hoodie, any piece of clothes that made you feel good about yourself was an instant buy.

Looking down at your final outfit as it laid down on your bed, a pair of nice ankle boots at the bottom of it, you patted yourself on the back for making the extra effort and walked to the bathroom for a well-deserved boiling shower. Staring at your reflection in the mirror above the sink, you sighed to yourself as the aftermath of a sleep deprived week and lack of skin care routine or basic maintenance whatsoever hit you like a truck on the highway. Your hair had been wrapped into the same messy bun for days and it would definitely take some professional skills to cover up the bags under your eyes.

Maybe this party was the wake-up call you needed, the equivalent of a Judging look from your mother every time you visited her after a while. You could almost hear her complain about how unhealthy you looked and how you should wear more “flattering” clothes. Ironically, you also knew she would never approve the skirt you intended to wear that night. You remembered just too well that frown she’d given you at your father’s 60th birthday and how you had to gulp an entire bottle of red wine to forget about the fact the woman who gave birth to you had called you a prostitute for wearing a dress above the knees. Sometimes it’d be like that. Family gathering were like a plague, somehow, you just couldn’t escape it and it would either scar you for life or make you wish you were dead.

As you entered the cubicle, the coldness of the tiles hit you, covering your skin with goosebumps and sending shivers down your spine. It took you a couple minutes to adjust as you waited for the water to turn hot enough to coat the mirror with a thick foggy layer. Only then did you relax, letting go of this week’s emotionally charged weight upon your shoulders and focusing on yourself, at last.

It was a fairly long shower as you decided to go through your entire haircare routine instead of a brief, one minute shampoo. Not to mention the fact you also had to shave entirely as it felt like it would be a good way to get rid of this nightmare of a semester, like stepping out of your old skin and into a new one. Usually, body hair was probably too far down the list of your preoccupations to even be noticed but you figured, as you felt surprisingly motivated, now was the right time to make your body smooth as a baby. You actually loved the feeling of a soft, freshly shaved skin.

As you rinsed off the soap, your hands fondling the body parts water failed to reach, your mind unexpectedly wandered through some steamy thoughts as soon as your fingertips grazed your slit, taking some shy dip between your folds. It was no surprise that a simple, barely there stroke would instantly strike your arousal, after all, it had been a while. You shamelessly admitted that your studies had taken over your life, up to the point you’d even find yourself too exhausted for some self-love. Somewhere in your chest of drawers, the small collection of adult toys you owned were probably collecting dust in the middle of your socks and panties, wondering when they’d get to take a swim and make you squirm into your sheets as you hold on to the headboard, biting your lip until it turns white so you don’t scream through climax.

What struck you the most was the fact TomfuckingHolland came to your mind the very second your middle finger met your clit, circling it softly as you felt electricity spark through your legs, making it jolt. Why the hell was his stupid smug splattered all over your unspeakable thoughts when he was, by far, the last man on Earth you’d let come close to your naked self? Let alone in a shower cubicle the size of a shoe-box where you’d have no space whatsoever to escape his heavy, muscular chest.

His body looked ridiculously built for a man with the face of a 13 year-old. Sometimes you’d catch him randomly flex throughout the day, showing off his enormous biceps to anyone willing to praise his impeccable shape. There would be no room for these guns in there, you thought as a brief image of these massive arms shielding you from both side, fists tight against the tiles, came immediately to your mind. What took you by surprise wasn’t to actually picture Tom standing in there with you, naked and definitely willing to make that room a lot steamier, but the fact you slipped a finger into your surprisingly dripping core as soon as you imagined him stepping closer so your bare, sticky chests would meet, his obvious arousal poking at your inner thigh, begging to make an entrance.

You stopped before you inevitably came, even though your body craved for that well-deserved relief. You may have been hornier than you thought, but not nearly horny enough to hand your first orgasm in months on a silver plate to a boy who probably stroked himself in front of a mirror on a daily basis. Your thighs squeezed together where your fingers had left a desperate void, rinsing your entire body with a much colder water, hoping it would bring your sanity back.

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You looked incredible.

It wasn’t just you boosting your ego through a pep talk in front of your mirror back in your dorm this time, and even if you loved to give yourself an encouraging speech, praising whatever features you thought made the cut in the top three of your best assets as you gathered the strength to go out in public in an outfit pretty far from your comfort zone, nothing could ever beat the look people gave you as you walked into the frat house looking like a three courses meal. There was just something about that short time slot where you caught a gaze and knew what that look was all about.

You knew Liza, the head student with a soft spot for athletes so obvious she probably had the entire football team’s handprints tattooed on her skin, just hated to see you get the attention she usually caught. Athletes loved nerdy, smart-ass girls like her, but to her own despair, you actually happened to be one of those, only with a shorter skirt and thicker thighs.

You knew half of Team Jackass was already staring at you, wishing they’d catch a glimpse of whatever you had to offer underneath that impeccable outfit as the soft fabric of your skirt kept rising up, every step bringing you closer to an unfortunate peek at the plain, white cotton undies you had chosen to wear that night.

But above anything, you could most definitely feel someone’s gaze upon you, burning up your skin like lasers trying to scan through your clothes. Suddenly, you felt exposed and with a simple smirk, Tom-Holland came out, strong as ever, just so he could pop out the comforting bubble you had built around you. Of course, he had chosen to wear the tightest white tee-shirt so everyone could distinctively see each of his six, rock-hard abs. Of course, his sleeves were slightly rolled up to enhance his biceps and if you weren’t familiar with his despicable behavior, seeing him flex just so he could kiss the pumped-up mount irrupting from his upper arm like a fresh batch of popcorn on a stove, you could have barfed immediately at the disgusting sight of a man with an ego the size of a fucking comet.

For now, you simply rolled your eyes all the way to the back of your head and watched as he smiled cockily, his hand reaching out for a redhead girl’s cheek even though his eyes were most definitely undressing you from afar. You could tell the girl had dressed to impress as she was tightly wrapped into the just-slutty-enough version of Santa’s outfit. Basically a velvet red dress with a fluffy white strap on top of her bustier. The way she laughed and twirled her long curly strand of hair as she gazed lovingly at Tom was enough for you to know she would soon join the never-ending list of names on his score board.

Shaking your head at how easy it seemed for him to get laid within the first hour of a party, you made your way to the kitchen where the alcohol seemed to be. As expected, most students were already sipping at some questionable cocktail right from the bowl with a straw and since you didn’t feel like going straight for the strong stuff, you settled for a beer, fiddling with the bottle cap for a solid minute before you heard a voice coming from behind your back.

“Need some hand with that, sweetheart?”

The cocky tone and thick accent immediately sent you off as a long, single shiver ran down your spine from the disgusting thoughts it brought along. It had come to the point you couldn’t even stand his stupid voice.

“I’m fine, thanks” you lied, your first still tightly gripped on your sealed beverage.

“You look like you could use some strength…”

Of course, he had to bring up his impressive, spectacular strength within seconds. Maybe he expected you to slow clap, bow down or throw confetti’s all over him for being strong enough to open a beer bottle. What on Earth would you do without his strong, manly hands?

Grinding your teeth as your tongue clicked against your palate out of pure annoyance, you gave him the most unimpressed look as he grabbed the bottle from your hand, popping out the cap hard enough to make it fly off and hit the table with a soft, metallic thump. Smirking to himself, Tom handed you the bottle back, tilting his head as he obviously expected some enthusiastic reaction.

“Do you want a medal or something?”

“A simple ‘thank you’ would be a good start? “He mocked, raising his eyebrows in a way that made your consider throwing the entire bottle at his face to wash away his stupid cockiness.

“Thanks” you simply blurted out, raising your beer slightly before walking away as you took a couple sips. It wasn’t even that cold or remotely good.

Tom watched as you walked away in silence, his eyes inevitably drawn to the way your hips and that glorious ass of yours seemed to wiggle into that daunting skirt. Grazing his thumb over his bottom lip with a smirk, the eager flame in his eyes made his will to take you to a quiet place grow bigger with each step you took.

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The music was getting considerably louder as people were now dancing all over the place, from the staircase to whatever was left of furniture after too many parties hosted in this house. The constant buzzing sound of chit-chats and laughter was slowly making your head spin as you gulped on your third (or was it the fourth?) Shot of tequila. As expected, Y/BFF/N had wasted no time as she was already clinging to Harrison’s neck, feasting on his mouth like an open buffet. His hands were on her bum, holding on to it for dear life with a strong grip. At least, she was having fun.

Out of boredom and to your own surprise, you had agreed on doing shots with a couple people you knew from class. Not technically what you’d call reliable friends but you always bumped into them at parties where you’d basically chat, and drink. From afar, you could see some people had gathered around a table where Team Jackass had started the inevitable beer pong contest. Nibbling at a piece of lime, hoping it would wash away the burning haze of the tequila, you winced at the sourness as your eyes suddenly locked with Tom’s. He was now holding his arms up on both side, raising one fist through the air as he had clearly won that first round. There was something pathetic about a man in his twenties begging for attention and acting like he was about to claim the gold medal at the Olympics when all he did was throw a feather-weighted plastic ball into a red cup.

All the alcohol in the world would never get you drunk enough to tolerate this guy.

Sometimes, you couldn’t help but think it was a shame to see him act so pitiful when he face was actually okay. Well. He was definitely cute as long as his mouth was shut and his stupid, pretentious smug out of the way. With his soft, chocolate brown eyes, his tousled eyebrows and thin pink lips, he could’ve been a guy you’d be interested in. His brown hair was somehow, always tucked into a snapback or a beanie but you had caught a glimpse of his natural curls once and though it killed you on the inside to admit it, he did look great when he didn’t try too hard to be a complete asshole.

Lost in your thoughts, you didn’t see him walk towards you.

“We’re doing shots now? “

“Impressive” you frowned, “did you figure it out all by yourself?” you chuckled, swallowing what’s left of lime, basically pulp, in one soft gulp.

“You like to act all smart ass around me, don’t you?”

“Correction: I am, in fact, smart… Not that it’s something you’re familiar with so, pardon me if it’s all too confusing for you… “

“Are you calling me dumb, then?” he was frowning now, his enormous self-centered head deflating under the unexpected pressure of your witty come-back.

“Did you hear the word ‘dumb’ coming out of my mouth?”

“No – but I sure know what I would like to see come in that sweet mouth of yours, darling”

The fact he had the nerves to say that kind of stuff right to your face was enough to piss you off but what caught you off guard was his hand reaching for your face as his thumb delicately grazed your bottom lip, pulling at it just enough for you to taste his fingertip.

“Surely, lime isn’t the only thing you like to suck on?” he smiled, cocky as ever as you could feel actual rage building up from your core and all the way to the back of your throat.

“I suggest you keep your hands off me” you snapped, pushing his hand off your face as he laughed to himself, the raspy sound caught in his throat making you throb against all odds.

“Or what? What you gonna do about it, uh?” he teased, confident as ever, his words coming out of his mouth halfway between a threat and a challenge. His arms were crossed against his chest now, making every inch of muscle he owned just pop out. There was nothing sweet about the way his body was built, and was he ever given the occasion, you knew he could break your spine in half with his one hand. You just wished you’d never thought about it as the filthiest images came to your mind, starting with Tom spinning you around over the sink in the bathroom and pinning you down with his palm pressed between your shoulder blades as he pounded hard and fast into you.

Maybe Tequila had gotten to your head faster than you expected.

“I know girls like you” he started, walking backwards until your back hit the wall and you were completely trapped between his arms, one of his leg parting yours so his knee would slowly graze that spot where your thighs met, claiming his access to that precious part of your body you could definitely feel getting damper against your will.

“What about it?” you asked, slightly more provocative than you had intended.

“You like to act all innocent, pretending you have higher standards…” His breath was warm, wrapped into the thickness of alcohol, curving a ball at the back of his throat so his voice would come out raspier and lower than usual, “… but secretly you just want guys like me to fuck the back of your throat until you choke”.

You felt it. Your pussy throb at the single thought of it. You didn’t want to physically react to these obscene images, words coming out of his mouth filthier than anything you’d ever heard, but still, as hard as you wanted to remain cold and unbothered, there was no denying for the dampness between your thighs. You just hoped he wouldn’t get a chance to notice it.

“You disgust me” it took you all the strength you had to spat back at him, and even then, all he did was smile then chuckle softly to himself as his hand slid up your throat, wrapping it slowly until his thumb pressed itself into the crook under your chin, nesting as it was made to be there.

“Please—are you really going to pretend you’ve never thought about my cock filling up your pretty mouth?” his fingers found your lips again, tracing it slowly as your heartbeat increased with each word, “like you’ve never thought about me when you finger yourself at night” he paused, pinching his bottom lip between his teeth as he tilted his head, his mouth coming closer to your hear with a dark whisper “I know you do, baby… I know you touch yourself thinking of me, wishing those fingers were mine, diving into your dripping cunt… Touching spots you could only wish you’d reach… how I would spread those lips open and run my tongue all over your slit….” A warm breeze brushed your neck as a cursed laugh escaped his lips, making you squirm unexpectedly, “I bet you taste so sweet, I would never get enough of that glorious pussy…”

By now, you were wrapped into the intoxicating scent of his cologne. It was strong and manly as expected, yet comforting in a way you didn’t want to think about. You didn’t want to picture yourself wearing that grey hoodie he loved to wear after a game, his perfume raining over your bare chest as you’d lazily ride him on his dorm bed after you’d get bored of whatever movie you’d settled for, pushing your panties to the side as he couldn’t be bothered taking it off completely. You didn’t want to picture him unzipping that same hoodie, palming your boob with one of his strong hands as his mouth sucked on your nipple until your soft, delicate skin turned red from all the biting marks. You didn’t want to feel yourself stretch around his rock-hard cock as he’d lift your legs up to wrap it around his neck, because he’s that kind of jerk who likes to show off even when he’s completely buried inside of you, that kind of complete asshole who loves to remind you just how deep he can go, smirking to himself as he hits your special spot over and over and over…. until you beg for him to stop. That kind of utterly disgusting dickhead who’d never stop, because he knows that, deep down, you just want him to keep going.

“Now you can tell me you’re not already wet… But we both know that’s a lie” he smiled again and as you felt his hand going down, palming you through your top and all the way down to the front of your skirt, you finally decided to come to your senses and grabbed his wrist into your tight fist, stopping him just in time before he’s reached the only approval he truly needed.

“Go to hell, Holland” you snapped, using all of your strength to push him off and walk away.

You didn’t turn back to see him chuckle at the sight of your flushed face.

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The coldness of water came as a shock as you bent over the sink in the bathroom, splashing your face until it didn’t feel like your skin was on fire. Grabbing a towel, you patted your cheeks and forehead, staring at the reflection in front of you. You definitely looked flustered, like you had just run a marathon when all you really did was to suffer through your archenemy’s evil little game.

Usually, you would have just brushed it off and that’d be it. But tonight, for some reason, you just couldn’t seem to shake him off your thoughts, his voice still echoing through your head like a curse without a cure. Outside the bathroom, you could hear the muffled sound of music and screams coming from the living room as beer-pong had turned into strip-pong with everyone removing a piece of clothes every time the ball missed the cup. Typical, drunken behavior. Soon enough these parties would turn into a massive orgy and it wouldn’t even come out as a big surprise.

Freshen up a little had helped you settle your thoughts back into place but still, your body didn’t seem to catch a break as the build-up tension and frustration Tom had caused within your core was yet to be released. There was no denying that your toys would have come handy if you were back to your dorm room as it felt like your pussy kept clenching for no reason, like the gaping mouth of the thirstiest man in the middle of a drought. You knew how bad you needed to put it out of its misery but if you thought undressing for a ping pong game was bad, what would happen if anyone walked on you literally fingering yourself in the bathroom of a frat-house? No one would shut up about it.

Tom would certainly not. Shut. Up. About. It. Ever.

You pressed your thighs together, hoping for some sort of relief as his words came back haunting you, thinking about how your hand had found its way between your legs earlier in the shower, the very second you had thought about his body pushing you up against the tiles. Is that what he was to you, now? A fantasy? Would you become another disgusting cliché of a girl begging for the typical frat boy to fuck her at a party because she couldn’t handle his dirty mouth?

Then you thought about your best-friend and how the last time you’d seen her, she was heading upstairs with Harrison, giggling, her lipstick smudged all over her chin after making out heavily on the couch up to the point everyone was starting to wonder whether they should be charged for that kind of peep-show or just roll with it. How she was probably getting fucked in his bedroom while you were standing alone in a bathroom, dripping wet for a man you hated down to the very bottom of your guts.

The door swung open abruptly, making you jump.

“So that’s where you’ve been hiding!” Tom smiled, walking in.

“Can’t a girl have some privacy?”

“I need to take a piss, you’re the one standing out there doing nothing” he joked, walking to the toilets with his hands already fiddling with the zipper of his pants.

“Hum, excuse me?” you spat, widening your eyes as you realized he was genuinely about to use the toilets with you still standing a few meters away.

“I said I needed to take a piss… So either you just stand there watching, which I don’t mind really… or you can get out?” he pointed his chin towards the door, unbothered as he casually pulled his dick out of his boxers.

Both infuriated and shocked, you turned around as there was no point leaving the room now that his whole junk was out and already halfway through it.

“Do you have to be that disgusting? Really you’re such a pig!” you complained as you heard him sigh with relief before the toilet flush broke the most awkward silence of your entire existence.

“Don’t worry darling, I’ll clean it up real nice just for you…” he smiled even though you still had your back turned to him. You heard him use the tap, washing his hands for a considerably long amount of time. At least he wasn’t one of those filthy rats who thought basic hygiene was optional.

“What were you doing by the way?” he finally asked, grabbing the towel to your left, “touching yourself thinking about me?”

You turned around to face his cocky face once more, this time with a furious need to slap it. Hard.

“You know I’ve seen you walking around campus a couple times, Y/N… Those big jumpers and yoga pants you like to wear don’t do that body any justice, but this?” he circled his finger in the air, pointing out her entire outfit “this, I like to see… and if you weren’t being a little brat I would gladly pull up that skirt up to your waist and have you there, above the sink…”

“I’m being a brat?” you scoffed. That was rich, coming from the ultimate king of bratty assholes.

“Well you call it whatever you like but denying yourself something you truly need just to prove a point seems a little childish…” he shrugged, shoving his hands into this jeans pocket and giving you a perfect glimpse at the veins running up his arms and disappearing underneath his rolled up sleeves.

“You think all girls are begging for you to fuck them? Really?”

“Probably, yeah, and who could blame them really? I have a great cock and I’ve never had a single bad review about the way I use it…” he smiled, with the arrogance of a king sitting on a throne of indecency.

“You’re so full of yourself… it’s insane” you shook your head with pure disgust.

“Then go ahead and prove it”

“Prove what, exactly?”

“That you’re not dripping wet as we speak…”

Point taken.

You were, indeed, dripping wet and soon enough, you’d have some serious explaining to do as the thin cotton fabric of your underwear was now soaked with your unsolicited arousal. Even though your head was filled with hateful thoughts and resentment for Tom, it felt like your body would not stop begging for his touch, dragging him closer like two pieces of magnets on a fridge. Unconsciously, you were now standing a couple inch away from his face, so close you could actually smell the soft mixt of menthol and alcohol from his breath. There was no point denying the obvious tension between you two as you looked like you were about to break into a passionate kiss but now it was just a fight between your will for self-preservation and your body, aching to be touched.

And so you heard yourself say these words you never thought you’d say, like you were standing in the audience as your other self was performing on stage, making some questionable decisions you weren’t 100% okay with.

“Which one’s your bedroom?”

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You could have fought longer, for the sake of your personal values, but as your feet were swiped off the ground, your back hitting the door as it closed behind you with a loud slam, all of your good sense and respectable choices just vanished as much filthier thoughts buried them for good.

Your legs were wrapped around his waist as his hands had wasted no time and found their way under your top, fondling your breast with the hunger of a wolf. Your lips attached to his, you moaned louder than expected as he pushed himself a little harder against you, the obvious stiffness of his crotch pressing against your aching core. Your skirt had risen up to your waist from spreading your legs a little too wide, flashing your white panties as it was now so soaked you could definitely see the outline of your lips, the thin fabric sticking to your slit. Catching your breath, heavy pants breaking your kiss, you looked into Tom’s eyes only to see nothing but pure, absolute lust in them. As you tugged at his brown locks, a couple strand curling slightly at the back of his neck, you watched as his snapback fell to the floor with a thump, unleashing his brown untamed mane.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so bad, groaning slightly as your fingers scrapped the back of his neck, your lips sucking on his throat for good measures. With his head tilted back slightly, it felt like Tom was getting soft for a while, caving in so you could take control over him. Unfortunately, that didn’t last long as he suddenly traced a hand all the way down to your inner thigh, immediately pushing your panties to the side with his middle finger.

“I knew it…” he smiled, sliding his finger along your slit as you wrapped it up with a glistening coat of arousal. You knew he had won the minute he felt just how wet you were for him, but when it should have been upsetting, you just didn’t care. All you needed now was to feel his cock filling you up in any way he wanted, “who made you this wet, darling?” he smiled, pulling at your bottom lip with his teeth.

“Don’t be a brat…” you complained as you could see some mischief in the way he looked at you.

“Just say it” he insisted “I want to hear you say out loud just how wet I make you” this wasn’t a request, but an order. And for some obscure reason you didn’t want to figure out, it somehow turned you on even more.

“You…” you started, biting your lip out of nerves, or out of excitement, you weren’t sure quite yet. “You make me so wet, Tom” you almost moaned, pushing yourself a little harder against his hand when he failed to give you exactly what you needed. His fingers. Buried deep inside of you.

“Hmm” Tom groaned, two of his digits spreading your lips apart at a torturing slow pace, “I like the sound of that…” his knuckles were barely halfway when you buckled your hips off the door, begging for more, “what’s that darling? Tell me what you want…” he was whispering by now, slowly pushing his fingers into your desperate slit, “I want to hear you beg for it…”

You felt him push deeper, curving his fingers into a hook every time he reached your g-spot. By now you were so aroused you just knew it would take you more than a couple stroke to cum heavily into his awaiting palm. You could hear the sloppy sound of your own wetness every time he slammed his slick, extremely skilled digits back into your throbbing pussy. His lips curved into a hasty smile as he could feel you literally drip all over his palm and wrist.

“I want you… I want you so much” you barely managed to whimper as he increased the pace, his wrist working its magic between your thighs.

“Hmm hmm? I’m gonna need you to be more specific baby… what exactly do you want?” his thumb grazed your clit for a brief second and that was enough for you to squeal under his touch, making you clench suddenly around his fingers, “say you want my cock” he almost growled as you felt his hard-on twitch against your thigh, begging to be freed.

“I want your cock” you immediately wimped, your own words sending shivers down your spine as you twitched with anticipation, “I want it so, so bad…”

“Good girl…” he hummed, slowing down the pace so he could add a third finger, stretching you out slightly this time, “d’you think you can take it though? It’s pretty big…” he smiled, twisting his hand just enough so he could dig himself a path.

You simply nodded, unable to speak anymore, but as you were about to beg for more, Tom removed his hand, leaving you frustrated and hornier than ever. His face changed suddenly as he watched you pout, his hand reaching up for your lips.

“What about that pretty mouth, then? You think it may fit?” he smiled, spreading your lips apart so you could taste yourself on his soaked fingers. You immediately obliged, sucking at it, one by one, never keeping your eyes off him. When he shoved three of his digits, watching as your tongue twirled around it, cleaning it off completely, you could definitely tell his eyes had gotten darker, filled with unspeakable thoughts you would be begging to hear soon.

“You’re gonna let me fuck that pretty face?” he added, removing his fingers from your mouth so he could give you a soft, cheeky slap on the cheek. You nodded, obedient as ever. “Say it” he commanded, louder this time, “say you want my cock inside your mouth”.

“I want it… I want your cock inside my mouth” you pouted, only because you knew he loved to see you beg like a spoiled little princess. You’d seen it in his eyes, the way he looked at you every time you tilted your head to fake an innocence that was long gone.

Tom stepped back, walking away slowly as he watched you standing there, flustered, your hair all over the place, panting out of lust and frustration. Pulling his shirt off, you watched as his impressive chest unveiled in front of you. Abs like rocks, a thin strand of hair tracing a path from his navel to his crotch, disappearing under his jeans, his impeccable V-line bringing images you never thought you had within yourself. As he pushed his hair back, daunting you with his a look half way between arrogance and disdain, it felt like all signs of dignity had left your brain as all you could think about was to crawl to the floor and beg for his cock.

“What you’re waiting for then, Darling?” he smiled, unzipping his flies as he watched you walk towards him and get on your knees within seconds.

Your hands pulled at his jeans until it finally pooled around his ankles. Looking up to stare into his eyes, you felt both small and powerful, submissive but in control as you were now responsible for this man pleasure. It was up to you whether he’ll get to cum or not. But as you considered edging him as an option, Tom wasted no time in remembering you who was actually in charge.

“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” he sighed, grabbing your hair into a fist as his other hand stroked his cock through the cotton fabric of his boxers. You could tell he was just horny as you were as a couple pre-cum had already stained his briefs, turning it into a darker shade of grey.

Again, you nodded, removing his hand so you could replace it with yours, palming him through his briefs as he growled against your touch. He was big. Actually much bigger than you expected but somehow, you were up for a challenge. Tracing the outline of his cock with your fingers tips, you felt him push his hands on the back of your head, forcing you to come closer to his crotch.

“I want to fuck your pretty little mouth so, so bad” he groaned as you unexpectedly ran your tongue all over his stiff through the fabric, feeling it twitch as you palmed his balls. By now he was so hard you could feel the veins tracing a dirty road up to his leaking head as Tom started grinding slowly against your mouth, messing up your hair with his desperate fists.

When you pulled down his boxers, you took a couple seconds to stare at his glorious manhood, hard and pressed against his abdomen where it curved slightly, your mouth watering with a thirst you could have never pictured, especially when standing in Tom Holland’s bedroom. And yet, you couldn’t wait to have this magnificent piece of flesh filling up your mouth.

“Like what you see?” Tom smirked, boasting as ever but immediately squinting his eyes with a deep growl the minute he felt your tongue licking at the base, slowly going up until you finally bobbed on his creaming head.

You had always been good at this, giving head. Not that all of your partners would give you a proper review in the morning, pointing out your highs and lows, but there were just things men couldn’t do, like hiding the fact they were just having the time of their lives. And right now, Tom actually looked like there was nowhere else in the world he would rather be than standing here, with his cock in your mouth.

Twirling your hand at the base where you mouth couldn’t go just yet, you started bobbing up and down his shaft, sucking your cheeks in so your mouth would pop every time his dick came out. You had quickly figured out a couple things about Tom, including the fact he just seemed to love it dirty and noisy. You could actually hear him growl louder, his fist tightening its grip into your hair every time he slipped off your lips, only for him to shove it back a little harder and definitely deeper with each thrust.

“That’s it baby… Just like that… you’re such a good girl…”

You were a good girl, indeed. Always had been. Straight-A’s student from day one, the pride and joy of your parents, spending most of your week-ends doing some volunteer work whenever it was needed while being a caring, polite girl who never did anything wrong. Right choices only.

Or so you thought. Obviously, tonight would be always marked as the only questionable decision on your impeccable path to perfection. But still, as Tom grabbed your face with both hands to push himself deeper and all the way down your throat, making you gasp for air slightly, you had no regrets.

You stayed still for as long as your lungs could handle it, holding on to his firm, muscular buttocks as you swallowed him all. Looking down on you, Tom was left speechless as his cock stretched your cheeks out, his balls resting into your palm as you twitched them slowly, making it jolt with both pain and pleasure. When you felt like you were about to gag, you pushed yourself back, gasping for air as you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand. Your cheeks felt numb and yet it missed the feeling of being stretched out already.

“Hmmm baby look at you…. you think you’re ready for it?”

“Yeah” was all you could blurt out. Yes to anything he wanted. You were prepared. You longed for it.

Looking around as Tom started pumping himself, getting ready for you, spitting into his palm to lube himself up so your lips wouldn’t drag along his shaft too much, you just couldn’t believe you were there, kneeling on the navy carpet of Tom Holland’s bedroom, the epitome of the ultimate frat boy. A huge flag from his favorite sports team was hanging above his bed, his never-ending hats collection sitting on wooden shelves by the wall like it was some kind of “frat boy starter pack” Art exhibition. In the corner of the room, you caught an unexpected glimpse at a guitar. It looked fairly new, but never in a million years would you have pictured Tom playing guitar. On his desk, his laptop was still open on a Spotify tab where you’d probably find a playlist based on some typical white boy rap music but against all odds, the room looked neat compared to what you had in mind.

“You look so beautiful” he sighed, out of nowhere, and to be completely honest, had your mouth not been filled with his dick, you would have probably picked up your jaw from the floor. Taking him all in once more, you just pretended you couldn’t hear, sparing you some awkward misunderstanding. Maybe those words were actually directed to his dick. After all, the boy loved himself just that much.

His hands were all over your face, wiping tears from your eyes every time he hit the back of your throat a little too hard, stroking your cheeks, massaging the back of your neck, roaming through your tangled hair as your kept up with his reckless pace, his hips swinging back and forth while you remained completely still so you could take him like a champ.

“God, I love to see you choke on my cock….” He gritted through his teeth “so…so hot…” you could tell he was getting sloppier now, pumping in and out of your mouth abruptly then a lot more slower as a couple twitch from his cock gave you a hint of his upcoming grand finale.

By now, you were a slippery mess, the taste of pre-cum hitting your throat as you dribbled all over his shaft, obscene sounds of suction coming out of your mouth every time he pushed himself out and back in all over again.

“F----uuuuck….fuck baby I’m gonna come!” he grunted, the sudden high-pitch of his broken voice driving you insane as you pushed yourself up a little so you could open your mouth wider, expecting him to fill it up soon enough. “D’you want me to cum in your mouth? Uh?” again, he gave you a little slap on the cheek, not quite hard enough for you to feel any pain. You nodded, moaning whatever came close to a “yes” as every single inch of your mouth was filled with Tom.

You heard him whimper, twitching a couple times, harder with his thrust as his hand fisted into your hair abruptly throughout his climax. Looking up to see his face, your eyes locked with his as he came all over your tongue, raining down your throat with a couple last, sloppy thrusts.

“Oh fuck! Fuck fuck fuck fuuu------“

Your eyes immediately teared up as you tried your best to swallow every drop of cum he had to give, the corner of your lips dripping like an overflowing sink.

Then there was a complete silence.

As you wiped your mouth off the thick, warmness of his cum, you felt him kneel to your side, then sit. Both of you looked completely exhausted, drained from every ounce of energy you had left.

“Well, that wasn’t half bad… for a little brat” he spoke again, and you just couldn’t believe he had gathered the energy to say this when he could have chosen silence.

Laughing quietly to yourself so you wouldn’t slap him across the face, you decided not to fuel him up and remained quiet instead. His hair had gone curlier than heaver, his glistening red face making him look like any cute boy you could easily fall for.

“I’ve got a feeling we’re gonna see a lot more of you at frat parties now?” he spoke again, and though it truly pissed you off to admit it, you just knew this wasn’t a one-time thing. For all you knew, this, was barely a prequel to a long, bumpy story of a good girl gone bad.

All because of Tom-fucking-Holland.

#tom holland #tom holland smut #frat boy tom holland #frat!tom #enemies to lover #tom holland x reader

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dialovers-translations · 3 years

Text

Diabolik Lovers VANDEAD CARNIVAL ;; Present from Mukami [PART 1]

ー The scene starts in Yui’s bedroom

Yui: Today’s Christmas Eve, huh...?

( When I was still living with Father, we were always extremely busy during this time of year with preparations for the Christmas Mass. )

( We would decorate the church for the Mass...or make tons of sweets to hand out to the children as gifts... )

( Somehow that feels like part of a distant past now... )

Haah...

ー Kou enters the room

Kou: Heya~! M-neko-chan~!

Yui: ...Kou-kun?

Kou: No need to act so surprised, right? What’s wrong? You seem kind of down?

Yui: Um, could you please knock on the door before entering? I’d really appreciate it...

Kou: Eh~~? Why bother going through the extra trouble?

Besides, I live here, remember? My house, my rules, no?

Yui: H-Hm...That might be the case, but...

( I have a feeling he won’t understand... )

So, why are you here? Is there anything you need from me...?

Kou: Hm~~? I only came to hang out because I was bored~

Yui: I see. Are you off from work today?

Kou: Exactly! Today’s my first free day in a long time!

Anyway, more importantly, M-neko-chan. You were talking about how it’s Christmas Eve today earlier...Right?

Yui: Yeah...I had a bit of an ‘oh, right!’ moment.

Kou: ‘Oh, right’...? You’re talking as if you only just noticed.

Yui: Yeah...But I really did recall only now. It totally slipped my mind...

Kou: To think you’d forget about such an important event! Is everything okay, M-neko-chan?

Yui: I mean, you guys don’t celebrate Christmas, do you?

Kou: Hmー Well, we’re Vampires after all. We obviously don’t feel like celebrating it, nor are we interested.

Yui: ...Figured as much. There aren’t any Christmas decorations inside the house either...

Besides, I haven’t gone out much as of late either...

Kou: Now that you mention it, you’ve just been going back and forth between here and school without making any additional stops, huh?

If you were to head out, you’d discover that the whole city is in a Christmas mood.

There really is no way to look past it, whether you like it or not...

Yui: Yeah, but I haven’t gotten a chance to go look...So I completely forgot...

Kou: Hmー...

Ah, say, M-neko-chan? How have you spent your Christmas Eve in the past?

Yui: Eh...?

Kou: I mean, I don’t know how normal families celebrate the holidays.

Yui: Hm...Right. My personal experience might be a little different from the standard though.

Kou: Heeh? In what way?

Yui: You know that my Father works as a Priest, right?

Kou: Ahー I feel like I heard that somewhere before.

Yui: We hold a Mass at church on Christmas day, so we have to prepare for that the night before.

Kou: Prepare? Like the Christmas lights they put up in town?

Yui: Yeah. Ours weren’t quite as elaborate, of course.

On the day of the Mass, the visitors light a candle, take a seat and pray...

Then afterwards we read passages from the Bible.

At the very end, someone will play the orgle and everyone sings together.

It creates such a lovely medley of singing voices...I loved that part.

Kou: Hmm, I see...But is that actually fun?

Yui: Yeah, it is. It is an important day to me after all.

( It’s a day full of memories of the time I spent with Father as well, after all... )

Kou: Hmー So that’s how it is. I mean, I don’t really understand but...Oh, I know!

The other day, this one person at work told me that Christmas Eve is a special day you should spend with your lover. (1)

Have you ever spent Christmas Eve with a special someone before?

Yui: No...I was always helping out for the Mass at Church after all...

Kou: I see...

ー Ruki enters the room

Ruki: The two of you are making a ruckus. At least close the door when you’re talking.

Yui: Ah, Ruki-kun...Yuma-kun and Azusa-kun as well. What’s the matter?

Yuma: We just happened to run into each other in the hallway. Ya guys were talkin’ hella loud.

Yui: S-Sorry...

Azusa: Eve and Kou...The two of you seemed to be having a fun chat.

Kou: Really? It wasn’t anything special though.

Ruki: Anyway, Kou, come with me. Livestock, you stay in your room.

Yui: S-Sure...

Kou: Eh~~...? Oh well, whatever. I got to learn something new at least.

See you later, M-neko-chan~!

ー The four of them leave

Yui: They left...

( Somehow it suddenly got quiet. )

( ...Honestly, I wouldn’t have minded talking for a little longer... )

ー The scene shifts to the living room

Kou: ...Say, say, Ruki-kun. Why don’t the four of us throw a Christmas party?

Ruki: Haah...I was wondering what you would bring up all of a sudden.

Kou: I mean, M-neko-chan seemed kind of sad, you see~

She was raised at a Church, right?

So it seems like Christmas and such brings back a lot of memories for her.

Yuma: So that’s what the two of ya were talkin’ ‘bout earlier, huh?

Azusa: ...Say, what is...Christmas?

Kou: Ah, are you interested, Azusa-kun?

Christmas itself is on the 25th of December and the day before that is called ‘Christmas Eve’.

It’s the day on which they celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ~

Azusa: Heeh, then...Today is the 24th so it’s...Christmas Eve...right?

Kou: Exactlyー! So I was thinking we could hold a little celebration?

Ruki: Azusa, did you not celebrate Christmas back when you were still human?

Azusa: ...We did not have that kind of celebration...

Ruki: How about you, Yuma?

Yuma: Hmー... Now that ya mention it, I do feel as if the city was a lil’ more lively ‘round this time of year...I think...?

I might have celebrated it back when I was a child, but I forgot.

Kou: I’m pretty sure my answer should be obvious but...Ah, you must have celebrated it, right, Ruki-kun?

Ruki: Well, yes.

Kou: Makes sense. You are a rich boy after all~

Azusa: Say, Ruki? How exactly do you celebrate it...?

Ruki: You decorate the inside of the house, say your prayers to God and enjoy a meal with the whole family.

There’s special foods and snacks which are only enjoyed on that particular day of year...

Also, you would exchange presents...I suppose that about sums it up.

Azusa: ...Exchanging presents...I honestly don’t care about the exchanging part. I’d much rather just be on the receiving end of all the punches...

Kou: Ahaha...Putting your wishes aside for a second...

Don’t you want to try and hold a Christmas party?

We’ve never really done something like that with the whole family, right? Come on, why not?

Ruki: Family, huh...?

Yuma: That bein’ said, Vampires celebratin’ the birth of Christ is kinda fucked up, no?

Kou: Should we not? Do you think he’ll be upset with us?

Ruki: ...Well, while I doubt he will be thrilled about it, that man has connections to the Church of his own, so he might understand in a sense.

I doubt he will condemn us if we hold a small celebration at home.

Kou: Right~? In that case, let’s get this party rolling~!

Ruki: Yuma, Azusa. What do you two think?

Yuma: ...Ahー...

Azusa: ...

Yuma: Oi, Kou. The Sow’s havin’ a rough time, right?

Kou: Yeah, she is.

Azusa: I...personally don’t care much about the party itself but...I don’t want...Eve to be sad...

Yuma: Nnー Well, it’s not really for her sake, but I don’t see any harm in doin’ this sorta stuff for once?

Ruki: ...

Kou: Fufu~ In that case, we just need permission from Ruki-kun...~!

Ruki: Haah...You’ll all be helping out, including during the clean-up, understood?

Yuma: Oh! Which means...

Ruki: Exactly...I suppose it will make for a nice change of pace.

We haven’t really spent much time together as a family up until now after all.

Furthermore, pleasing Livestock is part of our duty as her masters.

Kou: Hooray~~!!

In that case, we need to get started with all of the preparations!

Azusa: ...

Ruki: Oi, Azusa. Where are you going?

Azusa: I figured I’d go...tell Eve that we’ve decided to hold a party...

Kou: Eh!? You’re going to tell her?

Yuma: Aah? Should we not?

Kou: Hmー Don’t you think this is a perfect chance to make it a surprise?

Yuma: Surprise...? The fuck’s that?

Ruki: It means to catch them by surprise. In other words, you keep it a secret until the very second they arrive at the party...

Kou: I’m sure she’ll be ten times happier than if she already knew about the party beforehand!

I’m an idol, remember?

So I’ve had people throw a surprise birthday party for me before.

I felt so happy back then!

Yuma: Hm. Is that how it works? Well, fine by me.

Ruki: Azusa, you’ve heard us. You don’t need to go inform her.

Azusa: Mmh. Understood...

Kou: Hmー Holding a Christmas party is fine and all but...

Yuma: The problem’s how to prepare for it. We need to decorate the place, but I have no fuckin’ clue which decorations to pick.

Azusa: I wonder what kind of...dishes we should serve...?

Kou: Let’s leave that part to Ruki-kun.

Ruki: Right. Just leave the cooking up to me. Which leaves...

ー The scene shifts to Yui’s bedroom

Yui: ( Hm...It’s a little chilly in here... )

( I’m pretty sure quite some time has passed since the others left as well. I wonder what they’re up to...? )

( Right. I suppose I’ll check up on them while I go grab myself a hot beverage. )

ー The scene shifts to the hallway

Yui: ...

Kou: Let’s leave that part to Ruki-kun.

Ruki: Right. Just leave the cooking up to me. Which leaves...

Yui: ( Ah...Kou-kun and Ruki-kun’s voices... )

( I wonder what they’re talking about...? )

Excuse meーー

ー The scene shifts to the living room

Ruki: ...Oh...

Kou: Eh? M-neko-chan!?

Yuma: ...Ya sure have the worst timin’, huh...?

Yui: Eh!? I’m sorry. Should I not have come in...?

Azusa: No, it’s fine...We were just talking about throwing you a surprise Christmas party

Yui: Eh...?

Kou: Waiーー!! Azusa-kun! What are you saying!?

Azusa: I mean...It’s not like we can still cover it up at this point. If we try and hide it...We’ll only end up making her uncomfortable. ...Right?

Ruki: Yes, Azusa, you are absolutely right. We could have always sent her back to her room, but I’m sure she would have been worried about us secretly scheming something behind her back.

If we upset her, we’re basically rendering our intentions null.

Yuma: Haah, I mean, that’s true but...We could have at least tried to keep it a secret...

Kou: Haah...Guess there’s no point now...

ーー And with that being said, we shall now commence with the preparations of the Mukami family’s very own Christmas party~!

Yui: Eh...!? We’re holding a Christmas party together!?

Yuma: That’s what we said earlier, remember? Are yer ears still workin’?

Yui: No, they are but...I’m just shocked...

I’m just wondering if it’s okay for you all to celebrate Christmas even though you’re Vampires?

Ruki: You don’t need to worry about that.

Kou: Exactly! Don’t fret over the small details~!

Are you not happy? You get to celebrate with us!

Yui: Of course I am...! I’m just surprised, that’s all.

Kou: I don’t think there’s any time to be surprised though? We have to hurry up and prepare or Christmas will be here before we know it!

Yui: Ah, right!

Kou: Okayー! Let’s get started with these preparations right away!

Azusa: Eve...We’ve never held a proper party before...Can you tell us what we should do...?

Kou: First off, it’d be a great help if you could give us some pointers on how to decorate the house.

Yui: Well, we have to make actual decorations first...

Ruki: I assume it would be much quicker to just head to the store rather than explaining it here first.

Yuma: Good point. I doubt I’ll understand from some explanation alone.

Azusa: ...Yeah...

Ruki: There you have it. We are heading out at once.

Yui: Sure!

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the department store

Yui: ( I never thought I’d one day go shopping with all of the guys like this... )

( That alone counts as a Christmas miracle. )

Yuma: Whatcha been grinnin’ ‘bout this whole time?

Yui: Ah, right. I’m just so happy we’re all able to go shopping like this...

Yuma: Heh, you’re gonna find yerself lost ‘gain if ya keep yer head in the clouds like that. Wouldn’t be the first time after all.

Yui: I...I’ll be careful.

Kou: Fufufu, so you’re aware of it at least.

Yui: Y-Yeah...

( It’s not that I actually walk away by myself though... )

Ruki: The food’s next on the list, huh? Oi, is there anything in particular you’d like to eat?

Azusa: ...I’d like something doused in plenty of red chili powder...

Ruki: ...Azusa, let’s try and stick to Christmas food this time.

Azusa: ...Fine...

But what exactly is ‘Christmas food’...?

Ruki: Hm...

Yuma: ...We don’t know if our personal preferences fit the holiday spirit after all.

So shouldn’t we just leave that choice up to the Sow?

Kou: Exactly. That’s why we called her over, so the two of you should talk it over and make a quick decision.

Ruki: ...I suppose it cannot be helped. That seems like the most time-efficient solution.

Livestock, what did your family eat for Christmas?

Yui: Let’s see...I suppose Turkey or Roast Beef are both staples on any Christmas dinner table!

Ruki: You’re only naming meat...

Yui: Of course, we eat salad as well? Mixing in vegetables cut into cute shapes and such...

Yuma: The fuck does that mean? All veggies are the same, right?

Yui: You can use cutters to shape them like hearts or stars. I guess you’ll get an idea if we go to the deli counter...?

Yuma: Ready-made dishes?

Yui: Ah, I didn’t mean we have to buy anything, but I figured we could gather some inspiration.

Yuma: Geez, I thought ya were gonna take the easy way out. It’s a party after all.

So we’re obviously gonna make everythin’ at home from scratch, right?

Yui: Yeah! Of course.

Ruki: I suppose it’ll give us an idea of what we can make. Well then, let’s go buy the ingredients first.

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: I’m glad we got our hands on some delicious-looking meat!

Ruki: Yes. I’m looking forward to preparing it.

Yui: ( I managed to buy everything I need for the cake as well, so I’ll try my best at making it! )

( I hope they’ll like it... )

Kou: Say, let’s go pick out a tree next! The biggest one they have!

Yuma: Geez, are ya a lil’ kid or somethin’?

Yui: Fufu, you’re interested in decorating it, right?

Kou: I mean, it’s all sparkly and pretty, right? Just like me, no?

Azusa: Let’s buy lots of star-shaped decorations...

Kou: Come on, Azusa-kun. Don’t ignore me.

Azusa: Eh...? Ah, yeah...Sorry...

Yui: Do you like stars, Azusa-kun?

Azusa: Yeah...They’ve got these sharp and pointy ends...So I’m sure they’d hurt a lot...

Yui: S-So that’s why...

Ruki: Azusa, you better not think of tainting those stars with your blood.

Kou: Exactly! Today’s Christmas after all, a day you are meant to enjoy with your family!

Well then~ Which one to buy?

ー Kou runs off

Ruki: Oi, Kou. Don’t run off by yourself.

I won’t allow for any extra purchases. We’ll only buy the necessities.

Kou: Eeeeeh~? Whaaat~? You cheapskate!

Ruki: I don’t mind being a cheapskate. This is important money we’ve received from that man.

I can’t be wasteful with it.

Kou: Well, I get where you’re coming from but...

Yui: ( Everyone seems to be having fun. )

( Like this, it almost seems like we’ve become an actual family... )

*TIMESKIP*

Yui: Phew, we bought more than I anticipated.

Yuma: That’s ‘cause Kou kept on wantin’ to buy all this shit, right?

Kou: Eeh~? You’re blaming me? Fufu, I won’t deny it. However, we didn’t buy anything we didn’t need, right?

Yuma: I mean, we didn’t, I guess...

Ruki: Let’s go over everything one more time. Is this pretty much everything we need for the tree and decorations...?

Yui: Yeah! We’re all set!

Yuma: We’ve got the vegetables I grew at home as well, so this should do.

Kou: Aah~ We’re actually celebrating Christmas. I can’t wait!

Ruki: Kou, you’re being way too excited. Mind your manners.

Kou: Oh come on, let me be! I never got to experience this as a child after all!

Yuma: Well then, we’re gonna be busy once we get home~!

Yui: Speaking of which...Where did Azusa-kun...? Ah, there he is!

( I wonder why he’s just standing there? )

Azusa: Say, Ruki...

Ruki: ...? What’s the matter?

Azusa: I want this knife...

Yui: K-Knife...?

( Why is he holding a knife...? )

Kou: Hold up, Azusa-kun, where did you get that?

Azusa: ...Why not? I want this to give me pain...

Yui: A-Azusa-kun! What are you saying...!?

Ruki: Azusa, go return it to the store.

Azusa: Please? ...The shape of this blade is so pretty, and it looks very sharp as well...

Ruki: No means no. Azusa, you have to put it back where you found it.

Azusa: No way....But I want it so badly...I can’t give up on it...

Yui: Azusa-kun...

Azusa: ...Come on, I want it, no matter what...

Kou: Azusa-kun! You don’t need a knife on a fun day like this!

Azusa: No...This is special...

Yui: ( What to do? Azusa-kun’s not giving in at all. )

Yuma: Oi, at this rate we’ll never make it back home.

Azusa: Then...Can we buy it?

Yuma: Just listen to Ruki for today. Ya can buy that crap whenever, right?

Azusa: ...

Yuma: God, listen up...

Ruki: Azusa.

Yui: ( O-Oh no...Ruki-kun started getting angry as well. )

U-Um, Azusa-kun...

Yuma: Ya stay out of this.

Yui: B-But...

Yuma: Geez, guess it can’t be helped. I’ll go bring it back with him.

Ruki: My bad, Yuma.

Yuma: Yeah. ...Come on, Azusa, let’s go.

Azusa: ...No.

*Rustle*

Yui: Ah! Yuma-kun! If you grab him by his collar like that, you’ll hurt him....

Azusa: Ah...It hurts...I can barely breathe...Haah...Amazing...Uu...

Yui: ( A-Azusa-kun is...happy? )

Ruki: Azusa, don’t cause Yuma too much trouble, okay?

Azusa: Yeah...

Yuma: Che! Ya say that but you’re already bein’ a pain in the ass! Come on, walk by yerself already!

Azusa: Nn, but...It’s suffocating...

Yuma: That’ll fix itself if ya just use yer own damn legs, no?

Azusa: It’d rather stay like this a little longer.

Yui: ( He’ll be okay, right? Yuma-kun’s with him after all... )

ー Yuma walks away with Azusa

Ruki: Let’s go. We’ll head back first and get everything ready.

ー Ruki starts walking away

Yui: Eh? Don’t we need to wait for them?

Kou: Yuma-kun may be with him, but knowing Azusa-kun...

Yui: ...?

Kou: Azusa-kun has a hard time letting go of things once they pique his interest.

Yui: I see...

( It might take a while until they get back... )

I hope it won’t turn into a fight.

Kou: Hmー I guess that’ll depend on Azusa-kun’s behavior?

Ruki: What are you two doing? Let’s go.

Kou: Roger~!

Yui: ( Yuma-kun’s actually quite good at looking after others, so we can leave this up to him, right...? )

*TIMESKIP*

ー The scene shifts to the living room

Kou: Phew~ These were so heavyー

Ruki: Good grief, I’m exhausted...

Yui: ( We’ve got quite a lot of bags... )

Ruki: Well then, we’ve got no time to lose. Let’s start preparing.

If we procrastinate for too long, we’ll only waste time.

I’m heading towards the kitchen to get started on the food.

Kou: Gotcha~!

Guess I’ll get started with the decorations then.

Ruki: We’re counting on you.

Kou: Roger!

Yui: Ruki-kun, I’ll help out as well!

Ruki: Yeah, that would be great.

Kou: I’m looking forward to seeing what you’ll make for us!

Yui: Mmh! I’ll try my best to make something delicious, okay?

*THUD*

Yuma: Honestly, I went through fuckin’ hell and back!

I’m never cleanin’ up Azusa’s mess again!

Yui: S-Sounds like they’re back. He seems really upset though. I wonder what happened...?

Ruki: I assume Azusa threw one of his stubborn tantrums. Oi, Livestock.

Yui: Y-Yes!

Ruki: Go pass on this message to them. Please tell them they should get started with their own tasks.

Yui: Yeah, sure. I’ll go tell them.

ー The scene shifts to the hallway

Yui: Welcome back, you two.

Azusa: If I don’t get that knife, I’ll...I’ll...

Yuma: Aah, let it go already! What’s so damn nice ‘bout that knife anyway!?

Azusa: ...

Yui: ( Seems like they don’t even realize I’m here. )

( That being said, if I leave them be, they’ll run late with their preparations. )

Um, you guys! Welcome back!

Azusa: ...Wah...You startled me.

Yuma: Aah? The fuck, Sow? You’ve been standin’ there this whole time?

Yui: Yeah...Um, Ruki-kun has already started preparing everything, so he’d like the two of you to help out as well.

Azusa: But, the knifeーー

Yuma: Ya really don’t know when to give up, huh? We’re done talkin’ ‘bout that!

Azusa: ...You blockhead.

Yuma: Speak for yerself!!

Yui: ( O-Oh no... )

( I can’t leave things like this. I have to stop them somehow... )

U-Um!!

Azusa-kun, Kou-kun has started on the decorations, so can I rely on you to help him with that?

Azusa: ...

Yui: Both me and Yuma-kun understand very well just how badly you want that knife...

But we have to get on with the Christmas preparations now, so I’d really appreciate it if you could help out...

Azusa: ...What about you?

Yui: Eh?

Azusa: What will you do?

Yui: I’m going to make the Christmas cake.

Azusa: ...Okay. I want to try your cake, so I’ll forget about the knife...For a while, at least...

Yuma: ‘For a while’, my ass! Forget ‘bout that thing forever!

Yui: Shh, calm down, Yuma-kun.

Azusa: I’ll go help Kou then.

Yui: Yeah, good luck.

ー Azusa walks away

Yuma: Heh. You’re really startin’ to get the hang of how to handle that guy, huh?

Yui: Y-You think so...?

Yuma: Well, whatever. Anyway, Ruki’s already in the kitchen, ya said?

Yui: Yeah, I think he’s getting everything ready to start cooking.

Yuma: I’ll go get some veggies from the garden then.

Yui: Ah, Yuma-kun! Could you maybe let me have some fruit to use for the cake?

Yuma: Roger. I’ll make sure to grab a few, so ya get yer ass over to the kitchen ‘kay?

Yui: Yeah, thanks!

ー Yuma walks away as well

Yui: Well then...

( I’ll try my best to bake the best cake ever as well! )

ーー TO BE CONTINUED ーー

Translation notes

(1) While the holidays are often associated with family in the West, Christmas and especially Christmas Eve are strongly linked to couples in Japan.

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[ Part 2 ] →

#diabolik lovers #dialovers #vandead carnival #diabolik lovers translation #vcpresentfrommukami #ruki mukami #kou mukami #yuma mukami #azusa mukami

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silhouetteofacedar · 3 years

Text

Fox Mulder, Closet Romantic Ch.3: Jesus Is A Pisces

Previous Chapter - AO3 - MSR, rated E

Mulder has forgotten Scully’s birthday every year but one. Actually, make that two now, since this year he’s determined to make the day special for her somehow. He’d asked her casually what her plans were, and she admitted that outside of a lunch with her mother and some church friends on Sunday the 22nd, she didn’t really have any intention to celebrate.

“It’s been a rough couple months,” she’d explained softly, and that’s all he needed to hear. She’d gained and then buried a daughter within a few days’ time over Christmas, for fuck’s sake. He didn’t know how she managed to stay sane after that, and if he thought about it for too long the waves of powerlessness and guilt that rolled over him were debilitating.

So instead he focused on what he could do.

“You wanna do something after work on Monday? I promise to be as un-festive as possible,” he offered.

She looked uncertain, licked her lip. “Just us?” she asked.

“Just you and me,” Mulder assured her, the words giving him a tiny, shameful thrill.

She was quiet for a moment. “Sure,” she said finally.

Come Monday, February 23rd, it’s business as usual in the basement office. They finalize their reports from the previous week’s case, wrangle their receipts, argue over who broke the stapler (It was him, she insists; while he claims she jammed the staples in and made it impossible to use properly).

At three minutes to five o’clock, she clears her throat softly as she gathers her things, and he can feel her preparing to speak.

“Yeah, Scully?” he murmurs.

“We still on for tonight?” she asks, sounding almost cautious, and his heart fractures.

“I’ll pick you up at seven,” he confirms, leafing through a file. “Be sure to bundle up.” He looks up at her and gives her a reassuring grin.

She looks happy and… relieved? Huh.

“Well, I’ll see you then,” she says, shrugging on her coat as she leaves.

Mulder smiles at the door as it clicks shut behind her. He’s unusually giddy about what he has planned for the evening.

Over the weekend he had gone to the grocery store since his refrigerator was barren, then camped out in his building’s laundry room all day Sunday washing every blanket he owned. He even stopped at the little bakery around the corner from his apartment, purchasing a single chocolate cupcake and a loaf of rye bread.

After work he packs his car with a cooler, a duffel bag, a large thermos of coffee, and a pile of blankets.

He’s surprised to see that she’s waiting for him on the steps of her apartment, wearing a heavy jacket and thick turtleneck sweater.

“I got too hot wearing all this inside,” she explains, climbing into the passenger seat. She seems almost excited, and he strangely wants to cry. God, he’s so fucking glad he had the balls to invite her out again.

“Where are we going, Mulder?” Scully asks.

“It’s a surprise,” he replies.

Seven minutes and three wrong turns later, he reaches into the glove compartment and pulls out the map, handing it to her. “Rock Creek Park, please, Navigator,” he says.

“Aha! I thought the route we were taking seemed… circuitous,” Scully says with a smirk, unfolding the map.

“Just tell me where to go; I don’t need a running commentary,” he gripes, secretly relishing her needling.

In about twenty minutes, they arrive at the park’s nature center. Mulder pulls into the lot next to the field across the road and cuts the engine.

“We’re here?” Scully asks, looking around. “It’s deserted. Mulder, please don’t tell me we’re ghost hunting,”

“Ghosts? No,” he says, climbing out of the car and going around to the trunk. “Help me with some stuff?”

Scully comes around to the back of the car, where Mulder hands her the cooler and thermos. He slings the duffel bag over his shoulder and gathers up the pile of blankets. “Close the trunk, will you, Scully?” he says, walking towards the field. “My arms are full.”

They trudge out to the middle of the field, cold winter air biting their cheeks. Mulder stops abruptly and drops the blankets onto the ground in a heap.

“We’re here,” he announces, setting down the duffel bag. He picks up a heavy wool blanket and spreads it out on the grass.

Scully sits down on the blanket, cooler and thermos beside her. “What exactly are we doing out here, Mulder?” she asks.

“Well first, we eat,” he replies, reaching for the cooler. He opens it and pulls out two waxed-paper parcels, handing one to her. “Pastrami on rye,” he announces. “I went a little crazy with the mustard on one of them, we can trade if you want.”

“You made these?” she asks, unwrapping the sandwich and taking a bite. “Oh my god,” she groans. “Mulder, you’ve been holding out on me. This is delicious.”

The satisfaction in her voice makes him flush. “It’s pretty hard to mess up pastrami.”

“True,” she agrees, “but I was starting to doubt you could even make food. Your refrigerator is usually pretty sparse.”

Mulder shrugs, opening the thermos of coffee and pouring her a cup. “Cooking for one doesn’t hold much appeal,” he explains.

“Mm,” she agrees around a mouthful of sandwich, taking the proffered cup. “So Mulder, tell me; is there a reason we’re having a picnic in the dark?” She eyes the duffel bag beside him suspiciously.

“I’m glad you asked,” he replies, unzipping the bag and pulling out a tripod. “You know anything about constellations, Scully?”

It’s a rhetorical question, of course. He already knows.

“A thing or two,” she replies casually, clearly attempting to hide the smile sneaking across her mouth as she eats.

“Well that’s good, seeing as I lugged this telescope and a star map all the way out here,” he says, pulling the telescope case out of the bag.

Scully is enraptured, and Mulder thinks this might be the best thing he’s ever done for anyone.

“I haven’t done this in years,” she says, peering through the eyepiece as she adjusts the telescope’s position. “Not since…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, but she doesn’t have to. He remembers her telling him once, on a long car ride to some anonymous, unremarkable town, about stargazing with her father when she was a child. Captain Ahab and his Starbuck, navigating the night skies by way of celestial markers.

The temperature’s dropping, and Mulder drapes the ratty tribal weave blanket from his couch around her shoulders as she searches the heavens.

“You want a turn?” she asks, drawing back from the telescope for a moment.

He shakes his head, plops down on the blanket and gazes at her instead.

They could be astronauts together, sailors of the stars. Dropping anchor in pools of the Milky Way, swimming through constellations and running their fingers through glittering strands of nebulae.

“I’m good,” he replies softly.

“Mulder?” Scully says from under a pile of blankets.

They’re lying on their backs now, side by side, eyes on the sky. Waiting for a meteor, or a passing satellite, or for God to wave hello.

“Yeah, Scully?”

“Do you give any credence to astrology, or is that too close to religion for you?”

“I appreciate its historical and cultural significance,” he replies. “Beyond that, I can’t say I have much of an opinion on it. Aren’t you a Pisces?” he asks, as though he doesn’t already know that she is, and that he’s a Libra, and that the shitty magazine he picked up in the dentist’s office says they’d be a tumultuous but passionate match. Not that he gives horoscopes any weight.

Passionate, though…

“I am. And I’m inclined to agree with you, though astrology’s link with early Christianity is fascinating. For example, did you know that Jesus is linked to Pisces? His birth coincides with the dawning of the astrological Age of Pisces, which spans from 1 AD to the year 2150. There are many scriptural references to fishermen, and early Christians used the fish symbol as a sign of their faith.”

“Huh,” he says, tucking a blanket more tightly around his shoulders.

“I don’t believe that the stars dictate my temperament, by the way,” Scully continues. “But there’s something beautiful about having a constellation in the sky that corresponds with your own birth. Missy knew more about this stuff,” she say wistfully. “She’d read me my horoscope every morning before school while we brushed our hair or whatever, in the bathroom where Mom couldn’t hear. It was fun,” she says with a sigh.

“Do you think she’s out there, in the stars?” Mulder asks and immediately regrets it. He didn’t mean the question to sound flippant.

Scully takes it in stride. “Is it crazy if I say maybe? There’s… there’s things I’ve seen and heard, Mulder, that I can’t explain. Who am I to say how God operates? Maybe He’s laid the stars out like a map for us to read. That’s probably wishful thinking, but life would be a hell of a lot simpler if everything was dictated by heavenly bodies.”

“Better that than by governing bodies,” Mulder agrees.

Their eyes drift along the razor-sharp curves of the crescent moon.

“My mom wants to set me up with one of her church friends’ sons,” Scully says without preamble.

“Huh,” Mulder replies, tracing Orion with his eyes. “Let me guess; he’s a dentist.”

“Emergency physician, actually,” she replies. “He’s nice.”

Mulder suddenly feels the weight of gravity pressing him down to earth. He can feel the rotation of the planet under his back, spinning him at a thousand miles an hour. “You’ve met him?” he asks.

“Yesterday, at lunch,” Scully replies. “He’s a widower, with a six-year-old daughter. I think… I think my mom thinks we could help each other.”

Mulder’s stomach churns, a facsimile of seasickness rolling through his body. “What do you think?” he asks, voice oddly hoarse. “Do you… agree with her?”

Scully pulls the blanket higher under her chin and sighs. “I don’t know, Mulder. I’m thirty-four today, and my career runs my life. I’m not sure how many chances at a family will come my way in the future. It’s not ideal, but maybe I’m past the point of getting to choose.” She pauses. “I’m sorry, I’m being fatalistic.”

Despite the near-freezing temperature, he’s got a cold sweat forming on his back. “You can always choose, Scully. As far as I see it. It’s-it’s important to me that you know that.”

She rolls onto her side, snaking a hand out of the blanket to prop herself up on her elbow beside him. “Mulder, I know you blame yourself for the things that have happened to me. But they’re not your fault.” He opens his mouth and she interrupts him before he can speak. “Don’t argue with me. It’s my birthday.”

He’s grateful for a change of subject. “That reminds me,” he says, sitting up and reaching over to open the cooler.

He pulls out a small pink bakery box and opens it to remove a single chocolate cupcake with a candle stuck in the middle. He digs a lighter out of his coat pocket and gives it a flick, igniting the candle.

“Happy birthday, Scully,” he says sheepishly, holding out the cupcake.

The single flame shimmers in her eyes as she takes the dessert. “Mulder,” she says softly, in a tone that makes his heart turn to liquid. “I don’t… I don’t know what to say.”

“Just make a wish and blow the candle out before the wind does it for you,” he replies. There’s only a bit of a breeze but he’s not taking any chances. She deserves a wish.

Her eyes fall closed, and she sighs contentedly, no doubt formulating her request. Suddenly she opens her eyes and locks her gaze with his over the flickering candle, and Mulder feels a thousand words rumbling in him like an approaching avalanche.

Before he can say anything she purses her lips and extinguishes the lone flame with a breath.

She pulls the candle out of the cupcake and pops the end into her mouth, licking off chocolate frosting, and Mulder thinks he might die right there on a blanket in Rock Creek Park. He’s been so good, keeping his feelings to himself, but in this moment his only thoughts are that he loves her and wants her; no, needs her. He needs to touch her, taste the icing on her lips, map the constellations of freckles hiding beneath her sweater. Shake the winter chill out of his bones, letting the flames of her red hair lick across his skin and light his whole body on fire.

She’s saying something to him, biting into the cupcake, chocolate crumbs falling onto the blanket.

“Hm?” he asks, returning to terra firma.

“I asked if you wanted a bite,” she reiterates.

Yes, his body responds. Please please please-

“It’s yours,” he says as a declination.

“Therefore it’s mine to share,” she declares. She holds it out to him, and his stomach flutters as he leans in and takes a bite. He thinks of his parents’ faded wedding photos, of them feeding each other cake in black and white.

Don’t date the doctor guy, he pleads silently as he chews. Stay with me. Show me galaxies.

She falls asleep on the car ride home with one of his blankets tucked around her, the car’s heater cranked all the way up. When he parks in front of her building she stirs, likely awoken by the sudden cessation of warm air on her feet.

“Scully,” Mulder says softly, “We’re home.”

“Mmm,” she responds. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven,” he answers, glancing at his watch. “Can you walk or should I carry you up?” The question feels faintly suggestive, and he’s only being so bold because she’s drowsy and likely not registering the subtext.

“I can walk,” she says, sitting up and removing the blanket. Her hair is a fuzzy red halo in the glow of the streetlights.

“I’ll go with you,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt. “Make sure you don’t pass out on your way up.”

“Thanks,” she yawns. “I don’t know why car rides make me so drowsy,” she says. “It’s like I’m five years old again.”

“Or it’s hypothermia,” Mulder suggests jokingly. “It got pretty damn cold out there.”

“Winter night picnics aren’t the most practical, it’s true,” she says. “But the blankets and coffee were a good idea.”

When they reach Scully’s apartment door she turns to face him. “Thank you for this,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

He smiles softly at her. “Happy birthday,” he replies.

He’s mentally debating giving her a hug when she reaches out and pulls him in gently, arms looped around his waist. He wraps his arms around her and drops a light kiss to the crown of her head.

It’s over way too soon.

“Goodnight,” she says. “See you tomorrow.”

If he says anything else to her before she slips into the apartment and closes the door, he doesn’t remember it. His feet are firmly on the ground, carrying him out of her apartment building and back to his car, but his head is far above the atmosphere, adrift in space.

He’s so in love he feels as though he’s running out of air.

#my fic #msr #txf fic #xfiles #fox mulder closet romantic #FMCR #I love this chapter okay fight me #Scully’s birthday #stargazing and shit

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tuagonia · 3 years

Text

sunflower - mason x f!detective

pairing: mason x f!detective (mia garcia)

Summary: mason thinks about mia at the town’s florist.

rating: T

warning: i think there's like...one swear word.

word count: ~1.7k

note: lol ok since i flopped at getting mason x mia done for the hotwayhaven event.... i have been waiting to write this for a while and the amazing event organisers at @wayhavensummer finally gave me the excuse I was waiting for to fully indulge in this. thanks for hosting and putting in all the great work!! This is for Aug. 18 - Flowers.

They remind him of her.

Large and dangling free from her ears; brightly painted papier-mâché “monstrosities”.

That’s the word he’d used to describe them, making no effort to mask his distaste.

Instead, Mia smiled widely in response, reaching up to touch one at its faux-stalks. It stopped that distracting swing, back and forth with every slight movement of her head. Chuckling, and pride lifting her cheery tone, she told Mason she made them herself.

Lemony-yellow, mossy-green, the burnt-chestnut centre.

All crammed together outside of the tiny flower shop. Dozens upon dozens of them staring back at him; yellower under the blaze of the mid-August sun.

A makeshift sign stuffed among the mass of summer-ripe bouquets reads: “TOP QUALITY. Giant Sunnys £14 per bunch”.

Mason is just looking.

He tells himself there’s no harm in just looking.

And anyway, they’re hard to miss under the hot sun. It’s not his fault they’re in the way of his usual patrol route. Quite literally.

Bundles and bundles of large sunflowers, taking up the pavement. Usually, grey and cracked, now overrun with the sight of them. The florist’s quaint store looks like a child’s plaything next to the dramatic assortment.

He has to blink, thinking the sunshine and its heat has started playing tricks on him. It’s almost as if they multiply; little suns with their earthly centres, drawing him closer.

From the moment he rounded the corner to the main square, he never stood a chance against the brilliance of them.

Mason should have kept moving. He doesn’t have time for this— to stop mid-patrol, to idle in front of flowers.

But they remind him of her.

Not just of the — and his lip curls at the memory — weird handmade jewellery.

(A set for every occasion.

Cakes and candles for colleagues’ birthdays, candy canes for Christmas, glittery hearts the size of her fists for Valentine’s Day. Tiny pieces of reflective plastic shedding onto her delicate neck).

They remind him of the sunshiney smiles. The ones she so easily tosses his way, like they’re never any work, like they could never go to waste. Always patient, always bright, always...happy.

And as he glares down at them, he realises they don’t offend him. The observation renders him sceptical, partly convincing himself he’s stopped to figure out why he hasn’t felt repulsed at the overwhelming powdery aroma.

It’s not floral. No. Instead, it reminds him of...reminds him of… Mason racks his brain and frowns accusingly at the vivid flowers opened up at him.

Mason reaches for one, fingers wrapping around its surprisingly sturdy stalk.

He’s still just looking. He just— he just needs to get a closer whiff to figure this out.

Honey. That’s what it is.

Mason’s frown deepens at the realisation. His grip on the flower shifts, the skin of his palm uncomfortable against the fuzzy stem.

Bright and honey-sweet.

(There’s that memory of her kiss, soft and saccharine as powdered-sugar; should make his teeth hurt.)

The crown of gold petals distracts him, fills him with a warm something that he’s more desperate than annoyed to figure out. He can’t place it, can’t place it, can’t place it— wants to know it.

Maybe it’s the frustration of chasing after the unnamable thing that makes him forget the purpose of stopping, the reason why he plucked the flower to begin with.

...so distracted he doesn't hear when the round-cheeked vendor pops their head outside of the shop, all smiles that he feels nothing for (not her like smiles, though. Nothing like her smiles).

They mention the weather and ask if they can be of any help, but Mason’s attention slides back to the sunflower in his fist. But he shakes his head, unconvincingly but he’ll never know.

It’s the heat, he thinks. The arse-end of nowhere town at the tail-end of an unforgiving heatwave.

But just as he’s about to slot the stalk back into its bucket, the vendor stops him— shaking their head emphatically, their grin growing by the second. They sweep of their hands in a take it, take it, please motion, and send Mason off. They shoot him wink from overly-kind eyes.

Like they might be in on some big secret, and Mason will be the last in this entire godforsaken town to know.

There’s no harm in taking the flower, Mason insists, staring down into its dark-brown centre.

He’ll hold onto it until he can find the next rubbish bin, and in the mean time he’ll try not to think about how it reminds him of the dusting of dark freckles across her nose.

(He gets it now. He gets it when he’s with Mia.

He understands — finally — why everyone before her kissed his freckles like they wanted to taste the stars.

Her galaxies, his constellations. Every time they meet, Mason expects a seismic shift to take them asunder.)

His usual strides have shortened, his pace slower than normal, his senses overwhelmed by the true yellow of its petals.

For a moment, Mason forgets all about the patrol and just...walks.

It’s a quiet and lazy summer day. The sun (high and hot) urges residents to stay in the shade, seeks refuge in cool indoors. The streets are empty. Sleepy. So, he takes his time, the crease on his brow deepening with every side street he takes.

It’s hot inside his boots. That’s the only reason he’s leaning against her tin can of a car, outside of the station, holding this ostentatiously large flower.

A quick detour for some shade. That’s all it is. And when there’s a whisper of a breeze, rustling the leaves of the tree above him and the little crown of petals in his hand, it’s all the more cooler.

Mason can hear her colleagues moving in and out of the station, but pays them no mind as time moves on, still staring down at the flower in his grip. It’s far too large to twirl it with sturdy fingers, forcing him to keep studying it and wondering what exactly about it brings Mia to mind.

Lively, but not intense.

(Her laugh, he guesses. Loud and clear, broken up by giggles. The sound of it never jarring.)

A drop of sunlight, buried underground. Persists and blossoms through cracked earth.

(Her kindness, he ascertains. Not to be mistaken for weakness. As easy as she can dole-out radiant smiles, her sharp tongue can just as quickly follow.)

...like he’s been holding a piece of her this entire time.

The taut pull at his cheeks is foreign, and he lets the corners of his mouth drop.

Pointless because Mason hears a familiar drumming, a quick skip he’s grown used to over the last years.

He looks up just in time to watch Mia push through the station’s glass doors. At the top of the steps, she stops to survey the car park, and he feels a flutter in his chest when he realises those brown eyes are searching for him. He confirms it when her gaze lands on him and...that smile (the beating inside his chest is ten-fold) breaks out across her face.

She shields her face with a hand, squinting against the harsh glare of sun bouncing off windshields. With easy, unhurried steps she walks towards him and he drinks in the sight of her.

That scratchy yellow cardigan that’s become synonymous with Detective Garcia is nowhere to be seen. Probably thrown over the back of her office chair and forgotten, along with whatever work she’s been putting off all afternoon.

Dark curls scooped up and away from her neck, gives Mason a great view to the line of her throat and down her naked shoulders. A sage strappy shirt stretches down her small frame, trying its best to keep her cool in the heat...reminds him of the stalk in his hand.

He tenses.

Mia’s eyes flicker to the sunflower he’s holding and her smile (fuck, that smile will be the end of him) grows and grows.

All teeth (white, and...harmless with the dull edges) and she gives an airy chuckle.

“That for me?” she asks with one eyebrow lifting into a curly fringe.

Pushing off the car, Mason musters up his best grimace and fights back the fear fighting its way up his spine. He doesn’t understand it, doesn’t know why fear is the first thing that possesses him when she stands this close and gestures to the flower with a tilt of her head.

Before he can respond, before he can let his tongue and fear get the better of him— Mia makes for the sunflower in his grip.

Fear tells him this should be a mistake. This memory must be a mistake; one that he’s sure will be the only one to matter in a dizzying spiral of time: Mia smiling down at this sunflower.

The leaves rustle again, and sunlight filters through, dappling the deep brown of her hair.

She makes it easy, never has to wrestle with the feeling for too long before she distracts him. If it’s not a quip, it’ll be an expression that should not be equal parts funny or cute. Spears Mason somewhere deep, somewhere he doesn’t think he’s touched before— doesn’t know if it could ever be before her.

Mia speaks to the flower, a lone fingertip running over its petals. “It’s very pretty.”

Mason watches her stroke the large leaf at the stalk, leaning in nose-first to catch its scent at the centre, eyes fluttering shut. Dark lashes meet her cheeks, and he follows the line of her freckles (darker in the summertime).

He wants to take his time here too, with the same pace as he did those side streets (seeing parts of Wayhaven he would have never traversed without coaxing).

“Yeah…” his voice is rough and unused, studying as she looks up at the way the branches move above them. Sunlight casting down on her, and that easy smile fixed on her lips. “Very pretty.”

#not proof-read we die like men or w/e #wayhaven summer #rbs whs #twc mason #twc m #the wayhaven chronicles #twc #mason x mia: cigarette with my tea #queue but said like moira rose #tuagonia writes twc

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sariahsue · 3 years

Note

I just saw your take one Lilo&Stitch's approach to child protection and I was wondering if you could give some advice on how to write realistic stuff in this matter? I've been meaning to write a foster care/adoption fic and I do know the system in France must be at least a little different - and I will get down the research hole once I have a bit more time - but do you have any advice on how to write the kids reactions, the way parents deal with everything, the bonding part... things like this, so I can avoid clichés.

You don't have to answer though, feel free to ignore all this akdjwja I just figured there's no harm in asking XD

Yeah, sure! (To anyone else reading this who has a fic, feel free to send me a message if you have questions!) I’m definitely not the most knowledgeable person, but I know quite a bit. And I’m sure things are a bit different in France (hopefully their court system is better - yikes!) but I think the human element would be pretty similar, so here we go.

First off, know that everyone is foster care is having a rough time constantly. Foster kids, workers, parents, foster parents, foster siblings. And no one knows what’s going on long term. There’s always a lot of uncertainty. Will the kids go home soon? Are parental rights going to be terminated at the next court date? Who knows???

The birth parents, at best, are going through a really tough time in their life, made worse because their kids were taken away from them. Some care about their kids, but they’re extremely self-centered and have zero parents skills. Some are manipulative and see foster care as free babysitting, and as long as they get to see their kid for an hour or so a week, this arrangement is fantastic for them! At worst, they’re just horrible human beings who abuse children. In general, most parents are clueless and selfish and pretty manipulative. They say they’re good parents and have no clue why their kids were taken away, even though their kid has cigarette burn marks on their back, or had to eat out of the garbage to survive because the were left alone for hours at a time when they were four, or worse. They have no clue at all what their behavior does to their kids, and they refuse to listen to anyone who tries to explain it to them.

No matter what type of parents they were, their kids ALWAYS love them and want to go home. Every single one of them. No matter the age. No matter what their home life put them through. Some of them aren’t old enough to understand why they can’t go home. Some have been in foster care for years and hardly remember living at home but still want to go home.

It makes for complicated foster relationships sometimes because the kid will be attached to both birth and foster parents and feel guilty or conflicted or disloyal, or they’ll try really hard not to be attached to the foster parents in the first place. (I can think of only one exception to this. Two sisters who had been put into another home and liked the foster family and decided that they were going to be adopted by this family and were very excited about it... except the foster family had no plans to adopt them. I never learned what happened there.)

And this is before accounting for the mental health struggles that often accompany the trauma most of them have been through. Some kids come in with anxiety that makes it difficult to trust new people. Some kids’ behavior is so extreme that it’s difficult for foster parents to take care of them, and so the kid moves around constantly. (If their behavior is too bad, they can sometimes be put into either a group home or residential, either temporarily or permanently.)

Parents are also entitled to visits, usually either weekly or every other week, at least while the goal is reunification (which is always starts out as). Before the pandemic, these usually took place in the DCF (Department of Children and Families is what it’s called in my state) office or in a visitation center. Sometimes the court orders that the visits be supervised so they don’t start promising their kids that they’re coming to get them next week. Often the workers think that sitting down the hallway not listening counts as supervision. 🙄

With the pandemic, kids have been meeting over Zoom. That’s being phased out pretty soon here. Kids are almost always triggered by these visits. I mean, they look forward to them usually. Some kids are mad at their parents and don’t want to talk to them, but almost always, they want to see their parents. And almost always whatever behavior problems they had before is extremely worse for the next 2-5 days. (Which is terrible if you get a visit every week.) Some parents bail on these visits regularly. Some consistently bail on only birthdays and Christmas. We’ve learned not to tell the kid that they have a visit coming up until we know it’s definitely happening, or sometimes only right before we’re planning on leaving to go, because the anticipation of a visit is triggering or because getting stood up by your own mother is traumatizing. Sometimes you can get the kid’s therapist to write a note asking for the visits to be less frequent for the kid’s sake, but often that just means every other week instead of every week.

For foster families welcoming kids into their home, it’s a little different. They’re often more stable, and their whole life isn’t shifting around them. They’re just getting one or two kids into the family. The home dynamic is going to be a little different. Nothing huge, compared to what the foster kids are going through. It often depends on the kid how fast you get attached. Sometimes you know kids are only going to be there for a month because their normal foster family had to deal with an emergency, but the plan is to take them back soon. Sometimes they’re adorable babies and you get super attached really, really fast. Sometimes they’re so unhappy and scared that they make your home life completely miserable. Sometimes you’ve seen so many kids come and go over the years, and they’ve all left eventually, and your heart becomes guarded to protect you from that pain. But you get attached eventually anyway.

And sometimes your parents are given a newborn whose goal is reunification and it’s love at first sight even though you don’t know if you can keep him, and then he’s put up for adoption when he’s two and you adopt him SO HARD. And then you make future foster kids upset because you can’t adopt them too. :( And even though they get adopted by friends of yours, they still feel conflicted over it four years later.

You would think that a kid raised completely in their adoptive home from birth would have no problems, and sometimes that’s the case. Sometimes they still get upset about the adoption when they’re older because the foundational belief they have about themselves is that their mother didn’t want them, even though it’s not true.

(This is the real-life story of my brother. We are the only family he’s ever known, and he’s 13 now, but he still has issues over being adopted. The other boy is 16 and is doing much better with his new family now, though he still has some issues. We had him for a very long time, and we were all happy that we know his adoptive family well because we stayed it contact with him, which almost never happens when a foster kid leaves.)

Oh, I forgot one thing. Usually when kids first get to your house, they are perfect little angels for a while. Depending on the kid, it’s either a couple days or maybe even three months. It’s called the “honeymoon period.” Once their subconscious realizes that this is a safe place to work on their issues and they aren’t in physical danger, they start to process what they’ve been through. It comes out in a variety of ways. Behavioral issues, bedwetting, explosive anger, nightmares, etc.

A note about social workers: All the workers (at least in my state) constantly have too many cases. Like, double what they’re legally supposed to have. Most of them try hard to keep up. Some DO NOT CARE. Some are fantastic and put extra time in to go to the kid’s end-of-the-school-year recitals and build a relationship with them. They’re in charge of organizing visits and making sure the kids have everything set up and are generally important in the kid’s life. They’re required to visit once a month and make sure foster parents have all the right paperwork and arrange dentist visits and bring them to all their therapy appointments. (FYI, You get a piece of paper that says you’re the legal guardian. You have to show it to schools and doctors when you make arrangements for the kids. My mom also keeps a copy in her purse, just in case a kid starts screaming “HELP! SHE’S NOT MY MOM” in the middle of the store or something. It’s never happened, but you know, just in case.)

Also, you would think that they’re the constant in the kid’s life, but if the birth parents move, the case gets transferred to another office in the state, and so the social workers switch. I sincerely hope that’s not how things are done in France because it’s garbage for a lot of reasons.

Okay, I’ve written you an essay, but I hope it was a useful essay! Let me know if you have any more questions!

#foster care #adoption #birth parents

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shireness-says · 4 years

Text

The Set-Up Scam

Summary: They’ve always been friends first and foremost - Emma and Killian, Killian and Emma - until suddenly, they’re something a little more too. But with a $600 betting pool on the line about when they’ll actually get together - well, maybe there’s incentive to keep the good news a secret. ~5.5k. Rated T for language. Also on Ao3.

~~~~~

A/N: Merry Christmas, @nevertothethird! I was delighted to be your pair for @cssecretsanta2020. It’s been wonderful chatting with you, and I look forward to a full stalking. ;)

You said you liked secret dating, friends to lovers, and characters being forced to work together - so I, like a fool, tried to include all three. I hope you like the result!

Special thanks, as always, to my beta, @snidgetsafan - the greatest treasure under any tree.

Tagging: @ohmightydevviepuu, @welllpthisishappening, @thisonesatellite, @let-it-raines, @kmomof4, @scientificapricot, @thejollyroger-writer, @superchocovian, @teamhook, @optomisticgirl, @winterbaby89, @searchingwardrobes, @katie-dub, @snowbellewells, @spartanguard, @phiralovesloki, @profdanglaisstuff

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

They’re friends, first and foremost. Best friends, really - Killian and Emma, Emma and Killian. Partners in crime and two peas in a pod and every other cliché there is (and Killian would definitely know all of them). It’s been that way since the very beginning, when Killian let her peek at his attendance quiz answers in that awful intro to astronomy class in college. Their relationship had grown from there: late nights in the library and each others’ dorm rooms, studying or watching movies or chatting, all the way through graduation and eventually grad school. They get each other in a way that usually doesn’t happen for Emma, both coming from rough backgrounds and determined to make the world a better place because of it. Hell, they even work together now at Misthaven County Middle School - Killian as an English teacher, and Emma as a guidance counselor.

And all that time, it’s been strictly platonic.

It’s not like Emma hasn’t looked. He’s an objectively good looking man, and smart and sweet and funny. But he’d been in some “it’s complicated” situation with a grad student when they’d met, and then Emma was in that weird period where she and Graham gave it a shot, and by the time they were both available… well, by that time, they’d been Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. A collective, a pair, absolutely entwined every way but romantically. He’d become her person, and it wasn’t worth risking that. There was no guarantee a romantic relationship would work out, anyways - or that Killian felt the attraction too.

The thing, though, is that they’re Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. Always together, always in each other’s stories, two birds of a feather. People constantly think that they’re together - or should be.

Emma doesn’t really mind, most of the time. She and Killian usually think it’s pretty funny, trading stories back and forth on his or her couch. Where it gets annoying is when each and every one of their friends are determined they should be dating. It’s been years of meaningful looks and hints about “so why aren’t you seeing anyone, Emma?” - but the last straw is the stupid, stupid bet.

“I just don’ unnerstand why you and Killian aren’t a couple!” slurs Mary Margaret, assistant principal and friend, at her yearly end-of-summer bash. “You’re ovviously in loooooooooove.”

“Sure we are, Mary Margaret,” Emma placates.

“But why haven’t you yet?” she demands. “You made me lose the pool!”

That draws Emma up short. “I’m sorry, what?”

The little pixie-haired brunette frowns. “Don’t you know? We’ve had a betting pool going for ages about when you’d get together this year. I thought for sure it’d be the Fourth of July.”

It’s a good guess, actually - Ruby throws a famously boozy bash every year at her grandmother’s diner, conveniently situated right below the inn. It’d make sense for them to get drunk and take things upstairs - except for the fact that none of this is rooted in sense in any way, shape, or form.

“That obviously didn’t happen,” Mary Margaret frowns sorrowfully, staring down into her plastic cup full of god-knows-what. It doesn’t last long, though, as she perks right back up. “But they let me make a new guess! I’ve got my money on the Friday after your birthday.”

“How much money are we talking here?” Emma can’t help but ask. It’s like a compulsion, one she doesn’t like or understand.

“Five hundred and fifty dollars.” At least that’s what she thinks Mary Margaret says; the slurring gets particularly bad on the f-sounds. It’s an astounding sum. Truly stupid.

Kind of tempting.

“And everyone bet that it would happen this year?” she makes sure to clarify.

“Yup!” Mary Margaret pops the p-sound and then giggles to herself about the noise.

“Then I’m putting fifty dollars on it not happening this year. That Killian and I won’t get together.”

———

She means it at the time, too. Because yeah, there’s sometimes that niggling little what if?, but they’ve known each other for eight years. Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. It’s not going to happen - honestly she’s not even sure she would want it to.

Until.

It’s not the Friday after her birthday, when they’re all going to hit the bar, but it’s the night before her birthday - a Tuesday. Killian comes over to grade vocab quizzes and eat greasy pizza, and stays to drink beer and watch stupid baking shows with her on the couch. Honestly, in so many ways, it’s a night like any other: two friends, just enjoying each other’s company.

Until.

Maybe it’s the beers. Maybe something’s been building for longer than she ever thought. Maybe it’s just that they’re both feeling good and, well, it is her birthday. But Killian kisses her - or she kisses Killian - they kiss each other and it’s like something slots into place. Like of course this was going to happen - they were just waiting for the perfect moment. It makes sense, in a way that Emma hasn’t let herself think about; he’s the person she trusts most, the best man she knows, probably the most important person in her life. Her best friend - and, probably, something more.

“That was…” he gasps, some indeterminable amount of time later. Somehow, he’s wound up on top of her on the couch - not that she’s complaining.

“Only the beginning,” Emma completes, smirking in a way she definitely picked up from him.

Now that this has started, she has no intention of stopping.

———

“Ok, don’t kill me - or, like, run away immediately - but I need a favor. A huge one,” Emma says much later, both of them naked and sated beneath her sheets.

Killian laughs beside her, peering up from the pillows with a smile. “After that, darling, I’m predisposed to give you just about anything you want.”

“And I’ll give it to you again,” she quips back, mostly to make him keep laughing. It works. “But seriously. Did you know that everyone’s got a bet going on us?”

That pops his head up. “I’m sorry, a bet? I… What? Who?”

“Seems like pretty much everyone. Ruby, Mary Margaret, David, Robin, Belle… I could go on and on. A six hundred dollar pool on when we get together.”

“Typical,” Killian mutters - though Emma catches a fond note in his tone. “Who’s the lucky winner, then?”

“Ok, this is where the favor comes in.” Hopefully this isn’t a breaking point for him; Emma would hate to have this taste of them, only to have it ripped away from her. “See, Mary Margaret told me about this when she got trashed at the back to school party, and I’d had a few too and was all hopped up on righteous fury or whatever, and I kind of… put fifty dollars in the pot that we wouldn’t get together this year at all.”

Killian stares at her for a moment, and Emma’s frankly scared that he’s going to get out of bed and go - but instead, he bursts into a near-hysterical cackle. “So you want to keep this a secret until the new year, so you can win the pot?”

Emma grins, knowing she must look like the cat that ate the canary (or however that weird-ass saying goes - again, English is Killian’s thing). “Exactly. We could spend it on a weekend getaway or something.”

“I’m in, then. Under the radar.”

“It’s just two months and change,” Emma says. “It’ll speed by. How hard can it be?”

———

Turns out - their friends are determined to make it as hard as possible. Even if they don’t know it.

Things are fine, at first. In fact, nothing really changes: Emma and Killian still show up at each others’ doors most nights, and Killian comes to hang out and grade papers in her office during his free periods most days. It’s just that their evenings are now filled with kisses and touches, and those afternoons in her office with all kinds of promises of things to come. It’s thrilling, in a way, to put on the front of normality for everyone else while only they know the truth. It’s nice, too, to be able to get their feet underneath them in this relationship without so many prying eyes watching them figure it all out.

Just because they don’t know, though, doesn’t mean their friends stop trying. There’s a bet on the line, after all, and their friends have never exactly been ones to step back and let things naturally run their course. Not for those busybodies; not with six hundred dollars and Emma and Killian’s supposed happiness on the line.

(The fact that they’re right - that the two of them really are happiest together - is irrelevant.)

David, of all people, is the first to start meddling.

“Do you guys want to get dinner?” he asks out of the blue one day - calls Emma up on her phone and everything. “You and Killian and me and Mary Margaret, I mean.”

Emma’s antenna raises immediately. “What, like a double date? C’mon, David —”

“No! No,” he says hastily - a little too hastily, Emma thinks. “No, a cousin of mine - Kris, you’ve met him - he’s opening up his own restaurant. Some place with Scandinavian food, I guess?”

“That’s actually a thing?”

“I guess. I don’t know, he studied abroad in Norway in college. Anyways, he could use a little business, support or whatever, so Mary Margaret and I figured we’d bring some extra people along. You know, help him out. And maybe Scandinavian food is good after all.”

“Yeah, maybe.”

The line sits silent for a moment, before David breaks. “So… you in?”

And as much as Emma suspects this is all some elaborate set-up - well, it’s supposed to be to help someone else. David’s cousin, who she has in fact met and is really a good guy. And so she reluctantly agrees. “Yeah, I’m in. One of us will have to check with Killian if he’s available —”

“What, he’s not right there with you?”

(He is, his lips kiss-swollen and pulled into a delicious smirk, but that’s not the point and none of David’s business.)

“ — but yeah, I’m down.”

In the week between the call and the dinner, Emma actually finds herself starting to look forward to it. Yeah, it won’t be a real date - not with David and Mary Margaret there - but it’s still a chance to wear a pretty dress that’ll make Killian’s eyes bug a little. She’ll have to pick something he’ll have fun taking off of her later, once they’ve pretended to go back to their own homes.

Emma’s just pulling into the parking lot, however, when her phone rings, David’s name popping up on the screen.

“We’re not going to make it tonight,” he says without preamble, followed by the most fake-ass cough Emma’s ever heard in her life. “We’re sick.”

“Yeah, sick off your own lies,” Emma mutters. “Alright, well, I guess we’ll go another time —”

“Oh no, I insist you guys still have dinner. You and Killian deserve to have a night off!”

“David, c’mon, don’t play dumb —”

He ignores her. “Besides, you’ll be doing me - and Kris - a huge favor. I already told him to charge whatever you guys get to me. Splurge a little, have dessert and a bottle of wine. It’s all on me.”

Killian climbs out of his own car as David pleads his case, cocking his head in confusion at the no doubt frustrated look on Emma’s face. He looks like he wants to kiss it better; Emma wishes he could actually do so.

“Fine,” she caves. “If you’re sure. But I’m running up the bill.”

“You say that like it’s a surprise.”

Emma takes particular glee in ending the call. She should have seen this coming. “Looks like David has come down with a possibly fatal cough, so he and Mary Margaret aren’t coming tonight,” she tells Killian, rolling her eyes. No need to resist that particular urge.

He snorts. “Ah, liar-itis. I thought he might be coming down with a case.”

“Complicated by meddler’s cough. Don’t forget that.”

“Of course not.” He dips down to capture her lips in a gentle, lingering kiss - another urge they don’t have to resist with none of their friends around to see it. “You look lovely tonight, Swan.”

She smirks back. “I know.”

“Of course you do,” he laughs. “I’m sure you wore that just to torment me through dinner. Now, shall we?”

“We shall.” Emma slips her hand through his offered arm. “Dinner’s on David, by the way.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

———

“So, how was dinner?” David asks the next day, his cough mysteriously cleared up.

“Good,” Emma replies, knowing exactly what he’s digging for. “Your cousin’s got a good lingonberry cheesecake. Don’t worry, Killian and I totally ran up the bill. Kris has been well supported. You’re welcome.”

“And?” he demands.

Emma makes sure to play up her confusion. “And… what? It was a great dinner, might even go back if I ever have a date, and then I went home. Honestly, what did you expect to happen, David?”

Even through the phone, she can almost hear him audibly deflate. Something like a sigh, or perhaps the sound of his entire plan collapsing in on itself. Personally, Emma thinks it’s hilarious.

(It’s especially funny when she vividly remembers the way Killian had stripped her out of that dress, can still feel the scratch of his beard on her inner thighs.)

(But again - those are things that David doesn’t need to know.)

———

The set-ups multiply like rabbits, and Emma starts to notice her and Killian being forced into more and more situations together, just the two of them. Fuck only knows why they think these clumsy attempts will work; after all, Emma and Killian held out for 8 years of each other’s company before finally getting together (without anyone’s help, she might add). Still,

Trivia night is a weekly tradition for them all, down at the Rabbit Hole. Some weeks, the turnout is good; sometimes, not so much. They usually meet up at someone’s house and carpool from there because there’s not a ton of parking spots outside the bar, and it’s always worked well - two, maybe three cars instead of a half dozen or more. It’s a good time, and Emma always finds herself looking forward to Thursdays.

Tonight, they’ve met at Robin’s, Killian’s former roommate. It’s a good crowd tonight, too - Robin and his fiance Marian, Mary Margaret with David, Belle the librarian, Ruby and Mulan, even Graham and Lance and Tink. The gang’s all here, probably trying to let loose a bit before holiday obligations set in, and they’re raring to go - all twelve of them.

Emma hopes that it’s not planned - that there just happen to be two cars and then some worth of people here - but it’s more likely planned. Robin probably twisted their arms to come, just for this.

“Emma, would you mind checking the door one more time?” he calls as they congregate in the driveway. “I’m sure I locked it, but I’ve just got that niggling little feeling…”

“Sure, no problem.” And it isn’t - it’s checking the damn door. Except it’s actually winding down his stupidly picturesque front garden path to the front door, and then having to maneuver around the always-unlocked outer glass door to make sure that the real door is locked, and then maneuvering and winding and everything back… and by the time Emma makes it back, everyone’s already piled into Mary Margaret’s station wagon and Robin’s little SUV, even the middle seats everyone usually hates, leaving just the conniving man himself and Killian standing on the asphalt.

“Sorry, looks like the two of you will be riding together,” Robin says, not seeming remotely sorry. “This is convenient anyways! I know how much time you two spend together, if you decide that it’s easier to crash together afterwards… it wouldn’t be a problem for the extra car to stay here overnight.”

“Oh, I’m sure it wouldn’t be,” Emma grumbles. “I don’t suppose you have any underlying motive here, do you Robin? Say, to the tune of six hundred dollars?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” he responds cheerily. “I just really, really want you to know that you can keep your options open. And, you know, other euphemistic things if the urge moves you.”

Asshole.

(Emma does not leave her car at Robin’s overnight - but that doesn’t stop Killian from meeting her at her place afterwards.

“This euphemistic enough for you, love?” he teases as Emma pulls at his shirt, trying to tug the cotton tee over his head.

“How’s this for a euphemism: fuck me.”

“That’s not exactly how that word works, Swan.”

“I could not possibly give fewer shits about semantics than I do right now, Killian, unless it somehow relates to you getting your pants off.”

Somehow, even in the midst of their frantic stripping, he manages to laugh. “As you wish.”

She’s always preferred straight talking anyways.)

———

“Thank god I found you both!” Mary Margaret declares, bursting into Emma’s office a little too dramatically for her tastes. Until now, she and Killian had been having a wonderful lunch together, but that’s obviously a thing of the past now.

“That seems a little extreme for a Friday,” Killian comments mildly as he sets his cafeteria burger back down on the styrofoam tray. Personally, Emma thinks the cafeteria food is disgusting, but Killian’s got a real fondness for the cheeseburgers, and especially the french fries. No one’s perfect, she guesses. “What terrible impending tragedy can Emma or I save you from, Mary Margaret?”

“Kathryn’s father is in the hospital, so she and Fred can’t work their assigned booth at the Winter Carnival tomorrow.” Storybrooke County School District’s charity carnival is a tradition every winter - one Mary Margaret takes very seriously. Something that’s clearly about to come back and bite them all in the ass. “Would you two be able to cover tomorrow? You’d be doing me such a huge favor…”

Killian raises a single eyebrow as he turns to meet Emma’s eye - that eyebrow that always seems like a dare. “My schedule’s clear this weekend. Count me in. What do you say, Swan, think you can find room in your schedule to save Mary Margaret from the tragedy of all tragedies?”

Emma rolls her eyes at the way he’s putting it on thick, but truth be told, her only plans had been spending the day with Killian. Might as well. “Sure, what the hell,” she says, reaching for another bite of her microwave pizza. “I don’t have anything else going on.”

In retrospect, Emma realizes that Mary Margaret could have done something terrible with this - assigned them to the kissing booth or something. God, she hopes that there’s not a kissing booth at a middle school carnival, but it feels like just the kind of thing she’d pull. Thankfully, they’re set up at the ring toss game. It’s not strenuous in the least; they don’t even have to take money, just paper tickets. Really, the only questionable thing is that they’re crammed right together in the box formed between the booth walls and the counter and the table of bottles behind them. Maybe that’s something that would have bothered her a few weeks ago, back when they were Emma and Killian but not Emma and Killian. Now, it’s just an excuse to get right up in his space and enjoy all those little touches, right under everyone’s nose.

(Maybe, every time they have to duck under the counter to retrieve poorly-thrown rings, Killian takes the opportunity to steal a quick kiss while no one else can see. And maybe - just maybe - Emma uses those same opportunities to steal her own kisses right back.)

“Soooooo, how’s it going?” Mary Margaret chirps when she pops up out of nowhere mid-afternoon. It’s like she thinks she’ll find them making out in the middle of the carnival or something. Which… fair. The urge is there. But they’re professionals - and Emma wants that money, dammit. She’s not caving here.

“Just fine, Mare,” Emma replies. “Nothing worth reporting.”

“There’s not? You two are looking awfully cozy in there… nothing to report?”

“Well, you’re the one who set up the booths, so…”

“Aye, just making the best of it,” Killian helpfully adds.

Emma almost feels guilty about the way that Mary Margaret visibly deflates.

“You know this was another ridiculous set-up, right, love?” Killian asks once their friend has walked away. “She probably never even needed our help. It was all a ploy.”

“I see it now,” Emma sighs. “I had just weirdly hoped she’d be above all that bullshit.”

Killian quirks that eyebrow yet again. “Mary Margaret? Infamous meddler? Of course not. It’s cute that you thought that though, darling.”

“Oh, shut up.”

(“Mary Margaret told me to take the weekend off, that they’d over-scheduled,” Kathryn tells Emma later when she tries to ask how the other woman’s father is doing. “Was that not the case?”)

(Fucking figures.)

———

Ruby, frankly, is not a surprise. In fact, if there was one person Emma would figure would be pulling this bullshit, it’s Ruby. The girl’s too competitive for her own damn good - not to mention that mile-wide chaotic streak running through her soul.

“Pucker up!” she crows, thrusting what Emma assumes is a sprig of mistletoe over her and Killian’s heads. They’re at Ruby and Mulan’s place for… some party; it’s probably, maybe holiday themed, but Ruby’s never needed an excuse to throw a party. Anything to get them all drunk and laughing and forgetting about the stresses of the week.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Emma demands. “Ruby, don’t be stupid. This isn’t college anymore.”

“Oh, like we ever did this in college,” Ruby scoffs with that devious twinkle in her eye. “Besides, college shenanigans are a state of mind. And I’m not giving that up. Now c’mon, no weaseling out of this.”

“It is the rules,” Mulan points out, appearing to slip her arm around Ruby’s waist and drop an affectionate - if slightly tipsy - kiss on her shoulder.

“Yeah, you hear that? Smart half says it’s the rules. So go ahead and pucker up and kiss him. And then go make out for a while and maybe bone each other so I can win the pool.”

Killian blushes a little bit at the phrasing - something that’s surprisingly cute on him, knowing how often he usually tosses around the innuendoes and exactly how dirty a mouth he has when they’re alone. Before Emma knows what he’s doing, he leans in to press a gentle kiss to her cheek, and then another, smacking one for good measure. “Who are we to deny the great, determined Ruby Lucas?” he proclaims grandly. “One kiss: delivered.”

Ruby’s face gets a bit mutinous; it’s the only word for that particular storm cloud, really. “No it isn’t! That’s cheating!”

“Eh. Technically, it was a kiss.” God bless Mulan for being the only one willing to go against Ruby when she’s got a plan; perks of being the girlfriend, Emma supposes.

“And more importantly, Rubes, that’s all you’re going to get from us.” And that’s Emma’s last word on the subject.

(“Happy Christmas, darling,” Killian whispers into her neck later once they’re back at her place, dangling his own sprig of mistletoe over their heads. “How about it? C’mon, give us a kiss.”

Emma is more than happy to comply.)

———

Emma wouldn’t say it’s common for her to get calls from the school librarian, Belle, but it’s not unusual either. So when Belle calls her up in mid-December, shortly before Christmas break, Emma doesn’t think twice about it.

“The new Scholastic catalogs are here,” Belle informs her. “I haven’t started sending them to classrooms yet, but if you want to take a look now…”

“I’ll be right there.” Yes, the catalogs are full of books for middle school students, but Emma still loves those things. They’re chock-full of nostalgia.

“I haven’t even taken them out of the box yet,” Belle explains when Emma meets her at the check-out desk. “They’re all still in the back room. Here, I’ll let you in.”

That should have been Emma’s clue here. Why would a box of new catalogs, just arrived in the mail, already be shoved into the storage closet? But Emma’s too excited about the prospect of those newsprint magazines to think about it. By the time Emma realizes there’s nothing in this little closet but printer paper and old yearbooks… Belle’s already closed and locked the door, trapping Emma inside.

So it’s yet another set up, most likely. It’s a good thing she’s not claustrophobic, at least.

Sure enough, not five minutes later, Emma can hear Killian’s voice outside the door.

“How many boxes did you say it was, Belle? I’m happy to help haul, but I’m just wondering if we should get a hand cart to assist.”

“Oh no, I’m sure it’ll be fine,” Belle’s voice responds. “Just a few trips for each of us. Right in here…”

And suddenly, Killian’s in the cramped little closet too, and the door is shut and latched behind them. Gee, what a surprise.

“Fancy meeting you here,” Emma comments dryly. Somehow, probably on some kind of ridiculous romantic instinct, Killian’s hands have already found their way to her hips. It’s nice, really, ignoring the circumstances.

His face is adorably confused, looking around the room and back to the door and then to Emma’s own face and all over again. “Did she just lock us in here?”

“Yeah, keep up, Jones,” Emma teases. “I assume another stupid set-up effort.”

That makes the confusion disperse alright, a smirk full of promise creeping across his face instead. “If that’s the case… we’ll just have to make the most of it.”

“Oh no you don’t,” she warns. “There’s a camera in here.”

“So? It’s not like she’s watching the monitors.”

“So, Belle recently started dating Will Scarlet in IT. You want to take the chance she locked us in here, and forgot to have her boyfriend monitor us?”

“Fuck,” Killian swears, dropping his head back in dramatic emphasis. “They’re really going overboard, aren’t they?”

“I’ll make it up to you later. I promise.”

Thirty minutes later, when Emma and Killian have done nothing but talk and try to find some little extra space in the crowded closet, Belle finally lets them out, just in time for the end of Killian’s free period.

“I’m sure you have no idea how that happened,” he comments, sarcasm dripping from every word.

“It’s just the weirdest thing,” Belle agrees.

Well, that’s one way of putting it.

(Emma makes it up to him, several times over, at her place that night, with a take-out pizza to boot.)

———

After what feels like an eternity, it’s finally here: New Year’s Eve. As long as they make it to midnight and the new year proper without anyone finding out, this whole ridiculous farce is over, and they can be the couple they’ve technically already been since October. Emma and Killian, Killian and Emma - but more than they had been before.

They’d spent Christmas together - not that that was anything unusual. With everyone else going to visit family, the two of them often spend the day together, eating take-out Chinese and watching holiday movies. Killian’s got a brother back in England that he makes sure to call, and some years Liam will fly over, but Killian usually saves his visits for summer vacation, when he can stay in whatever little English hamlet his brother calls home for weeks at a time. There’s always something nice about spending the holidays together, just the two of them, but it was extra special this year. Who knew Emma was the kind of girl who wanted to trade kisses under the Christmas tree between swapping gifts?

(Killian, apparently - but then again, he’s always claimed to know her better than she knows herself.)

“Just a few more hours,” he murmurs against her neck, twining his arms about her waist from behind as Emma carefully brushes on mascara. “Few more hours, and then it’s all in the open.”

“Thank god for that, too. After all the PDA we’ve gotten from certain people all these years, I’m looking forward to rubbing it in their faces a bit.”

They carpool to Mary Margaret and David’s, just like they do every year. It’s routine, really; Emma always crashes at Killian’s after the annual New Year’s Eve party so that someone is there to help her with the hangover in the morning. Killian makes better hashbrowns than anyone she knows - even Granny - and they always manage to pull her out of the worst of her misery. He’s good about taking care of her, too, with water and Advil and making sure to shut all the shades as tightly as possible. They even share a bed a lot of years; it’s just that tonight, Emma knows there will be a lot fewer clothes involved.

They drink. They eat. They mingle. Sometimes, they’re together, carefully not touching, and sometimes they drift apart. That’s how this party usually works, after all - and Emma is nothing if not committed to seeing this entire thing through, pretending nothing is different this year, that she and Killian definitely aren’t together. Nothing to see here, folks.

God, she’s so fucking lucky he didn’t cut and run once it became obvious just how much of a competitive lunatic Emma is.

Finally, though, it’s the moment - less than a minute left. Killian is already waiting for her by the patio doors, just like he promised. Emma is only too happy to wind her way over there, grinning when she finally finds herself in front of her boyfriend - about to be secret no longer. Behind them, the assembled drunken crowd loudly counts down the last seconds of the year. They keep their hands determinedly to themselves - just as agreed, so no one can try and claim anything happened before the strike of the new year - but Killian still looks at her with that twinkle in his eyes and wiggling eyebrows. It’s anticipation, and excitement, and a good bit of joy - knowing that soon, this will all be out in the open. No more keeping their hands to themselves.

“You ready for this, love?” he says just loud enough for her to hear as the clock hits ten seconds.

“Hell yeah,” she grins back - because she is. She so is. This has been a long time coming - years in the making, really - and you know what? The whole secrecy may have helped her wrap her head around the whole thing, as well as win her the pot, but she’s ready to take it public. Maybe rub it in everyone’s faces just how happy she is and how she did this on her own schedule. Why the hell not?

Cheers erupt all around them, and Emma’s grin stretches to something that almost hurts her face. Killian looks much the same. “Happy New Year, love,” he says, finally pulling her towards him by the hips. “I think it’ll be our best one yet.”

Fireworks are going on outside, lighting up the snow on the ground, but Emma can’t be bothered to pay attention - not when Killian attacks her lips with purpose, grinning happily into the kiss before she insistently deepens it, slipping her tongue into his mouth to play. It’s just another in a series of kisses, they know - but it’s more than that. It’s a display, in the best way, declaring them them.

Emma and Killian. Killian and Emma. A pair, a unit, a couple.

“HA!” shrieks someone across the room as their make-out finally gains attention. Emma thinks it might be Ruby - though, at this point, it might be Mary Margaret. Maybe both. It’s definitely Ruby who materializes just as Emma and Killian finally break apart with a laugh. “It’s about fucking time!”

“Yeah,” Emma agrees - something that seems to short-circuit Ruby’s brain for a moment, if that look on her face is anything to go by. “It really was. And you know what else?”

Ruby shakes her head mutely, that twist of her eyebrows demonstrating that she’s still trying to get her bearings about what the fuck is happening here.

“It’s the new year. That pot is mine.”

“That’s my girl,” Killian whispers in her ear.

Best. New Year’s. Ever.

———

On January 1st of the new year, Emma and Killian - Killian and Emma - they, them, a pair, a unit, a couple take their six hundred dollars in winnings and treat themselves to a goddamn massive lunch at Granny’s. Together. In public. Because they deserve it.

Grilled cheese has never tasted so good to Emma - especially the crumbs off the corners of Killian’s lips.

#csss20 #cssecretsanta2020 #cs ff #captain swan #cs fanfiction #my writing #the set-up scam #secret dating #friends to lovers #oh my god and they were ACCOMPLICES #happy holidays everyone!

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rizlowwritessortof · 3 years

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Riz’s Master List

Just updated my master list (finally) - haven’t added anything new for a few months, unfortunately, but I’m working on it! Links below the cut. HUGE THANKS to @firefly-graphics for the dividers, you are a GIFT, my friend!

Never Look Back

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 21 chapters

Bethany Rae Cooper didn’t realize when she met the Winchesters in her family’s bar and grill that her life would never be the same. But she’s always believed that everything happens for a reason, even if it’s not exactly what you were expecting…

The Shadow’s Edge

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 17 chapters

Sequel to Never Look Back. When the demon Dameon was killed, Dean and Beth thought their son was safe from the prophecy. But when Cas brings them news of the new battle for Hell, they realize that their war has just begun.

The Fine Line

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 34 chapters

An unexpected tragedy sends Devon down the dark path of hate and vengeance, but she will learn that things are not always what they seem…

Scars

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 10 chapters

Sequel to The Fine Line. Dean and Devon’s relationship has always been stormy - but can they work through the scars of their past to find each other again?

Stars In the Darkness

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 8 chapters

A crushing loss brings Dean and Sam to Sioux Falls, and ghosts from the past and present bring them across the path of Tiara, a girl they haven’t seen since childhood.

Dreaming

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 5 chapters

Dean Winchester has always been a bit of a thorn in Kelsey’s side - a very attractive thorn, but still… A visit at her uncle Bobby’s reunites her with the boys, and she begins having vivid dreams - about Dean. Is it just her subconscious trying to tell her something? Or is there more to it than that?

My Unimportant Little Life

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 11 chapters

Season 5 timeline. Dean gets yanked from 2009 to 2014, so he can see the ‘consequences’ of saying no to Michael. At Camp Chitaqua he meets Reggie, and is surprised to find that she comes from 2009 as well…

Back In the Saddle

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 10 chapters

Dean and Sam are back in the old west again - in answer to a cry for help from Samuel Colt. And if Dean just happens to get tangled up with the spirited redhead that owns the saloon… what’s the harm, right?

Sweet Escape

Dean/Female Reader, 2 parts

What happens when a friend jokingly does a spell at your birthday party to bring your cardboard standup of Dean Winchester to life? This one’s dedicated to my friend, Liz, who gave me the idea. If only…

Sweet Escape Part 1

Sweet Escape Part 2

Shut Up and Drive

Dean/Female Reader, 2 parts

Reader teases Dean while he’s driving, so - he gets even

Part 1 - Keep Your Eyes on the Road

Part 2 - Or We Could Park - Parking Is Good Too

Take the Long Way Home

Dean Winchester/Female OC, 8 chapters

A look at Dean and Rusty’s relationship, in the present and through their memories. Flashbacks/memories are in italics.

Black Velvet

Demon!Dean/Female Reader, Dean/Female Reader, 9 chapters

You and Sam are broken after Dean’s death. Nobody expected him to come back with black eyes…

Fade to Black

Dean/Female Reader, 11 chapters

Sequel to Black Velvet. Dean is no longer a demon, but he’s still cursed with the Mark of Cain, and the lure of that darkness grows stronger as time goes on.

Dean and Toby Series

Part 1 - The Meet-Cute (Actually Rescue but Whatever)

Part 2 - The Emergency Bed-Share/Move In With Us Combo

Part 3 - The Hit and Then Run Like Your Ass Is On Fire

Part 4 - The FINALLY Admit Your True Feelings and Get Busy

GENERIC

I’m Good

This is the story that was published in the Seasons - Supernatural Short Story Anthology in 2017. Bobby sharing some memories.

Combo Shot

Dean/Female Reader

June 2015 GIEPP (Girl In Every Port Project) entry. Prompt: Pool/Poker hustler competitive chick. Pretty much pure smut.

A Hunter Walks Into a Bar

Dean/Female OC

Prowling hunter, sassy bartender

Shelter

Dean/Female Reader

Dean providing comfort

That’s How It Should Be

Sheriff!Dean/Female Reader

They have to make a fast escape, but Dean won’t let being on horseback stand in the way of showing a lady a good time

The Storm

Dean/Female Reader

You’re terrified of storms, and Dean is concerned, feelings get shared

Pest Control

Dean/Female Reader

You think you’ve got mice. The exterminator that shows up is Dean Winchester. He’ll just let you believe that, and take care of the problem. And you.

Happy Birthday, Baby

Dean/Female OC (KK)

Fluffy, smutty birthday fic written for a friend

Gunpowder and Dean

Dean/Female Reader

You’re pissed off at Dean, taking it out on the firing range, but he just won’t leave you alone…

Juicy and Delicious

Dean/Female Reader

My entry for Dean’s Flavor of the Month fic challenge - Peach Pie. You bake some peach pies for Dean, and he’s very grateful…

Lost In You

Dean/Female Reader

A casual flirtation leads to a violent encounter, and Dean’s reaction is a little more than you expected. Warning for brief description of attempted (unsuccessful) assault. Protective Dean.

What You Need

Dean/Female Reader

You’re watching as Sam and Dean prepare to interrogate a demon. Dean knows you’re watching him, and he knows exactly the kind of effect it’s having on you…

Santa Claus Is Coming Tonight

Dean/Female Reader

Dean’s really getting into the Christmas spirit…

I Need You

Dean/Female Reader

You screwed up, Sam got hurt, Dean’s pissed and you aren’t handling it very well.

Snow Day

Dean/Female Reader

You and Dean, stuck in a motel room in a blizzard

Frisk Me

Dean/Female Cop Reader

You’re a cop, in hot pursuit of a murderer, and guess who crosses your path?

Comfort

Dean/Female Reader

Dean had a rough hunt, and he’s beating himself up as usual. You take his mind off things for a little while…

When I Think About You

Dean/Female Reader

It was a wild hunt, and you’re both a little high-strung. Surely there’s some way to blow off some steam…

One Finger

Dean/Female Reader

Dean Winchester has never been one to back down from a challenge

What Makes You Feel Alive

Endverse!Dean/Female Reader

The world is bleak, the struggle endless after Croatoan. You and Dean do what you have to do to keep going.

Sweet Misery

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

My entry for Bev’s Song Challenge - song prompt was Cryin’ by Aerosmith, lyrics at the beginning

Winchesters Don’t Giggle

Dean/Female Reader

A friend and I were having this discussion about giving Dean a back rub, and whether he might be ticklish…

Confession

Dean (Priest!Dean)/Female Reader

When Dean returns from some undercover work, you discover a fantasy you never realized you had

The Bait

Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s (now on her 100th url as @cavillanche - Love you, Jess!) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘dressing up as an anime character for his birthday.’ And I have to admit, I really enjoyed this one… Reader dresses as Sailor Mars (from Sailor Moon) for Dean’s birthday.

Hey, Man - Nice Shot

Dean/Female Reader

This is for @jessica-bones-winchester’s ( @cavillanche ) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. The prompt was ‘competitiveness in the shooting range (loser cleans the kitchen for a week) No smut.

Take the Pain Away

Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @jessica-bones-winchester’s ( @cavillanche ) Dating Dean Writing Challenge. Prompt was ‘him taking care of you when you’re sick.’ Reader falls victim to a migraine, and Dean helps her through it. No smut.

Lose Yourself

Dean/Female Reader

Smut, pure and simple… Just imagine having Dean tied up, at your mercy while you worship those perky nipples…

The Contest

Dean/Female Reader

Dean loves to give you a hard time, and one night he pushes things a little too far… Flashback in italics. All’s well that ends well.

Slow Ride

Dean (Bullriding!Dean) /Reader

Yeah, after 12x11, y'all should have known this was coming - they don’t call me Cowgirl for nothing… Written (coincidentally - timing is everything!) for the Smut Apocalypse (Smut Appreciation Day) on Tumblr.

The Photo Booth

Dean/Unnamed Female OC - Dean’s POV

This was written for @winchestersandwordprocessors SPN Valentine’s Fic Challenge. Prompt was Semi-public/Risk of getting caught.

Make You Mine

Dean/Female Reader

Dean’s jealousy gets the best of him, which is not a bad thing…

Take a Chance

Dean/Unnamed Female OC - Dean’s POV

In 7x04, Dean gives himself a little pep talk before his planned hook-up with the bartender. That scene is what inspired me. This one is more important than the usual one-nighters, and it’s making him a little nervous…

If We Don’t Make It

Dean/Female OC

This fic was written for @whispersandwhiskerburn Angel’s 2K Follower Celebration. My song prompt was “Broken” by Lifehouse, and the dialogue prompt was “If we don’t make it out of this, I need you to know…” No smut.

My Deliverer

Dean/Female Spirit - Her POV

Dean is hunting a vengeful spirit. But another spirit is in this place, and she is drawn to him…

Friendly Advice

Dean/Female Reader - Dean POV, Reader POV

This was written for @deansdirtylittlesecretsblog Mimi’s RomCom Fluff Challenge. The fluff got a little smudged into smutty fun… oops! Two POV’s, Dean’s thoughts are in italics and Reader’s are in regular font.

Old Times

Dean/Female OC

Sequel a few years down the road from A Hunter Walks Into a Bar. Tiara goes back to the bar for a visit, and who should show up the next night but Dean Winchester… Flashback in italics.

You Can Leave Your Hat On

Dean/Female Reader (nicknamed Taz)

Inspired by the sexy AF Cowboy!Dean we were treated to in 13x06 Tombstone. Helped along by Joe Cocker’s rendition of “You Can Leave Your Hat On.“

Wish Her the Best

Dean/Female OC - Dean’s POV

This is an angsty li'l fic inspired by Thomas Rhett’s ‘Marry Me,’ tore at my heart until I finally wrote it. No smut.

A Matter of… Time?

Dean/Female Reader

This is the crackiest piece of work I’ve ever written - for @percywinchester27 Ana’s PJO Quotes Challenge. Prompt was “Don’t you ever feel that way? Like you could do a better job if you ran the world?” - “Umm - no. Me running the world would be kind of a nightmare.”

Demon Seed

Demon!Dean/Female Reader

Demon!Dean stops in for a drink and decides he wants you. He’s very persuasive. Written for @evansrogerskitten’s Hottest Dean Challenge.

Not Wasted Now

Dean/Female Reader

When you all decide to get drunk in the aftermath of a bad hunt, lines get a little blurred. Or crossed. Or fucking erased. Fluffy, smutty, comforting, sweet and sexy Dean.

Bad Guy

Demon!Dean/Female Reader

This was written for @eyes-of-a-disney-princess Rapunzel’s Tangled Up With Supernatural Challenge. My Tangled quote was “You want me to be the bad guy? Fine, now I’m the bad guy.”

Shiny

Trucker!Dean/Female OC

Trucker!Dean AU. Breaker, breaker, got your ears on? 67 Midnight Rider, put that hammer down…

Some Kind of Hero

Dean/Female OC

Written for Tiff’s WTF Challenge. Dean’s just filling up Baby, minding his own business, when he hears an argument and gets involved. Protective Dean, no smut, left that to your imagination.

Crave

Dean/Female Reader

So, have some ‘Riz is craving some sexy Dean action with a big ol’ side of schmoopy fluff’ stuff. Because I was, and I’m sharing with you - the smut and all the sickenly sweet cuddly that I just need sometimes. If y'all are in the mood for that kind of thing.

Perchance to Dream

Dean/Female OC

Using African dream root on a case leads to an awkward situation, and Karlie can’t handle the tension between her and Dean any longer

Ruined

Dean/Female Reader

Dean comes home from a hunt, and he’s had something on his mind…

Going Home

Dean/Female Reader

Written for @crispychrissy’s Gif It To Me Challenge. Overhearing only part of a conversation sends her running, but jumping to conclusions without the whole story isn’t the best decision. No smut.

Not the Smartest Thing

Dean/Female Reader - Reader POV

Only Dean Fucking Winchester could turn taking a swig of beer into pornography. Cocky bastard. But two can play at that game.

Suzy Q

Dean/Female OC - OC POV

Written for @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan’s Multi-fandom Follower Celebration Challenge. Prompt - “I think I’m having a feeling. How do I make it stop?”

Invisible Touch

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Rowena teaches Dean something new, and he gets inspired. I have no idea where this came from, but here it is…

Maybe I’m Amazed

Dean/Unnamed Female OC

An accident leaves her unconscious and fighting for her life in the hospital, drifting in and out of awareness and memories as Dean refuses to leave her side. Written for @rockhoochie’s 1K Love Supernatural Style Writing Challenge.

Reunion

Dean/Female OC

Passing through town, Dean runs into an old high school classmate. Fluffy and smutty, no angst here!

Playing With Fire

MOC!Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Late Season 10 MOC!Dean smut fic that just wouldn’t leave me alone…

Uninvited

Michael!Dean/Dean/Unnamed Female OC

Michael gives Dean a choice, because sometimes Michael likes to watch…This one is darker than my normal, PLEASE heed the warnings.

What Happens At the Roadhouse…

Early-Season Dean/Female OC

Bailey’s just looking for a couple days post-hunt R&R at Harvelle’s - and then he shows up. Cocky bastard.

Unleashed

Post-Purgatory Dean/Female OC

She’s still struggling to cope a year after Dean disappeared in the explosion that killed Dick Roman.

The Pool House

Dean/Unnamed female OC

Inspired by a dream - one I will never forget!

The Break-In

Dean/Tara (female OC)

One night I started thinking about what it would be like using mics and earbuds and having Dean’s voice RIGHT IN YOUR EAR. And then this fic happened. Hope you enjoy!

Tired of Missing You

Dean/Journey (female OC)

This is one of those times when my story yanked the wheel out of my hands and I just went along for the ride. So if you’re in the mood for a fluffy, angsty cookie with a smutty, creamy middle - here ya go!

Compelled

Dean/Brandi (female OC)

Have you ever had a really bad day at work? I’ve never had a day quite as bad as Brandi’s - but damn, I’d love to use this method to relieve the stress…

The Devil Made Me Do It

Demon!Dean/Shea (Female OC)

Shea is in a reckless mood. Demon!Dean is happy to help her indulge that mood.

Driving Miss Baby

Dean/Reader

Dean decides you need a driving lesson in Baby.

Just a Little Story About Lou and Sam

Sam/Female OC

Lou and Sam walk into a bar… written for a friend who’s a Sammy girl

Doctor-Patient Relations

Sam/Female OC

One-shot inspired by The Born-Again Identity - sick Sammy and Dr. Nicole. Written for another Sammy-girl friend

Head vs. Heart

No title

Fourth of July

Working Saturday Isn’t So Bad

11x17 Drabble

Some Nights He Dreams

Most of the Time

The Name Game

God Bless America

Stress Relief

Dean Hurt/Comfort Drabble

@mrs-squirrel-chester ‘s Album Fanfic Writing Challenge Drabbles

Dangerous

For My Brother

In Chains

Kiss and Tell

The End of Me

Choices

Hero

Pure

In the End

#riz's master list #updated 6/12/21 #dividers by firefly-graphics

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seasonsofeverlark · 4 years

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A Christmas Party (In Five Parts)

Author: @juxtaposie

Prompt: Christmas party. secret santa. ginger bread house making. ugly christmas sweater contest. christmas song Karaoke. watching a christmas movie. [submitted by anonymous]

Rating: T for Katniss’ potty mouth

Summary: Six prompts, five snippets, two lovebirds, and one Christmas party

Author’s Note: 1832 words

______________

“Wow,” Peeta said when she came out of the bedroom. “That is a sweater.”

Katniss pulled at the hem self-consciously. The monstrosity was white, with candy cane striped sleeves, and featured a scene of teddy bears beneath a Christmas tree. “It was my dad’s.”

“Yeah?” he asked carefully, his eyes softening.

She nodded, reaching for her coat as an excuse to break eye contact. “My mom got him this sweater from Goodwill as a joke the first year they were married, but they were so poor it was the only gift she could really afford.”

“He must have liked the joke,” Peeta said as he shrugged into his own coat. “That’s the only reason I’d keep a sweater that ugly.”

“He loved it,” she replied quietly. “He loved everything about Christmas.”

***

“Shit,” Peeta swore, slamming on the brakes.

“Jesus,” Katniss responded when the seatbelt stopped strangling her. “What?”

He was already turning the car around. “I left the royal icing. We have to go back.”

“Peeta,” she sighed. “You’ve won every year since they started throwing this party.”

“Because I refuse to use that shitty icing that comes in the kit.”

“It’s twenty minutes back home,” she argued, “then twenty minutes back again. We’re already late.”

“It’s a giant party,” he said. “No one will notice if we’re late.”

“And no one is gonna beat your gingerbread house!”

“Fine,” he said begrudgingly, hitting the brakes just a little too hard again and throwing Katniss against the passenger door as he made a second u-turn. “You’re probably right.”

“And people ***will*** notice we’re late,” she insisted. “Remember when we were late to Finn’s first birthday?”

He laughed. “Yeah.”

“And now every time we’re late to anything they ask us if we were having sex.”

Still laughing, Peeta said, “I mean, they were right.”

Katniss swatted his leg when they parked on the street a few houses down from the Odair residence. “That’s not the point!”

He caught her hand, pulling her across the center console so he could kiss her. “Tell me more about how no one can beat my gingerbread house,” he said when they parted.

“Ugh!” Putting her hand on his face, Katniss pushed him away. “You’re so weird,” she said as she climbed out of the car.

***

“No,” she said firmly, after a long sip of her Moscow mule.

“Come on,” Finnick goaded.

“Please?” Annie asked sweetly.

“It’s Christmas,” Peeta reminded her.

“No,” she said again, draining her drink as they continued to plead.

“Oh come on!” Johanna yelled. “Finnick got up there, and he’s basically tone deaf.”

“No,” Katniss said over her shoulder as she hauled herself off the couch and disappeared into the kitchen to mix another drink.

“Leave her alone, guys,” Gale said, loud enough to cut through all the chatter that followed her. “She hasn’t sung in front of anyone in years. She probably sucks.”

“I don’t suck,” she shouted back. A stronger drink was what she needed. At least half vodka.

But as she was pouring, Gale yelled, “Then you’re chicken shit,” and before she knew it she was back in the den, facing down Gale.

“I’m not chicken shit.”

He shrugged, shaking his head. “It’s fine. We’re all chicken shit about something.”

The room was so silent she could hear the ice clinking in Peeta’s glass as he shifted back and forth. Steeling herself, Katniss took a deep breath, gulped down all her vodka, and shoved the glass at Gale.

“Gimme the microphone.”

The room erupted into drunken cheers and Finnick handed over the bluetooth microphone.

“Put on Blue Christmas, Annie,” she ordered.

But when the first strain of “All I Want For Christmas is You” wafted from the speakers, it was clear everyone had been conspiring against her.

Fuck it, she thought. Move over Mariah Carey.

***

“Okay!” Finnick shouted, his face flushed from both alcohol and excitement. “You’ve got five minutes to find or make a gift from whatever you’ve got in your coat pockets or your car! Everyone got a name?”

The room thundered around her, the windows rattling as Finnick started counting them down. Peeta was pulling her out of the house and down the road to the car before he’d even reached zero, and with all the vodka in her stomach the cold felt far away.

“Who’d you get?” he asked, throwing open the driver’s seat.

“That’s cheating!” Katniss scolded as she started digging around in the glove box.

“Trade me?”

She laughed. “You got Johanna?”

He grimaced as he popped the trunk. “Worse - Gale.”

“Are you kidding?” She threw aside some napkins, and pocketed a half-finished pack of gum that had some potential. “Just grab the road flares.”

“You’re brilliant,” he said, slamming the trunk shut. “What about you?”

“I told you,” she huffed, her voice muffled as she leaned into the footwell, “that’s cheating.”

“You’re no fun.”

“And you’re too much fun.” Standing up, she held up a strip of gold foil squares. “Really?”

Peeta laughed, his cheeks flushing with more than the cold, and came around the car to wrap an arm around her waist. “I was sort of hoping I might get lucky later.”

“Well I hope you have more condoms,” she replied, “because I’m about to give these away.”

***

It was past three in the morning when Annie finally shooed the last guests out the front door. Stumbling tiredly back into the living room, she shook Finnick awake. “We’re going to bed,” she said through a yawn. “You sure you’re okay on the couch? The guest room is made up.”

“We’re comfy,” Peeta replied, his warm breath ghosting over Katniss’ cheek.

Finnick dropped the remote on the coffee table. “Goodnight guys.”

“Goodnight,” Katniss responded sleepily. Peeta shifted beneath her as he reached for the remote and started clicking through the TV guide.

“White Christmas or It’s A Wonderful Life?” he asked.

Humming happily, she snuggled deeper into Peeta’s side, tightening her arm around his waist. “White Christmas. Blanket?”

“You got it,” he murmured, kissing the top of her head before pulling the faux-fur throw off the back of the couch and spreading it out over the both of them. On the TV, Rosemary Clooney and Vera-Ellen began arguing about love.

“Good Christmas party?” she asked as Peeta’s breathing began to even out.

“Any party with you is a good party,” he said, voice already rough with oncoming sleep.

She sighed. “Sap.”

“Pretend all you want,” he said, his arms tightening around her. “I know you secretly love it.”

“I do,” she admitted. “Merry Christmas Peeta.”

“Merry Christmas, sweetheart.”

#everlark #everlark fanfiction #winter #winter 2020 #juxtaposie #submission #prompt

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spiderman-homecomeme · 4 years

Photo

i’ll never feel you (if i don’t tell you)

🎄The Twelve Days of Promptmas🎄 - Day Eight

For @amyabbotts on your birthday, bb!! I hope you’ve had an amazing day!!! <3

dialogue: “Oh come on, don’t get your tinsel in a tangle!”

❆❆❆

It’s strange.

With how long Peter’s been Spider-Man—give or take six years—one would think that he’d be a little better at not getting distracted so easily.

But when it’s things that remind him of the people he loves, well, he can’t really help it.

He nearly misses his next swing, just barely grazing rough side of a building, when he sees the twinkling lights of the Christmas tree in the window of the coffee shop they’d frequent in high school. MJ’s favorite, of course, and that’s immediately where his mind had swan-dived into. Memories are funny like that. Even the simplest reminder and it suddenly all comes flooding back.

The late night study sessions.

The after-school hang-outs.

Peter’s filled with such an overwhelming sense of nostalgia, his chest tightening, that he finds himself pulling his phone out and dialing her number without a second thought.

It rings three or four times—he’s not sure—before the croaky, confused voice of his best friend greets him.

“Hello?” She asks, her voice raw with sleep.

“Hey! MJ!” Peter says enthusiastically, smile impossibly widening underneath his mask.

There’s shuffling on the other end, no doubt her settling back into her bed. “What do you want?”

Even though there’s a healthy dollop of annoyance in her tone, the sound only makes him grin. He’s always kind of liked it.

“Oh come on, don’t get your tinsel in a tangle!”

She does not seem amused.

“Just swung past the Living Room, and uh—” He finds himself suddenly getting nervous, not quite sure as to how this is going to sound to her. “—Just… Thought about you. Wanted to call and say hi,” he sputters out, grimacing as he almost misses another swing.

He perches on the edge of a nearby building.

“At one in the morning?”

Peter nearly falls off his spot as he pulls his phone back to look at the time. “Oh, shit—” He huffs out a painfully nervous laugh. “I’m sorry. I—I had no idea… what time it was.”

“Clearly,” MJ quips dryly.

“Sorry I woke you,” Peter says after a beat, reaching up to scratch the back of his neck.

It’s silent for a moment before MJ lets out a soft sigh. “It’s okay,” she replies, exhausted, but there’s a warmth in her voice that’s enough to make his chest feel like it’s at least two sizes too small for his heart. It’s been so long, too long, since they’ve talked, and it suddenly hits him—a punch right to the gut—how much he just misses her.

“So the Living Room, huh?”

“Yup,” he says as his grin widens again, his thumb tapping lightly against his thigh. “I was in the neighborhood and, uh, I saw that they had their tree up. In the window.”

“Oh,” Michelle breathes. “Cool. I haven’t been there in forever.”

“Really?” He finds himself asking, somewhat surprised that she could go so long without her favorite cup of London Fog in the entire world. “I mean, I haven’t either, but like, the amount of times we hung out there,” he huffs in amusement. “How much you spent on tea there.”

“I haven’t had a chance,” MJ laughs. “God, I miss that place.”

“You’re still in New York, Em,” Peter laughs under his breath. “You can go there anytime.”

“I know, but—” She pauses, and he can hear her shift around on her bed, a certain hesitance and vulnerability in her tone. “—It’s… It’s not the same…” Her words trail into a faint cough. “You know?”

It’s not the same without you.

Peter nods, though he remembers that she can’t see him. “Yeah. Yeah. I get that.”

And he does. It’s the same reason he hasn’t been back. He tried once, in the beginning of freshman year, but it left him without that warm, cozy feeling he always got when he was with MJ.

“We should—” Peter catches himself talking before he has time to think. “We should go there! Sometime… soon.”

He can almost hear the sleepy smile on MJ’s face. “Yeah, we should. That’d be fun.”

“Yeah,” Peter replies dumbly, his voice strangely breathy. “Well, uh... I’ll let you get back to sleep. Lemme know when you’re free.”

She laughs sleepily into the phone. “Ooookay. Night loser.”

He knows if it weren’t for his mask, or her being on the other end of the phone, she could see the way his cheeks are dusted pink.

“Night.”

His smile never fades as he swings all the way home.

ii.

MJ’s fingers tap against her thigh as she has the world’s longest staring contest with her phone. It’s a dumb idea, she knows it is. In fact, it doesn’t even need to be an idea in the first place. Peter’s quite literally one of her best friends in the entire world. She doesn’t need to have a reason to want to call him so late at night. It’s a friend thing, what friends do sometimes.

And yet…

It’s stupid, she thinks. This is how high school MJ would have acted at the idea of calling the boy of her dreams, Peter—not college MJ. College MJ is smarter than this. College MJ is over her tiny little crush on her best friend. For the love of God herself, they had coffee together just last weekend. Things are great.

College MJ has a date next Thursday.

A date that is cute and relatively nice. A date that seems normal, no superpowers in sight or secret identities to protect.

A date that doesn’t really get her heart racing or face warming. Yeah, sure, he doesn’t really make her feel all fuzzy and gooey inside, but this is different. It’s not puppy-love. This is what adulthood is like. This is doggy-love.

Wait, no—

Fuck it.

Before she can talk herself out of it, she’s tapping the little green call button next to his name, phone snapping to her ears as her legs bounce.

It only rings twice before Peter’s answering.

“MJ! Hi!” His cheery voice makes her smile on instinct. “What’s up?”

His voice strains slightly, and she can hear the wind whipping wildly around him, and she knows instantly what he’s doing.

She almost can’t catch her breath before she starts talking. “Just, uh—” She pauses, wracking her brain for whatever bullshit reason she’d decided on before calling. “Wanted to say hi,” she finally gets out, wincing immediately at how nervous she sounds already. “You know.”

Peter lets out a faint laugh, one that makes her stomach flip involuntarily. “Oh. Well, hi to you, too.”

There’s something to his voice that always feels like a nice hug to her. It always has. Even as she’s grown out of her crush for him.

“I, uh—” She swallows, laughing quietly to herself. “I also had a question. About… the homework.” Her voice fails her for a moment as she scrambles to think of what class it is that they have together. “In psych.”

The wind on the other end stops, and she knows that Peter’s probably hanging or perched on someone’s roof. “Psych?” He asks. She can almost hear the confused scrunch of his brows.

It’s definitely bullshit. She’s already done the homework. And odds are, Peter’s completely forgotten about it. He’s the one who’s usually calling her in a panic at nearly one in the morning the night before. Not her.

“Yeah—” She replies, not confident in the slightest. “What was—what was the assignment? Again?” Her voice grows impossibly high at the end, and she wonders how long it’ll take him to see right through her lie.

“MJ, do you really think I know what the assignment is?” The amusement in his voice somehow eases her nerves. Only a little bit.

She laughs, shaking her head. “It—it was worth a shot, I guess.”

The wheels in his head are turning, she can hear, as a quiet falls between them, and she can almost see the the thoughtful expression on his face.

“Uh…” Michelle shifts, her free hand toying with the strings of her hoodie. Her bottom lip caught between her teeth, she rifles aimlessly through her backpack, grabbing her Psych folder and fabricating some I’m-totally-looking-through-the-syllabus noises. “Found it,” she says after a beat. “It’s the questions at the end of chapter six. About Piaget.”

“Ah, right. Right.” Peter hums. “Cool. Wait—so you haven’t done it yet?”

Shit.

Shit shit shit.

“I mean—uh…” For some reason—she’s lying, that’s the reason—she can’t get any words out at all. Any knowledge of the English language has all but left her mind, packed it’s bags and ventured out into the world.

“—’Cause… I could come over right now. And we could do it—the… the homework… together?”

There’s an edge to his voice that she only faintly recognizes. It causes her pulse to quicken, her hands to sweat.

And it also reminds her that yes, she’s already done the assignment. Is she going to tell him that?

Probably not.

Is she about to redo a whole-ass assignment that she’s already done?

Probably.

“Yeah,” She breathes out, unable to stop herself. “That’d be good. That’d be cool.”

“Cool.” Again, she can hear the smile in his voice. “Be there in fifteen?”

It’s almost impossible to get her heart under control, but she somehow manages. “Sounds good. I’ll probably—” She flinches, waffling. “—I’ll probably get a head start on it—on the reading. If that’s okay.”

“Wooooooow,” Peter draws out, and she can’t help but laugh. “Fine…” He relents jokingly. “See you soon.”

“See ya.”

And with that, MJ hangs up, her entire body slumping onto her bed as she smacks herself on the forehead. If anything, this phone call is only further proof that she still has some “getting over” to do. Even though she thought—nay, she was confident—that she was safe from feelings, it’s still managed to come back and bite her in the ass.

As she stares at her phone, at his contact picture, she can only think of how screwed she’s going to be if she keeps this up. She holds the phone to her chest, eyes squeezing shut as she lets out a long sigh.

Fuck.

iii.

There’s a reason that Peter hasn’t gotten a new phone since high school.

Well, there’s a lot of reasons; one, being the amount of times he drops the damn thing while out on patrol, or how many times he lands on it on the rare occasion when he’s getting his ass handed to him by some bad guy. The cracks on the screen have gotten so out of hand—weblike in appearance—he almost wouldn’t be able to read anything if it weren’t for his enhanced vision.

Two, phones are expensive, and the last time Peter checked his bank account, he almost cried.

And three… well… There’s definitely some sentiment with the old thing. There’s a bond that only comes with dropping it nearly ten stories onto the concrete, only for it to survive. That phone’s been with him since sophomore year. It still has a home button at the bottom—one that stopped working months ago. And besides, Peter doesn’t want to go through the whole process of learning how to work a new phone.

He’s like an old grandpa, set in his ways, angry at the newfangled technology of the world.

But then, after one fall too many… After realizing that he couldn’t hear anyone who called him…

Peter had known.

It was time.

The new phone is nice enough. One of the older models of the iPhone, so it still has that home button he loves clicking so much. It’s not so much different from his android; while he may act like a sixty-nine year-old-man, he’s still young enough to figure out new tech pretty easily.

But if he could stop butt dialing people for maybe two seconds, that would be ideal.

He picks up on the quiet voice almost immediately, sitting up in his bed, every muscle in his body on edge, ready for an intruder, before he realizes who it is.

“Peter?”

He scrambles, finding his phone under a folded over part of the blanket, seeing that he’s been on a call with MJ for at least a minute.

God dammit.

“Shit,” Peter curses under his breath, yanking the phone up and putting it to his ear. “Hey! Sorry. I—uh… I didn’t mean to call.”

“Butt dial?” He can hear the amusement in her tired voice, even at nearly two in the morning.

Peter snorts nervously. “One might even call it a booty call.” He blanches almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, he coughs, covering behind a solid, almost dad-like throat clear. “I… did not just say that. Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”

“Oh, no, you definitely did,” MJ teases, a shakiness to her words that he thinks sounds like laughter. “Is this a booty call?”

He hates that he can’t really tell whether or not she’s joking, that there’s a smidgen of hope in his whole-chest that she’s genuinely asking, that maybe this will lead to something else tonight.

But he doesn’t want to risk anything at all.

“No!” He quickly says, feeling his face turn a deep shade of red, burning impossibly hot. “No, of course—of course not.”

It’s quiet on the other end for more than a few seconds. There’s a sinking feeling in Peter’s gut that he’s really said the wrong thing, for some reason.

“Good,” Michelle finally replies. “I literally just had a date tonight and I dunno if that’d be fair to him,” she adds with a short laugh.

Peter freezes in place, his heart plummeting into his stomach.

A date?

“You—you had a date?” He finds himself asking before his brain can catch up.

“Uh-huh,” Michelle replies simply, not elaborating.

Peter swallows, his mind racing at more than a mile a minute. “Who with?”

“Some guy from my philosophy class,” she replies, nonchalance in her tone, and he can almost hear her shrug. “His name’s Harry. He’s…” She pauses for a moment. “He’s cool.”

“Oh,” Peter breathes, nodding, though he feels as though his vision has doubled. “How… How’d it go?”

“Really well, actually,” she says, shifting on her own bed—he assumes, he hopes. “We went to this really neat cafe by Rockefeller, then we went and looked at all the Christmas lights after. It was nice.”

“Great!” Peter forces with a little too much enthusiasm. He clears his throat, almost as if to push his heart back down into his chest. “Did you…” He doesn’t know how to ask this next part, or why he’s even considering it. It’s none of his business.

But he can’t help it.

“Is he over there right now? Or—” He laughs lightly. “Are you at his place?”

MJ snorts. “No. I didn’t sleep with him.”

Peter hates how relieved he is.

“Yet.”

And how quickly the relief turns back into existential dread.

“How come?” Peter asks suddenly, then proceeding to kick himself for not having a better control over his dumb brain.

Michelle lets out a weird laugh, nervous even. “I mean—I didn’t want to? I don’t know.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Totally. I get that,” Peter rushes to spit out. He takes a moment, collecting himself. While there’s something strong tugging in his gut, something twisting and pulling, he wants to be happy for his friend—he should be happy. This is great. For her!

But there doesn’t seem to be anything he can do about the bile rising in his tightening throat.

“That’s… That’s awesome, though.”

There’s silence on the other end.

Two beats pass.

“Yeah,” MJ replies finally.

And it feels odd. They stay up most of the night talking, but it’s almost like there’s this unspoken thing between the two of them—all centered around that faceless guy named Harry. Every topic somehow reminds Peter of his best friend’s magical date—his words, not hers. Everything always goes back to that.

And he doesn’t want to know anything more.

But he keeps asking questions, hating each answer more and more.

Their goodbyes are short, yet drawn out too long, as if the other is waiting for them to say something, anything.

But neither of them do.

And at this point, it seems like neither of them ever will.

iv.

Michelle’s not sure what time it is when she steps back into her apartment. Moonlight slips through the cracks in the curtains. She’s greeted by pitch black as she nudges the door shut with her foot, her hand fumbling on the wall as she feels for the light switch and clicks it on.

It’s in the same state she left it in; spaghetti dinner for two still set on the kitchen table, the candles at the center cold and unlit. She hadn’t had time to clean up after the call, not taking a moment to put anything away before grabbing her coat and running out the door.

Of course, she’d made sure to let Harry know—though it’s not like it mattered really. He’d already accidentally made plans with his friends tonight anyway, completely forgetting about their date.

It’s fine though.

He’d told her he was sorry, to call when she heard more, etc.

Yeah, sure, he didn’t go with her to the hospital, but again. It’s fine.

He would’ve just been in the way.

There’s an ache in her chest and back as she kicks off her shoes, her movements almost zombie like as she limps over to the couch and slumps down on it. Her eyes are burned dry, the lump in her throat from earlier never having left.

It had been five long hours sitting in the emergency room with her parents, almost five and a half since her dad had first called. When it had started to seem more and more like an overnight stay, both her parents had sent her home, promising that it would all be okay.

And while she does believe them, it still hurts.

Her phone buzzing in her pocket startles her, and she looks down, seeing Peter’s name lighting up her screen.

And just at that sight, she feels the faintest warmth growing in her chest.

“Hey, Pete,” she says softly, curling up into the couch.

“Hey!” He says, his tone filled with cautious positivity. A beat passes before he says anything else. He sounds as if he’s bouncing off the walls with questions. “How’d it go? Did you make it home alright?”

“Yeah…” She trails off, sighing shakily. “Yeah. I did. Thanks—” She pauses, swallowing. “I, uh—actually just got home, so I was—I was about to call you.”

“Good, good. Don’t uh—don’t worry about it.” He huffs out a gentle laugh. “How’s your mom?”

“She’s doing a lot better,” MJ replies honestly. “They’re keeping her overnight but everyone’s really… really optimistic. She’s coming home tomorrow.”

“That’s great,” Peter replies, the warmth and smile in his voice making her close her eyes. “I was… I was actually wanting to know if you wanted me to come over or something? Just as a distraction.”

Her brows furrow slightly. Peter was supposed to be on a mission, doing Avengers stuff in Philly. “Uh… Aren’t you… Stopping some mass arms deal with Cap? Or something like that?”

Peter stammers for a moment. “Yeah, I mean. I was… But I… I talked to Sam and Bucky about it and uh—yeah they were more than glad to get rid of me.” He chuckles. “I think Kamala's down there now with them.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, as soon as you called I left.” She can hear a tint of nerves to his tone. “Sorry I didn’t make it to the hospital when you were there.”

“It’s okay,” MJ replies sincerely, already touched at the fact that he’d dropped everything to come support her.

“At least Harry was there, right?” He asks.

MJ finds herself sucking in a breath, a faint anger flaring in her chest at the reminder. “No. No he wasn’t.”

“What?” Peter blurts, a certain edge to his tone. “Why?”

“He uh—” Michelle hesitates, not knowing entirely how to say anything at all. “—he had other plans, or something. But it’s fine.”

She can hear Peter about to say something on the other end, but she cuts him off.

“You can come over though,” she says, frustration welling within her as her vision blurs. She sniffs. “I could use a friend,” she half-jokes.

Peter doesn’t seem to laugh with her, but his voice softens. It’s enough to make her heart ache even more.

“I’ll be there in ten.”

“—yeah, it’s like the billionth time he’s done this, but—” MJ starts on the other end, her tone laced with a calm pettiness and frustration. “It’s whatever.”

Anyone else talking to her wouldn’t notice. They’d think she doesn’t really care all that much, but Peter instantly picks up on it.

“You’d think he’d be better at… you know… being in a relationship,” MJ jokes, laughing nervously. “I mean, he’s fine with his friends, so…”

Peter’s silent on his end, unsure of how to respond without butting in too much, giving too much of himself away.

He’d wanted to like Harry, he really did. If MJ liked him, that was all the proof he needed. But there’s been too many slip ups, too many times where his best friend’s casually mentioned being stood up or brushed aside by her new partner. Too many times where Harry’s just forgotten about plans and gone out with his friends instead.

“I just—” MJ pauses, and he can hear a tint of hesitation in her voice. “I just wish I didn’t have to like… convince him to hang out with me, you know?”

“You have to convince him?” Peter asks, something flaring in his chest at the idea that anyone would have to be convinced to be in the same room as MJ.

“Oh, no. That’s—that’s not really what I meant,” she huffs another laugh. “It’s just like… He always already has stuff planned with his friends first. He only ever really hangs out with me when they cancel on him, or something. It’s just… weird.”

“Have you…” Peter trails off, trying to steady his breathing and racing pulse. “Have you talked to him… about this?”

“What?” MJ almost cackles. “No. Of course not. Why would I talk to him about this?”

“I mean, you are dating him aren’t you?” He asks, more venom to the question than he’d intended.

There’s a silence on the other end, and for a moment, he wonders if the call’s been dropped.

“Yeah, but you’re my best friend. I tell you everything.”

“He’s your boyfriend,” Peter says, his tone clipped. “I’m not.”

The last two words come out before Peter can even think to stop them. Michelle goes silent again, the only sound on the other end being her sharp intake of breath.

“No… You’re not.”

There’s something in her voice that he can’t quite place; something that makes his stomach leap up into his chest, into his throat. He swallows, waiting for her to say something else. He pulls his phone back to glance at the time, the numbers swimming together as his vision blurs.

It’s nearly three in the morning.

“I, uh—” Peter coughs, unable to stop the slight tremor in his voice. “I’m gonna get some sleep. I’ll talk to you later. I guess.”

He hangs up before she can respond.

Michelle’s not sure what brought her here, standing on the worn welcome mat in front of Peter’s front door at ten past three in the morning, her arms folded across her chest as she tries to work through what she wants to say to him.

Well, technically, she does know.

It’s been a week since their last call. Neither of them have spoken a word to each other since. Every glance in psych is ignored, either one of them rushing out as soon as they’re dismissed at the end of class. It’s been a week of the worst stomach ache she’s ever had in her entire life.

And while she’d thought that breaking up with Harry might make that pain worse, it only provided some sense of relief.

It had been mutual, after all.

He’d agreed, saying that he felt that he was getting too focused on his relationship and not on his friendships.

Ha.

The relief hadn’t lasted long, though. All it took was the thought of that familiar curly brown hair and that stupid, dopey smile. And it was the sight of Spider-Man fighting off Rhino on the news that got her practically sprinting to his apartment without a second thought.

Though now, the idea of facing him after such awkward tension makes fills her with a prickling dread.

Her hand hesitates, hovering just above the door. She holds her breath, rapping softly on the dark wood.

There’s no answer at first; she’s only met with the hollow echo of her knock throughout the empty hallway. Then, she hears a rustling from inside. She knocks again.

Her lips quirk into a faint smile when she hears him curse, before opening the door.

But her smile falls as soon as she sees him. “Oh, my God.”

“MJ!” He says, genuinely surprised.

He’s battered and bruised, a long cut following the line of his cheekbone. Sweat and grime covers his face and arms, his hair matted and damp. His white t-shirt is wrinkled, and she can only guess that he’s just grabbed it from the laundry basket, her breath catching when she sees red bleeding through the collar and sleeve.

And suddenly, she’s brought back to all those nights in high school, when he’d come tapping at her window, in a similar state, after she’d made him promise he’d always come to her when he needed help. It had been terrifying at first—as it is now and every time after—but she’d learned to push past the fear, fueled by the overwhelming desire to help her friend.

And it hurts now realizing that he hadn’t thought to come to her.

Without another word, she pushes her way in, grabbing his arm, stabling him before he can collapse on the doorframe. She leads him to the couch, gently guiding him down as he catches his breath.

“Peter…” Her voices comes out in a broken sigh.

A half-smile tugs at Peter’s lips. “I take it you saw that fight?”

She gives him a look, one that makes his weak smile grow somehow, as she stands from the couch. “Where’s the—”

“—In the bathroom cabinet.”

There’s a tugging in her chest at how quickly he answers. She does her best to brush it aside as she grabs the med kit from the shelf, trying everything to swallow the persistent lump in her throat as she walks back out to him.

She sits next to him wordlessly, her hands moving on their own as they rifle through the small box. It’s all muscle memory, she finds. When she looks back up at him, his eyes are on her. There’s a tiredness in them that makes her heart clench. But then, her attention’s drawn to the growing red stain pooling on his shoulder. “Take your shirt off,” she says, motioning for him to do so as she grabs a clean rag from the kit.

If Peter had the energy, she’s sure he’d make a joke, some comment or whatever about how demanding she is, or he’d quirk an eyebrow, or maybe he’d wink.

Or all of it.

Instead, he follows directions, wincing as he peels the shirt from his body, pulling it over his head and tossing it to the side.

She hadn’t noticed how much her hands were shaking until she’d placed the cloth on the long cut along his chest. She takes a breath, her lips pressing together into a thin line as she starts to apply pressure to the wound. A moment passes as he stills underneath her, his body rigid.

“Breathe, Pete,” she reminds him, half-joking, half-serious.

Peter huffs in amusement. “Right. Right. Thanks.”

“Anytime.”

The red bleeds through the cloth, and she reaches with her free hand into the kit, grabbing another to pile on top of it. Though it’s silent between them, their combined thoughts seem to be louder than ever before. She can hear the wheels in Peter’s head turning, as spent as he is, and she’s sure her own are just as bad.

Another eternity seems to pass before she can gather any kind of courage to speak.

“I’m sorry—”

“—I’m sorry.”

They both freeze, gazes immediately snapping to each other’s, the two of them laughing lightly at the jinx. This time, Michelle finds it easier to meet his expression, soft and warm. “I, uh—” she clears her throat. “I’m sorry for… Last week. For dumping all of that… Harry stuff on you.”

Peter shakes his head, gently waving it off. “It’s okay. Harry’s a dick.”

That gets a snort from Michelle.

“Absolutely. That’s why I dumped him.”

Peter seems to perk up at that.

“I’m sorry for… for hanging up on you and... for not being a better friend and just listening,” he says, shrugging.

Her other hand comes up to push his shoulders down, stabilizing him with a gentle, warning look.

“Dude, you’re an amazing friend,” she insists. “The best friend. You’re just—” She finds herself looking away, trying to find the words that she’s wanted to say for so long. To tell him how much he means to her, and how she’d been so scared that she’d ruined everything. “—You’re just always there, Pete. You somehow just always… know. I don’t know...” She huffs out a laugh.

When she looks back up, there’s a faint smile tugging at Peter’s lips.

“Just so you know, you can literally vent to me anytime about anything ever,” he promises quietly. “I think I was just being… stupid… and… and jealous. I don’t know.”

One of those words piques her interest.

And it’s not stupid.

“Jealous?” She asks carefully.

Peter coughs lightly. “Uh. Yeah. Just… just a little bit,” he lies.

Michelle bites the inside of her lip, holding back her smile.

“Of what?” she presses, though there’s something in her saying that she already knows the answer.

She just doesn’t want to get too ahead of herself.

Peter rolls his eyes, scoffing faintly. “MJ—”

“—No, I’m genuinely curious,” she goes on. “What were you so jealous about? What could it be—”

Her words are cut off by his lips suddenly capturing hers. Her nose wrinkles slightly as she tastes the salt and dirt on his face, but as his hand comes to rest on her cheek, his thumb gentle as it draws a soft line on her skin, she finds that she doesn’t mind so much.

He pulls back though before she can really enjoy it, and he laughs at her bemused expression.

“Um.” She swallows, laughing. “Okay. I see now.”

“Yeah,” he huffs, a mix of amusement and nerves. “I’ve kinda liked you for… a while now.”

“That would’ve been nice to know,” she jokes, shivering with a newfound giddiness as she takes the cloth off his chest, relieved to see that his wound has stopped bleeding. “Like, a long time ago.”

“What?” Peter asks, shocked. He looks dumbfounded. Bewildered. So confused that she could have liked him before.

“I’ve been trying so hard to get over you, dude,” she shakes her head, more at herself than anything else. “I mean, clearly it hasn’t worked but—”

“I’m not too late... am I?” he asks. Though he seems to be joking, there’s a genuine worry to his tone.

“I wouldn’t say that,” she says slowly, almost too soft for him to even hear. Her legs are shaky as she stands to wet a new cloth at the sink, returning to gently clean his wound. “Maybe a little late but…” She cracks a smile. “That’s okay.”

“Good. ‘Cause—” He pauses, eyes searching her expression, a smile tugging at his lips. “I really like you.”

Her heart nearly bursts out of her chest hearing him say that, her face warming impossibly. She almost forgets to respond.

“I really like you, too.”

And this time, she kisses him, slow and sweet, before pulling back and pressing her forehead to his.

“Also,” Peter breathes, laughing to himself. “Sorry I said I wasn’t your boyfriend.”

A light chuckle bubbles up from her chest as she closes her eyes.

Her smile grows as she leans in again.

“We can fix that.”

#spideychelle #petermj #petermjane #promptmas #promptmas 2k20

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georgemackayhey · 4 years

Text

Rules For Falling In Love: #1

summary: In which George wants to get married. But... you're not dating. Why should you say yes?

a/n: Here it is I'm obsessed with this concept my dear friend thought up, so much so that I was inspired to write this multichapter fic about it all. Please let me know if I forgot to tag anyone, or if you'd like to be added to the list! And as always... feedback of any and all kinds are greatly appreciated!

w/c: 2k

Part 2 >

───※ ·❆· ※───

"Don't be a third wheel, come on now!" Dean's publicist shooed him away from where you stood next to George, counting down the seconds till the red carpet came to an end. You gave the guy a quick, twisted frown, as George's publicist pulled him further down the carpet, his hand holding on to yours, silently bringing you along.

This was just another normal Friday evening.

When the time came to flood into the award ceremony, you sighed in relief and reached for a drink from the tray of a despondent boy meant to stand right where he was for most the night.

"Don't you have any place better to be?" Dean laughed your way, thanking the waiter for the drink he swiped.

"We were going to go bowling." You shot George a look. You'd only made the plans as a joke, wondering how much shit either of you would get for ditching this stupid ceremony to go have a bit of real fun. But you'd made a promise to George long ago, to attend all these silly little Hollywood shindigs with him.

"And we will go bowling if we make it out of here alive" George declared with a nod, leading you toward the row of seats with your names on them. He hated these events almost more than you did. He insisted your presence aided to quell his anxieties these circumstances stirred up. And you couldn't tell George no, very often.

"If one of you ever did one thing without each other, I think hell would freeze over." Dean chuckled as you all settled into your seats. You looked to George again, and he looked to you and you both laughed, but Dean was probably right.

After the awards had been given out between long, sometimes painful speeches, the boy's publicists insisted they linger around the after-party for as long as they could manage. You kept your usual pace in between them, cackling over stupid old jokes and offering forced toothy grins to celebrities who asked if they could steal George away for photos and chats about the magic of acting- or whatever.

"You know, no one has even ever asked about us." You pointed out to Dean, sharing a piece of cake in the quietest corner of the party. "Showbiz people I mean. They just assumed right away. Even the times we've insisted we're only friends, they insist we're joking." You huffed a laugh.

"That's Hollywood for you, I suppose. But you've gotta admit... you and George-"

"Are just friends." You finished. Dean halted, smiling in agreeance to drop the subject, but clearly held back from stating his other points, whether they were valid or not.

After one too many sweets and drinks, George found you and informed his sister was on her way to give the two of you a lift home. You traded a few hugs with Dean, making rough plans to meet up again very soon, without all the cameras and microphones in the way.

///

"How was your date, then?" George's sister wondered as you clamored into the back of her car. George followed behind with an answer.

"It wasn't a date, it was work thinly veiled as fun."

"But you went together, which makes it a date."

"Nice try," You rose a finger, buckling in as the girl sped off toward the city streets. She'd always found sly ways to get you and George to admit there was something deeper to your connection. She'd introduce you to her friends as her brother's girlfriend. She'd address Christmas presents to the both of you, handing them out with a wink.

"I don't understand you two." She dramatically croaked now, as if your denial was her personal defeat. "You're catfishing the world!"

"We're not pretending to date." George reminded his sister, "And we're also not pretending we don't live together."

"Yeah so why aren't you dating? You do everything else together."

"We live to torment you. It's all to drive you mad" George falsely confessed.

"I wouldn't put it past you." His sibling let out a whine.

You and George shared a roll of your eyes, dulling snickers and exhausting explanations that weren't worth wading through. The midnight ride to your flat fell silent then. The night had been long, but it was a seemingly usual evening, these days.

By the time you and George shuffled up the drive, waved his sister goodnight, you were ready to forgo your usual routine and drop face-first into bed.

"I think my sister has a point," George mumbled, shutting and locking the front door.

"Hmm?" You encouraged George to go on, halfway in tune to listen, more so gearing up to head to bed after such a long evening out. George remained silent as you kicked your shoes off, and didn't speak again until he had your undivided attention.

"Let's get married," George said.

You tossed your head back in a laugh as you floated further into your shared home.

"I'm serious, y/n." George hurried along, moving to stop you from walking away, boring his sleepy eyes into yours.

"What?" You chuckled again, shaking your head, trying to keep up.

"We already live here. We've been talking about sharing a bank account. And it'll be so much easier to introduce as my wife than as 'my best friend who I live with but am not dating but go everywhere with.'"

"But that's the truth!"

"Marriage could be true! Think of how much easier life would be."

"George, how much have you had to drink?" You cackled as you pushed past him, into the kitchen for a glass of water. You clattered about the cupboards as he followed you, rambling still.

"I'm serious! We've planned out our lives together already. Future vacations, birthday parties, career deadlines, all accounted for with each other in mind. We should just get married."

"George! I will not let you lie at the altar. A wedding is for two people who want to commit every bit of their lives together for the rest of the foreseeable future."

"My plans for the weekend are always to ask you what you want to do the next. I'm your only emergency contact." George listed off these points as if they were dead giveaways.

"Okay, let's say we get married." You entertained, standing in front of George as he noshed on some deserts he'd brought home from the after-party. He raised a pretty brow, waiting for you to go on.

"Sure nothing changes at first, not really. You're already my ride to work, and I already promised to go to all those silly Hollywood parties with you. But what happens in five years when I want to move to France and you want to stay here? What happens in six months if some super hot mailman comes and sweeps me off my feet? What happens when you fall in love with some leading lady, George?"

"People get divorced all the time." He shrugged.

"That's a lot of money to blow. And for what? For a lousy label and some ugly rings?"

"So we pick out some bloody cool rings and promise to only get divorced if shit hits the fan. Neither of us can stay mad for long. Remember when I spilled wine on your great grandma's old lounge chair? I was fully prepared to be excommunicated. But you just hugged me while you cried." George chuckled, keeping his desserts close.

"Do you really wanna kiss me in front of your mother and the world and pretend that this is normal?" You tried to ask with a serious glare, but it was just too funny. You couldn't help but let out a little giggle of disbelief that this was the conversation you were having on an otherwise normal weekday evening.

"Y/n, we're practically already married."

"George I love you, but this is a stupid idea."

"I don't think it is, but I love you too. I'm taking this box of macaroons to bed, now."

"Okay goodnight you two." You laughed, pulling at the sleeves of your too-tight dress on your trek down the hall.

"Wait!" You called out, a few steps from your room. "Can you unzip this, please?" You took a few backward steps to meet where George had stalled in the hall, macaroon halfway in and out of his mouth, he balanced one hand on your shoulder and used the other to undo the zipper that hugged your spine.

"G'night!" You heard him mumble past his dessert as you gave him a wave of thanks and practically threw yourself into your nice warm bed.

///

You met George when you were kids. You grew up attending the same local festivals and schools. His acquaintance turned more familiar with each passing summer until you'd become rather inseparable. It was that fact that kept his number in your contacts when you moved to the city, and he went away to film more often.

You'd kept up lunch dates when he came back home, and celebrated holidays with his family every time they invited you to come round like they'd been doing for years. You'd even attended a few birthdays and dinner parties with his family when George was out of town, when you hadn't spoken with him in months.

You moved in with George some odd years ago, when the flat you rented threw one too many unfixable issues your way. His home was the closest to your work, and he was one of the only friends you trusted enough to reach out to for help. After occupying his guest room for a few months, George insisted you move your things into the place you'd already practically been living in.

His home was big enough, tucked away just outside of the city. It's high ceilings, warm decor and a manageable rent were easily and comfortably split between the two of you. It made sense. You'd been sharing most of your free time together for years, anyway.

You shuffled through the bright halls, past framed photos of George's family. Of you and George. There was no difference, you'd been close for so many years, your lives were complexly intertwined whether you liked it or not. Luckily, you did.

George was already in the sun-drenched kitchen when you entered, stretching into the new day.

After trading usual morning greetings you could practically hear George's silent, burning thoughts. He poured you each a cup of coffee and shot you a look you knew was meant to say much more than words could.

"Okay, what?" You asked in a warning tone, accepting the drink he placed before you at the table, before sitting in the chair at your side. You knew George had something to say, and he'd say it whether you asked him about it or not.

"My mum thinks we've been dating since Uni. You know we can't talk her out of it. If anything she'd be relieved."

Oh, he was really still hung up on this huh?

"So you wanna do this because of your mother?" You asked, watching the steam curl up from the drink between your hands.

"No. I wanna do this because being together officially would make all our being together anyway, so much easier. Bills, plans, excuses, rainy days."

You looked at George, his start blue eyes, his unkempt hair, that stupid withheld smile he got when he was focused on something. You loved him for longer than you had the patients to do the math for. You planned on loving him for a while, even when he pissed you off, you couldn't imagine struggling alongside anyone else...

"Earth to y/n."

"I'm not responding because you're starting to make sense and I don't like it." You pretended to pout. Then George went silent for a beat, his brilliant eyes searching your face.

"Do you still want to go bowling?" He pipped up as if he'd just remembered you'd said something about it a day earlier.

"Sounds fun, doesn't it?" You asked, hoping he'd join you in wasting a day having childlike fun. George bit back a grin, leaned in close to catch your eye, and said,

"If I win... we'll get married."

You wanted to curse his name through a laugh, but you very rarely could tell the man no. And you hated to admit it even to yourself, but the more you thought about it... the more you liked the idea.

"And if you win?" George mused, egging you on. But you didn't need to place bets to play.

"Let's go bowling, Mackay."

///

As you took turns knocking pins down, George brought up several valid points.

How his family adored you. How he'd drop anything to be there for you when you needed him. How you'd always talked about how scary the future seemed, but agreed it was better to face together, like always.

And you argued for a moment that maybe neither of you knew any better, how you were all each other knew since growing up.

But George pointed out that simply wasn't true. He'd traveled. Met girls, none of whom were around at all anymore. You'd dated and failed to find anyone worth keeping around. It was as if you and George were the survivors of some twisted game of life, having only managed this far because of how you relied on each other.

But you weren't on the same bowling team.

You were scoring strikes left and right a few solid points ahead in the game.

But George was close to beating you, one good turn and he'd wind up the winner.

All the while, George only stalled his passionate speeches to listen and laugh over yours. And as you considered how familiar his presence was, and the way you couldn't imagine living life any further apart, you'd made up your mind.

But every time you thought of voicing your decision, something stopped you. You bit your tongue and decided that you'd wait to see if your feelings changed soon. And after some serious thought, you could either tell George that you'd hate to let him down, but plan a movie night alongside his favorite dinner, to make up for your decline. Or you'd tell him yes, and agree to his stupidly sweet idea to get hitched. Because you couldn't tell him no.

He won the game.

But of course, George wasn't living and dying by the bet he made that coaxed you to play. And you never really agreed to it anyway. The two of you simply went on arguing on the way home, more or less about how you were on the same page, and just what to do next.

And while you made dinner together, your conversation stopped when you sucked in a big breath and spun on your heels across the room. You'd heard enough.

George raised a pale brow, sitting patiently at the table as the oven did its thing. Then he watched as you settled back to the seat across from him, placing a pad of paper and a pen down.

"If...we do this, I'm writing down rules."

George watched on, sipping tea as you scribbled away. Once you felt comfortable with the list of regulations you'd penned, you read from the marked-up note pad, one at a time.

"Okay, listen up..."

MARRIAGE RULES

one. No lying to family and friends. They get to know that this isn't conventional.

two. No lying to each other. We're only doing this to make things easier. We must remain every bit a team.

three. We must celebrate our anniversary because there's no point in not milking the chance to go on holiday.

"Now," You flipped the page to a new set of rules before George could go on smooth-talking.

DIVORCE RULES

"We can only get a divorce under dire circumstances. Which include the following..."

one. If we betray each other's morals or trust in a way that cannot be fixed or forgiven after a year's time.

two. If one of us is dying. Actively dying.

three. If one of us finds and falls in love.

"We've managed to work out all the bad shit together so far and I'm sure we can keep that up. A divorce is too much money to waste over one fight we end up resolving and remain otherwise together."

"So you'll do it?" George grinned, setting his drink to the side.

"Is this you asking me to marry you? It's very unromantic. Negative three out of ten." You laughed, George did too. But you needed to make yourself very clear.

"I'll think about it." You clarified. "You should too."

You’d tell him yes later. Because as much as it scared you... you'd already made up your mind.

───※ ·❆· ※───

taglist: @whenthe-smokeisinyoureyes @andux @imaginationandlove @velvetgoldsilver @queen-bunnyears @maria-josefin @dearevansamham @belledamsceno @nilletellsstories @haileymorelikestupid @loulouloueh @visionsofmelodrama

#george mackay #george mackay x reader #george mackay imagine #george mackay fanfic

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meowdymista · 4 years

Text

Van der Driscoll Pt 7

Part 6 - Masterlist

Part 8

This is a bit of a filler chapter, which is stupid for the ratio of original wording to in game script ratio. Next one will be more engaging, I promise. Also sorry for the long wait; I took time off from writing last week because it was my birthday, and then England swept into a second lockdown so it’s been poo trying to prepare especially in work because I process somms for small-medium businesses but whatever. No one is getting much for Christmas this year lol

****

You find, much to your relief and Arthur’s annoyance, that Sean’s chaotic charm and energy swallows everyone’s attention over the next few weeks. He’s loud, boastful and brash: The Irish Terrier as Arthur and his adopted fathers call him.

You can’t help but find his totally unapologetic nature comforting. Whilst washing shirts, you overhear him get Molly to admit she considers him no better than a chimney sweep from the local bog - and immediately crucify her for it, calling her “snotty nosed” and a “right little madam”, much to her dismay. After the weeks of dirty looks (despite little to no actual confrontation), Sean brings a breath of fresh air. With him nearby, you know exactly where you stand and whether anyone in the vicinity is plotting against you.

“Please, Y/N,” groans Arthur into his hands one evening. “Please tell me you ain’t makin’ friends with that bastard.”

“Why?” you ask, genuinely surprised. “Isn’t he like a little brother to you?”

“Yeah, but not in a good way.” He moves his hands to give you a look of despair. “What’s wrong with Lenny? Or Tilly? Or Mary Beth?”

“Karen’s fun,” you muse, earning yourself another groan.

“Always with the loud drunkards,” he grumbles.

“Mmhm, and what was it Dutch said? When you go missing he checks the saloon, and if you’re not there he checks the jail?”

“Shurrup.” He wraps an arm around your waist and pulls you onto his body, grinning as you protest, laughing.

“Don’t play innocent - Hosea’s been telling me stories!”

“Ahh, don’t go listening to him. He spins stories for a living, and anyway I was a kid in most of them.”

“And the stories I’ve heard from Lenny?” you smirk, still fighting despite it proving futile with you laughing so much. He growls, peppering your exposed skin with kisses as you wrestle playfully.

You cry out when a flailing limb makes contact with one of your swollen breasts. Arthur immediately releases you, watching you with concern as you try to rub out the punch without swearing.

“Y’alright?”

“Fine,” you huff. “Just sensitive is all.”

“I’m sorry - shouldn’t be playing so rough with you when you’re… in the way tha’ you are.”

“It’s fine, Arthur,” you repeat firmly, staring him down. “I’m fine. You didn’t knock my stomach, so we’re fine. Like I said, I’m just sensitive.”

He hums doubtfully.

Following a shootout with the Pinkertons and the law in the middle of Valentine, Dutch had ordered the camp out of Horseshoe Overlook and ushered you south east into the state of Lemoyne. On the other side of Dewberry Creek, Arthur and Charles had scouted a hideout chistened Clemens Point. Arthur hadn’t been the keenest to tell you that story, but you had weaseled it out of him.

Micah had recommended the dried out river bed, but when Charles and Arthur had arrived to scout it, there was an abandoned camp nearby, complete with a dead body. Whilst trying to assess the location’s risk to a group of outlaws should they move in, Arthur had moved some crates to find a woman with her two children.

“I guess I saw you,” he mumbled sadly, avoiding eye contact. “An’ the mess I might leave you in one day.”

You rubbed his shoulder patiently. “What happened?”

“I told ‘em to go ‘cause we needed the land.”

You were confused by the guilt still plaguing him and told him so. With a heavy sigh, he described how the girl translated her mother - that their father had been kidnapped and how it took Charles insisting otherwise to convince him to go look.

“So it’s really thanks to him we found this place,” he says gesturing at the open space bordered with woodland and lake.

If anything, you prefer this new destination to Horseshoe Overlook, and not just for the absence of bad memories. You love the sense of freedom swimming gives you: how it makes you weightless, how easy it is to tilt your head back and listen to the low rumble of the earth and water. You also enjoy that the road is more than a stone’s throw away here. A wanderer would have to purposely go out of their way to discover the camp, to hear the noise or see the light of the campfires. Clemen’s Point made you feel safe, even with the occasional canoe sailing by with a wave.

The new location lifted everyone’s spirits. So much so, Dutch dragged Arthur and Hosea out fishing. They returned hours later - singing and surprisingly sober - with deputy badges and a boat load of fish. Whilst the shiny badge continues to earn Arthur a lot of gib from you and everyone else in camp, Dutch insists the news is beyond fantastic.

“We are inaugurated in the local law!” he cries during one of his many speeches. “Hiding in plain sight!”

Still tired and snacking throughout your waking hours, you are relieved to find your morning sickness has passed its peak. Whilst you feel like your veins are popping out of your skin, Arthur insists your stomach is beginning to curve. You accuse him of an overzealous imagination until you try (and fail) to button the jeans from your past life as an O’Driscoll and your shirts that still fasten offer little to no breathing room.

“Think a trip to town is in order.” You jut out your bottom lip, demonstrating the distance between the buttons and their corresponding holes as your lover looks on laughing.

“I think you might be right.” You don’t resist as his fingertips tilt your chin up to plant a kiss on your lips. “Let me go see if Pearson’s got a list and we’ll head out. Think they’ll do another couple hours?”

“Don’t really have a choice,” you grumble, stealing Arthur’s worn blue shirt from under the cot. You can hear Sadie and Pearson bickering even from the edge of camp, so it doesn’t surprise you when Arthur’s tone cuts through the noise.

“-ain’t cooking work?”

Looking over, you see Arthur has taken the expostulating Mrs Adler aside. You look away quickly - there’s no reason to ruin an acceptable day by agitating her enough to start shouting at you too. Her and Pearson have been at each other’s necks since she’s pulled herself out of the worst of her depression, almost as though he has become the target of her grief.

You focus your attention on preparing the cart. A trip to town means a trip for supplies, and with so many mouths to feed, horseback wasn’t a viable option.

"How are you, Miss?"

You turn around, surprised at being addressed directly by someone other than Arthur. Seeing Kieran’s familiar pastiness relaxes you a little. As an ex-O’Driscoll himself, you trusted him the most not to stab you after Arthur and the little boy, Jack.

"Fine," you reply flatly, brushing out the tangles of the shire’s mane.

"We ain't really had much time to talk since we was in Tall Trees a few months back, have we?" You hum in response, trying not to flash any amount of flesh by moving too much. The poor boy was skittish enough. He immediately begins to help you, being the horse fan he is.

"I never even suspected a thing, Miss,” he gushes. “So I bet you anything Ol' Colm won't have neither."

"So you two were close, huh?" You barely contain the sarcasm.

He shrugs off the question awkwardly. "Which feller was you again?"

"Well I must’ve been good if you have to ask." You feed the shire a carrot, avoiding eye contact. "I was Thomas," you admit quietly. The following silence is prolonged. Doubtful.

“Thomas Donoghue?” You shrug your shoulders. “So you were friends with Paeder then?”

“Peter?” You respond coolly. “Never knew him.”

He opens his mouth as if to argue, but Arthur is marching across camp, shouting back over his shoulder to Mrs Adler. Spooked, Kieran bolts to a safe distance, doing nothing but look on as Arthur helps you up onto the back of the cart.

Acknowledging you with a sneer, the other woman takes her place on the bench up front. “So I’ve graduated from choppin’ vegetables to shopping?”

“Shut your goddamn mouth…” grumbles Arthur, reins in hand as the cart moves off. You give Kieran a small, apologetic wave farewell, but it’s difficult to contain the relief of your companions’ timing. Paeder was a private matter, and one which you had no desire to discuss out loud. You’re sure the shaky man meant no harm, but some things were better buried.

“You cooled down then, yet?” Arthur asks the widow, distracting you from your thoughts.

“I guess,” she grumbles. “And I ain’t no scullion! And I sure as hell ain’t takin’ orders from that sweating halfwit!”

You can almost hear his eyes roll. “Well I guess we all gotta do our share, princess.”

“Where’s that letter?”

“Oh, you reading his mail now?”

Sadie throws him a dirty look. “Robbing and killing’s ok, but letter reading’s where we draw the line?”

You stifle a smirk as Arthur pulls it from the inside of his coat, knowing he’s been had. “Here.”

“Dear Aunt Cathy-”

“You are somethin’ else…”

“I haven’t heard from you in some time, so I prayed to the Lord above that your health has not deteriorated further… bla bla bla… s’boring… Oo! Wait a sec, listen to this! Since we last corresponded, I have travelled widely, making no small name for myself.” You all laugh out loud. “Before you ask, I am still yet to take a wife, but I can assure you it is not for lack of suitors.” Arthur barks out laughing again as Sadie giggles. “He ever actually talked to a woman he ain’t paid for?” she asks in disbelief.

“Look, we’re all hiding behind something.” Whilst his tone advises the limit of fun has been reached, the smile is still audible.

“And what’s this? Return to Tacitus Kilgore?”

“Oh that? That’s Dutch’s idea. All mail to be sent to the same alias. Whenever we set up somewhere new, Strauss, he heads into town, tells them to start expecting mail from a Tacitus Kilgore or whatever they changed it to… Here, gimme that back. We got work to do.”

You all sit quietly as the cart rolls into Rhodes. The locals watch you, wary of the unfamiliar faces, but you keep your head high. Strangers smell weakness. It’s better to come off aloof and avoid trouble than to present as vulnerable and be beaten down at every turn.

“Ok, here we are.”

“So what’s the plan?” Mrs Adler points a pistol at the side of the building, squeezing one eye shut as she gauges the iron sights. “I shoot the shopkeeper, while you-?”

“No! You insane?”

“Well I thought we was outlaws…?”

“Outlaws! Not idiots!" he hisses, pushing down the gun as he looks around for any witnesses. "We rob fools that rob other people! These people- they’re just tryna get by! So you head on in there, and you buy us some food to eat. And no guns.”

“Are you sure?”

“This time.” The two of you share a look again as he helps you down. “There’ll be plenty o’ time for killin’ soon enough.”

“What are you doin’?”

“I’m gonna go check the mail, nothin’ exciting.”

Sadie shrugs and saunters off. Arthur sighs and shakes his head, touching your arm. "You gonna be alright?"

"Here's hopin'."

"Any trouble, holler. Stay outta her way best you can though, alright?"

Knowing that his concern lies with your companion's open hatred for anything remotely O'Driscoll rather than your ability to defend yourself, you nod. Blowing him a cheeky kiss, he waves back at you with a grin as you enter the general store.

"-flour, oats, salt, eggs, apples if you have them..."

"Sure, not a problem,” responds the shopkeeper as he begins to gather the goods. “Big family, have you?"

"Somethin' like that." Mrs Adler barely spares you a glance as the titter of the doorbell announces your presence. "And you sell clothes?"

So Arthur had explained to her your purpose for the journey. You're flattered, if a little bewildered at this kind gesture. From the looks she’s been giving you, you’re surprised she has buried the hatchet of your past so quickly.

"We do. Not the widest range of ladies fashion, I'm afraid."

"That's alright. I'll look at everything you got."

"Of course, Mrs…?"

"Kilgore," she smirks, turning to bat her eyelids at you. You realise then that her request is completely unrelated to you. Why wouldn’t it be? You’re not the only person that has been swept into the Van der Linde gang with little more than what you were wearing on your back. From Arthur’s story, she escaped with nothing more than her wedding ring and her nightclothes, so it’s only natural that she is also in need of a new wardrobe. "What? You don't even trust me to handle the shopping by myself?"

"You're not the only one in need of new clothes, Mrs Ad- Kilgore." You force a polite smile at the sales clerk whilst Mrs Adler browses the shelves dully. "What are the biggest sizes you have in stock? Any maternity wear by chance?"

"Ain't many women round here makin' babies," he sighs, pulling out a few options. You can feel Sadie's eyes burning past you at the pile. "You're best tryin' Saint Denis or ordering outta the catalogue. There's a tailor in Blackwater I heard is pretty good for that sorta thing, but it's quite the journey-"

"Too far for me, I fear." You flick through the pages as Mrs Adler leaves to try a few things on from the pile in front of you. Writing a quick list with estimated sizing, you purchase the largest button up shirt and skirt for sale. The trousers will have to wait for another day - you know investing twenty dollars in a pair that you'll breach the waistline of in a matter of weeks is a luxury you can't especially afford right now.

Mrs Adler on the other hand spares little expense with a sturdy pair of jeans. Finally out of the cumbersome skirts, her whole character changes and suddenly you feel the same pit of dread you did when faced with a full camp of spitting Van der Lindes all those weeks ago.

Intimidated, you step outside whilst she settles the bill. You take a short wander up the main road, taking in the familiar buildings with apathy. Who would have thought you would end up here again? Now you’re not so apprehensive about your life span, you can see how rundown this dusty crumbling town is. The few shops that are open have seen better days, and the best kept building is the bank. You feel your skin crawl as you spot the large parlour houses on the horizon. Of course this place is struggling to survive - anywhere that profited from slave labour deserved to rot. Part of you hopes it’s slow perilous march to abandonment continues: it would be disappointingly merciful to see a place be lost to one good shoot out.

“I’ve birthed foals with more strength than you!” Mrs Adler’s cursing sinks your stomach as you navigate your way back to the store where a man is helping her load the cart. “Hell, my sister’s newborn had more strength than you and he came out bright blue!”

“I’m trying.”

“Try harder!”

Spotting Arthur, who is strolling back himself, fills you with relief. The shopkeeper walks back to the porch, checking the list before walking back. “I think this is everything,” he says, swinging the sack of salt on the cart.

“Thanks… here, take that for yourself, okay.” She flicks a silver coin and he catches it out of the air, scowling.

“Thanks,” he spits.

“Well, give it back then! Jesus! I didn’t ask for his goddamn help..." She pushes the sack on more securely to stop it rolling off when the cart moves. “OK, get on. I’m about done here.”

“Why don’t you drive?” suggests Arthur coolly after making sure you’re sat safely amongst the supplies. “C’mon lady, get a move on.”

She scowls as she takes the reins. “I like Sadie, not lady.”

“I know. So you get everything?”

“I think so.”

“And some… new clothes, I see?”

“Don’t start,” she sighs, the heat returning to her voice. “I can wear what I damn well want. Like I told you, my husband and I shared all the work. I wasn’t some little wife with a flower in her hair baking cherry pies all day.”

“Yeah, I don’t doubt that. You sure look the part now. Won’t be long before you’re smoking cigars and playin’ the harmonica.”

“I’ll have you know I used to love playing the harmonica before… well… my house and everything I owned got burned to the ground.”

“I know... I’m real sorry. About what you… you know. Maybe I’ll keep my eye out for another one.”

“I don’t want no pity,” she snaps. “Just… treat me equal and know… nobody’s taking nothing from me ever again.”

Arthur hums in comradery. “Just don’t kill the camp cook…”

A horse gallops up alongside you. “Hey there! What are you folks up to?”

“Just heading home,” says Arthur casually, adding a quiet “keep it cool, Sadie”.

“You’re in Lemoyne Raider country. You need to pay a toll to pass through here.”

“No, I don’t think so.”

“You don’t think so?” The hairs on the back of your neck prickle at the anticipation of conflict. You realise with a sinking stomach that you’re completely unarmed. “How about you pull over right now?”

“Pull over?” he repeats incredulously. Your eyes scan the bags and boxes around you. There has to be something here that can double as a weapon of some kind.

“That’s what I said.”

“Hey!” calls Sadie coolly. “How’s about this?”

A pistol cracks and the Lemoyne Raider cries out in pain. She ushers the horses on with a Go, go, go! as Arthur stands up, drawing his revolvers and firing. You duck down as bullets fly over your head, your hands scrambling for anything that could be of use.

“What the hell was that?” cries Arthur furiously.

“They was gonna rob us!”

“A new pair of pants and you think you’re Landon Ricketts!” He curses loudly as more men run out in the road ahead.

“I’m gonna run this son of a bitch down!” she shouts, pulling the wagon over one raider and off the road.

“Well you wanted to see some action, lady, now you got your wish!” Arthur slings his longarm from his back and shoves it in your direction as he continues to fire. You can see more men coming out from between the trees and you take aim, knocking them down one by one as Arthur clips off any extras over your head.

“You alright there, Sadie?” you shout over the gunfire. Arthur is still firing behind you, but she’s out of your line of sight from where you’re crouched behind sacks of grain.

“Of course! You think I can’t handle these fools?” You don’t retaliate and you can almost hear her voice aim at Arthur. “Told you I could shoot a gun, didn’t I?”

“I don’t remember asking you to prove it,” he grunts, tossing you extra ammo just in case. The last bastard is fleeing south down the dirt track. You take aim, but he’s out of range.

“Yeah you run, you goddamn coward!” screams Sadie before taking a steadying breath. “I think we’re good here. Nice shooting. I’ll drive us back-”

“No! Pass those reins here!”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve caused enough trouble already.”

She doesn’t find grounds to argue, instead looking back at you, her face straight and unreadable. “We showed those bastards, huh?”

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Arthur scowls.

“They was clearly plannin’ to bushwhack us!” she argues, facing forward again.

“You did good, but that’s a lotta mess to make near camp. Hope it don’t bring anyone sniffin’ around.”

“Are you gonna tell Dutch?” she asks mockingly.

“Maybe… if he asks. But, maybe not.”

“So who did they say they were? Lemoyne Raiders?”

“Yeah, somethin’ like that. Who knows… Anyway, don’t you go ribbing Pearson about that letter.”

“How dare you? I wouldn’t dream of it!”

“Riiight, you wouldn’t…”

“I have travelled widely, making no small name of myself…”

Arthur laughs. “I won’t be giving you no mail to post any time soon, that’s for sure.”

She chuckles too. “I just wanna peak in that journal of yours. The mind boggles.”

“Not a chance…”

“You didn’t get yourself killed then, Miss Adler?” calls Pearson, strolling over smugly as Arthur pulls up near the horse station.

“Not quite,” she responds truthfully.

“Well, I’d like to say I missed your refined conversations, but I’d be lying.”

She accepts the box shoved into her chest without complaint. “I… I enjoyed myself out there.”

“Yes, we err… Mrs Adler did ok!” He holds up his arms and lifts you down gently by your waist.

“At shopping?”

“Yes, at shoppin’...”

The double meaning doesn’t go unrecognised by Sadie who thanks him with genuine gratitude.

“Don’t mention it. I would ride with you again, Mrs Adler, if you will ride with me.”

“Maybe,” she laughs. “If you prove you can handle yourself.”

“Well, they say I lack finesse, but I ain’t afraid of gun smoke.”

“We got this, Arthur. You’ve already done me a big favour today.” Turning to you with a smile, Arthur accepts the repeater you proffer. It’s best to remain unarmed for now - there’s no need to risk one of your lesser fans finding an excuse to regard you as a threat. “Okay, Miss High and Mighty. And… nice pants by the way.”

“You okay there, Y/N?” He wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you in close to his side. “You manage to find something too?”

“Just about,” you admit. “Had to put in an order. How long do you think we’ll be around here for?”

“Until we can’t most likely. Everything alright? They didn’t catch you or nothin’, did they?”

“Of course not, Arthur.” Your weak smile is genuine and heartfelt at his concern. “I’m not above shouting when I’m shot.”

“‘Course not.” He rubs your back, leading you back to your shared tent. “You gonna try them on, or what?”

“Nah, I figure I might as well make the most of still being able to fit in this stuff, even if it’s only for a few more days.”

He laughs, pulling you into a big hug. “Fair enough.”

From under his arm, you spot the rousing attention of Herr Strauss nearby. You nudge him in warning, but it’s too late.

“Ah, Herr Morgan! How are you enjoying yourself out here?”

“Well enough, I guess,” he replies gruffly. “And you?”

“Well, it turns out the pursuit of freedom is not a cheap business. Not for us, and not for some of the locals.”

“Sharking, already?”

“I prefer to call it banking.”

“You ain’t the one handing out the beatings,” snarls Arthur.

“No, but I am the one feeding the women and children in the camp,” he retorts. “What choice do we have, Mr Morgan?”

Arthur sighs. “Ah, I don’t know. Well, come on then! Tell me who…”

You stop listening as Strauss reads off a list of names, and only tune back in to hear Arthur ask how many he expects to be able to pay.

“With enough encouragement, both of them!” he chuckles, his black eyes twinkling from behind the round spectacles.

Sighing, Arthur returns to where you’re sat on the camp bed. “I’m sorry, darlin’. I’d best be gettin’ on.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You stand up to kiss him. “The gang comes first.”

He grimaces at that, but doesn’t dispute it. You give him another kiss for good luck and wave him out camp before dropping the flaps, not missing the glare of bitterness from Sadie across camp.

#red dead fic #rdr2 fanfic #rdr2 fic #red dead fanfic #arthur morgan x female reader #arthur morgan x reader #arthur morgan x o'driscoll #meowdymista

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ashintheairlikesnow · 5 years

Text

The Tango: Daniel Michaelson

CW: Noncon kissing/touching, referenced noncon/dubcon, references to violence/abuse, intimate whumper in the extreme from whumper’s POV, pet whump and dehumanization

Tagging Danny’s crew: @bleeding-demon-teeth, @spiffythespook, @burtlederp, @finder-of-rings, @whumpywhumper, @18-toe-beans, @pumpkinthefangirl, @special-spicy-chicken, @whale-whumps

Takes place the first Christmas after Danny’s captivity begins. This is set before the Dubcon Drabble.

They didn't know he was watching them.

"I, um, I told you, Nate, I can't fucking do it!" Red laughed, hard enough he bent over nearly in half in the middle of the living room, and his laughter bounced off the walls and the roof.

It was lovely, natural laughter, the kind that died in his throat when Bram walked into the room - so he stayed hidden, for now.

He wanted to see more of the sad shining light in the puppy’s pretty face. He’d have that light for him eventually - once he gave up, once he truly accepted that this was forever. Bram wasn’t in a rush - they were alone here in the woods, and he never hurried a work of art. "I've stepped on you three times! I can't do it!"

"Well, you're p-probably used to l-l-leading, so I'm taking that argument w-w-with a grain of s-salt." Nate had a soft, dry humor in his voice. His humor didn't always leave when Bram walked in, Nate loved him just like he should even if Red wasn't quite there yet.

It was still early.

He had plenty of time.

"Bold of you to assume I knew how to dance before I came here," Red said, still leaning over with his hands on his knees, with the flickering light of the fireplace behind him, the Christmas tree in the corner all lit up with Bram’s favorite, all the colored lights he’d been able to get ahold of, boxes and boxes of ornaments he’d picked up in thrift stores. There were wrapped presents under the tree, things he had gotten for them and a couple of things he’d allowed them to pick out for each other.

There were even presents for him, from them.

It was fucking storybook picture, and it was almost everything Bram had dreamed his life could be, missing just one piece. The most important piece. Ashley wasn’t here, it wasn’t time for her to return yet… but everything else was here.

Red was still in his loose white t-shirt (dream boy on the front, some assembly required on the back - Bram had given it to him for his birthday back in the summer) and pajama pants from the night before. The only visible scars were on his face and around his wrists.

Nate had a plain black shirt and pants - they hadn't left the cabin at all since the big snowfall, three feet of snow burying them in the little clearing. He and Nate had snowboots to wear, waterproof coveralls to pull on, to go out and get the firewood. The puppy had nothing.

He wasn’t going anywhere, anyway.

It was firewood Bram had gone outside for, and he’d told them he was walking traps, too… he’d left them an hour or so ago, and they thought he was still out in the woods, that they'd hear him come back. He had made sure they didn't.

"You g-g-grew up r-rich, though, r-right?" He was so, so good, his Nate, the perfect partner he'd made out of rough edges and fighting. He’d been hard, at the beginning, difficult and lovely, but he was just perfect right now.

Bram loved his life. He loved the cabin with its flickering warmth from the fireplace and picturesque Christmas tree, he loved the trees and the animals he hunted, he loved Red and his scars and the way he still had to grit his teeth before he did what Bram wanted… and he loved Nate most of all.

His true love, his black-haired prince, his perfect man.

"I… yeah, I guess. I, um, I didn't think about it that way, but, um… yes." Red shook his head, shaking his hair over his eyes. Bram wanted to walk in and push it back, tuck it behind one ear where the longest bit was and see the puppy jump and force himself to hold still… but he didn't want the moment to end.

“Rich kids never t-think they’re rich.”

“That’s probably true.” Red rolled his eyes. “But it’s not like I chose to be rich, they picked me up at a group home. I’ve only been rich since I was, um, five.”

"And you didn't t-take dancing l-l-lessons? I thought all rich kids took those."

"Nah. I said no. My, um, my parents didn’t… didn’t care. My brother did, though, he's a great dancer. He could do this with you, he wouldn’t even need to practice. Ryan is graceful as fuck."

"He c-c-could, but I'm h-here with you. I want to dance with Danny."

Red's head jerked up, eyes wide with sudden panic. “Nate, don’t,” He said uneasily, his eyes looking to the window outside and then back. Bram felt his mouth go a little dry at the gorgeous lick of fear he could see run up the puppy’s spine, the way it settled into the air, like the smell of dinner cooking in the crockpot after a long day out in the woods.

He’d done that; he’d trained him to be afraid of his own name. It made him want… a lot of very dark things, all at once.

“Abraham said that’s not my name now,” Red whispered. “I’m n-not allowed to have it. My, my name is Red and I belong to Abraham Denner… I don’t want to go back into the-”

“It’s fine, D-Danny. It’s j-j-just us here r-right now.” Nate leaned closer, rubbed a thumb gently over the still-healing scar on his nose, dug even deeper than it had been before, then both thumbs across the marks on his cheekbones and the deep scars that painted each side of his jaw.

Bram watched the puppy relax, slowly close his eyes, moving his head forward to make it a little easier for Nate. “That feels really, um, really good, when you do that.”

“I know. D-D-Danny,” Nate said in almost a whisper. “I’ll s-say it over and oh-over. Danny, Danny, Danny. Your n-n-name is Danny M-Michaelson-”

“And your name is Nathaniel Vandrum,” Red said, and he smiled, just a little bit, nervously.

His name is Nate Denner now. Or it will be.

“Right. When it’s j-j-just the t-two of us, we have our n-n-names, still, r-right?”

“Right. We had names, before we, before-” “We still have them, Danny."

Bram raised an eyebrow, but thought he’d let it slide for now. Nate was good for the most part, and they thought they were alone. He wanted them to rely on each other, they'd be less able to ever attempt another escape that way.

Nate would never leave Red here, knowing he'd be killed or worse in the aftermath of Bram's grief at losing his partner, his best friend, his greatest love… and Red wouldn't leave Nate again, no, not knowing he'd go right back in the muzzle when he was caught. Not after running right into the trap the first time he’d tried.

It’d be forever, this next time, he’d wear the muzzle so long he’d forget what it was like without it.

No, Bram hadn’t been the smart twin, when they were alive and young, but he wasn’t stupid, either. He'd made sure Nate was the only solid ground the puppy had left - and he’d knew Nate was too broken to ever even think about leaving again.

"Thank you," Red said softly. "Thank you for my name." The words were nearly automatic - he'd finally learned how important it was to say thank you for every gift he was given, even if he’d had to learn the hard way.

There was defiance still that lit the puppy up, even if he knew better now than to do anything with it. He could see it sometimes in the set of his jaw, in a fire that would start back up in his warm blue eyes.

Nate loved the puppy's eyes, and Bram didn't mind. He wasn't jealous - he'd wanted them to be three in the bed, the way it was supposed to be. Bram liked that feeling at night, the way Red would try to pull away and he would pull him right back. He liked watching him crumble when he did, watching him fight all the defiance left within himself to let himself be kissed good night. Those blue eyes were never warm for him.

With him, Red was scared and worried, not quite eager to please, exactly, just trying to predict him so he could keep his voice.

Bram was a good man, he wasn't soulless. He was a good partner to Nate, he was good to the puppy. He wasn’t a monster, he wasn’t.

He wasn’t a monster. He simply needed to eat, and needed Red to learn and to understand how to behave, to not run away again. To hold still for him. To let him feed.

He had declared him good enough to earn his voice again two weeks ago, an early Christmas gift, after six weeks of silence. Before that he was allowed out only at mealtimes and to shower or a few other times, where Bram made it clear that there were always going to be strings attached to every piece of freedom, that the puppy would have to earn it by giving other parts of himself away.

Some days he chose to keep it on. Other days he nodded, willing to do whatever Bram wanted if it bought him a little time to take a deep breath.

Each day that Red was kept silent, distant and strangely disaffected, was a day Bram felt a little more affection for him, felt more and more the rightness of his choice. Red was going to be perfect one day, just like Nate.

The six weeks had been a gift, to help him understand.

Nate had not appreciated that it was a gift either. He’d changed, a little, been cold and angry about it being too long and too cruel and inhuman. He'd even tried to tell Bram no one night (just once, and he hadn't tried that again), but they had moved past it. They'd gotten past every other bump in the road of their relationship, after all - even Nate killing Ashley and running away from him they had gotten past, in the end.

When it had come off, the puppy had been smart enough to thank him, in a stumbling, hoarse voice. His eyes had still been mostly lost wherever it was he went in his mind when the muzzle was on, but he'd come back once Nate spoke to him, sat him down, made him a mug of tea to sip and asked Bram, if a very soft voice, if he didn’t mind leaving them alone for a while.

He'd heard the puppy starting to cry before he even made it outside, and he'd gone out to chop firewood whistling 'Camptown Races' with a smile on his face and gone through a whole round of chores, stayed out for nearly three hours. By the time he’d come back in, the puppy was asleep in the bed and Nate was sitting at the table drinking tea by himself, and he’d looked up to Bram and smiled, automatically, like a puppet on strings.

Perfect.

It had taken Red a week to start speaking again without looking to Bram first to see if he could. It had been nearly two weeks before he said more than the bare minimum, really. It had taken until tonight - and a lot of Bram's good whiskey - to get him laughing again.

He'd told them to drink the whiskey - and they'd taken this order, at least, to heart.

"I l-l-like your n-name," Nate said with a smile, reaching out to grab the glass on the side table and finish what was left in it before he turned back. “I always liked your n-name.”

“I don’t even know who named me. Do you think my, um, my birthmom gave me a name?”

“Maybe. It d-d-doesn’t matter, I l-l-like it, anyway. We can have it, just between us. He won't care, if we d-don't use it with him."

He cared a little - but they were so good together, right now, and the more they liked each other the less they could ever, ever leave him.

Tonight, he hadn't hooked Danny back up to the wall before he left for chores, he'd pretended to forget. And they hadn't tried to plan an escape. Instead, his true love held out his hand to the puppy, and after a hesitation, Red took it, straightening back up.

They looked good together. A set just for him, handpicked and perfect. And they didn't know he was here, so he got to see how they were together when they weren't always watching him to see how he would react. He liked that they looked to him first; they should, they belonged to him, after all. But… still.

He liked that they looked at each other, too.

"We'll practice," Nate said reassuringly. The DVD on the TV was paused right at the beginning of the song, so all you saw on screen was the crowd of dancers in the darkened theater, with a man in a red vest and a woman all in black just beginning to move.

"We're too, um, too drunk," Red protested, words slurred only the slightest bit, leaning too much into Nate. "I'm all left feet, I always have been, and we are too fucking drunk!"

"You're never t-too drunk to t-t-tango," Nate said, and pulled the puppy closer to him. Bram smiled, letting his head tilt. They were too wrapped up in each other, and normally he didn't let that stand, but tonight… well, it was Christmas, and they were being so sweet.

Just like he wanted them to be.

“I can’t dance like them,” Red said, eyes glancing towards the movie and back.

“No one’s asking you to dance like that. I just w-w-want you to learn the b-basics." Nate took Red’s hands and shifted them, bent at the elbows and facing up, palm to palm. "B-Ben and I t-t-took dancing lessons for like two and a hah, half years, back h-h-home, I’m pretty good at stuff like this. Now, we'll p-practice some more without music, I'll hum to help you. Then we play the scene. Put your head up. Head up, shoulders back, spine strong. Here, arm out like this. Got it?”

"Got it. You… you stopped stammering.”

“I do th-that with you, sometimes.”

“Right.” Red did his best to get into position. “So Ben was your boyfriend? Before?"

Nate let his eyes cut away, over the wide open room where they'd shoved all the furniture, the couch and side tables and the armchair, to the walls. They'd even rolled up the giant rug, leaving bare wood. "Yeah," He said, still looking off to the side, even as he didn’t drop Red’s hands. "For three years. He broke up with me, actually, six months before I, uh, I m-m-m-..."

"You don't have to say it," Red said softly.

"Met Bram and A-Ashley," Nate finished as if he hadn't spoken. "Th-that's why we were at th-the bar. My r-r-roommate was always t-t-telling me to d-drink it away."

“I, um, tried that with someone once,” Red said, with a wry smile. “You see how it didn’t work so well with me, look, um, where I am now.” He laughed again, a little bitterly this time, and it pulled at the still-healing raw cuts across his nose and each side of his jaw. When he winced, Bram felt a spike of need, the way he felt when he made the puppy hurt and saw him flinch back into Nate’s careful, gentle grip before he set his jaw and made himself be good, be whatever Bram wanted.

“We b-b-both went to b-bars to meet guys and met him, in the eh-end.” Nate sighed, and Bram loved the sound of him sighing. They nearly looked his way, and he shifted subtly back behind the still-mostly-closed door to the kitchen. “I thought I was s-safe, so far away, after s-so long, Danny, I’m s-sorry-”

“It’s, um, it’s okay.”

“No it’s n-not. I used to th-think it was j-j-just bad luck.”

“What do you think now?”

Nate shrugged. “I th-think I was a-a-always just waiting for him,” He said softly. “For both of them, but… but for him.”

Right answer, lovely.

“You weren’t,” Red said quickly. “You weren’t. Life could, um, could have been something else-”

"N-not for me."

"This doesn't have to be it, Nate!"

“It does and it is. I had b-b-before them, and I have after them, and so d-do you and there isn’t anything else. Stop talking that b-b-bullshit or he’ll hear us and he’ll put it b-back on you,” Nate snapped, and Red flinched, pulling his hands back and away, looking down at the ground.

Nate looked at him, and some of the tension went out of his face. “Shit. D-Danny, I didn’t mean- S-s-s-suh… I’m s-s-”

“I know you are. No, it’s my fault, I shouldn’t have said- we’re not supposed to talk about leaving or there being anything else, it’s my fault, I-I was-... there is no life before Abraham, there isn’t anything after him, I'm not supposed to-”

“Hey.” The puppy raised his eyes again, and Nate leaned in close. “It’s oh-okay. There’s just us. You g-g-got it?”

Red swallowed, and then slowly nodded. “Got it.”

“Good. Listen to me. J-just don’t think about l-leaving, it’s easier if you don’t. We’ll think about d-dancing instead. Always make yourself th-think about something else if you start to think about leaving. I… I don’t want you to l-leave me again.”

“I don’t want to leave you either,” The puppy said, softly. “I won’t. I won’t leave and I won’t think about it anymore. We’ll th-think about dancing. There is no life before Abraham.”

“The trick is that you do slow, slow, then quick, quick, slow. I’m leading.”

“You tend to,” Red said, hesitant but almost teasing, and there was a voice Bram had never once heard used with him. No, this voice was for Nate alone.

“Sh-shut up or I w-w-won’t be able to do it. Fuck, my f-f-aaa… face is red. Okay, so I’m g-going to go forward, once with my left and then with my right - then with my left. Then we go to the right, then put my feet together, left to right. Did that make sense, Danny?”

“Not at all,” Red said, and laughed again. “I told you, I’m too drunk for this.”

“Y-you’re not, I promise. If B-Ben could teach me, I can t-t-teach you. You’ll do backwards, once right and then right, then again with your right, then to the left, then put your feet together. I’ll count for you. Don’t think about the steps, or numbers. Just think about how it feels to move with me. Okay?”

The puppy opened his mouth, then slowly closed it again and nodded.

Eventually, with practice and a little more whiskey the puppy got the hang of it. He watched them go through the steps over and over, with the movie still paused, quiet except for Nate’s humming and Red’s occasional laughter when he stepped on a foot or simply tripped over himself.

“Are you r-ready?” Nate asked, looking to the TV and back.

“As I’ll ever be.” Red raised his head high, shoulders back, and there was an inherent ridiculousness in the look of him being led by someone shorter than him, but the sparkling life in him was so beautiful. It made Bram want him, want to snuff that life out until he was back to meek and scared, in pain and quiet and curled in on himself in the bed, waiting to see what they’d do to him.

He felt his fingers twitch, just slightly, and told himself, wait. Not just yet.

Bram watched Nate grab the remote and start the movie back up. The violins kicked in, an insistent rhythm, and a man began to sing in a hoarse, rough voice, a cover of a song Ashley had liked, when it came on the radio.

Nate counted out loud, moving the puppy slow, slow, quick-quick, slow, keeping to the rhythm of the music. Nate's left foot dragged only the slightest bit, the cold was always hard on that leg.

On the screen, the actors and actresses did a more complicated dance, but in front of the fireplace and the Christmas tree, sweet little Red and Nate kept it simple.

Bram remembered this movie, vaguely. It’d been one of the few newer films in the body’s collection. Something about a prostitute.

Both of them were so focused on each other that neither noticed Bram slowly stepping into the room.

His eyes upon your face, crooned the lead actor in the movie, someone Bram vaguely recognized but couldn’t remember the name of. His hand upon your hand.

He kept to the edges, along the walls, placing his steps with absolute care and quiet, just like hunting in the woods.

His lips caress your skin... it’s more than I can stand…

Bram grinned. He wasn’t the jealous type, but he liked the way the notes went all sour and off-key together in this song.

"I'm doing it!" Red said brightly, as the chorus started up again.

"Right, congratulations, you can tango now," Nate said, and there was warmth in him that he usually reserved for Bram. However much they had grown to like each other, they would like him more, in the end. He’d make sure of it.

They had all the time in the world now.

No rush.

Just a lot of knives and endless, perfect time.

Slow, slow, quick-quick, slow. Simple, clean, easy steps. They were so goddamn beautiful and they were his.

“G-getting better,” Nate said, encouragingly, pausing when the music went slow and quiet, the hoarse-voiced man speaking again, berating the vaguely familiar actor. “How do you f-f-feel? Like you’ve got it?”

“I think so. I think I’ve… let’s, um, let’s keep going. Don’t stop dancing.”

The violins hit a high pitch and they moved again as the music crescendoed, Nate speeding up the steps to move with the music and Red struggling to keep up with him. Meanwhile, Bram moved around close to the wall, watching the two of them.

Right as the song went discordant and unsettling, just at the end as the actor Bram couldn’t remember the name of was wailing you’re free to leave me, but just don’t deceive me, Nate dipped Red backwards to his clear and absolute drunken surprise.

The two of them burst out laughing, and Nate slid one hand over the red marks along the puppy’s jaw on his left side.

"Please," Nate breathed out, an inch away from Red's face, "believe me when I say I l-"

Bram coughed, and Nate jerked backwards in shock, dropping Red unceremoniously onto the floor on his back.

He landed with a thunk, gasping out a cough as the impact stole the air from his lungs and he rolled onto his side, but Bram had caught the shift from his open, bright laughter for Nate to the terror when he’d realized Bram was there and had heard what Nate was saying and it nearly undid him. By all the darkest, oldest gods, Bram loved the fear.

“B-Bram, y-y-you, you’re back,” Nate said hurriedly, helping Red back up. He looked right at Bram, but the puppy kept his eyes down and away, over towards the Christmas tree.

"Finished up my work in the smokehouse. Thought I'd come back and see what my boys were doing without me."

The two men shared a look, just a half-glance, and Bram felt his smile shifting, widening. That's perfect. Trust me, love me, be afraid of me, and it'll be happily ever after, I’ll hurt you forever.

"J-just, we-... we were just-"

"Ssshhhhh," Bram said, moving over to them, taking his time. "Don't." He stopped by the side table, pouring himself some whiskey into Nate's empty glass. He picked it up - and the puppy’s glass, still with at least an ounce left - and walked over to them. "Finish this, Red. Never leave good whiskey to rest too long."

Red nodded and took his glass, still not looking at him, taking it with the edges of his fingertips to avoid touching Bram. He knocked back everything, barely wincing at the burn down his throat. "Th-thank you, Abraham," he said, and his voice shook a little, and Bram's mouth went dry. “Thank you for giving me something to-to, um, to drink.”

He reached out to trace the line of the puppy's jaw with one finger and watched those blue eyes close tightly as he held very, very still.

"Hey, beautiful," He said, and watched the breath catch in the puppy's throat as his fingertips found the red scar, so long after the second time. Taking so much longer to heal. He traced the vertical slash on that pale skin up the side of his cheek, over the cheekbone where the newest scars were, over to his nose, up over the bridge and down the other side. A line you could read in his face and see exactly what had been done to him. "No one else will ever want you like this, will they?"

“No.” The response was a whisper. The puppy knew the right way to answer questions now, too. It never took all that long to figure that part of things out - not with Nate there to teach him what to do.

“Exactly. You’re damaged goods, now.”

"I-I know," the puppy said, barely moving his mouth, but he didn't pull away. "I know that."

"But we still want you. Don't we, Nate?"

"Yes," Nate replied automatically, not even hesitating, eyes dancing back and forth between them, trying to read the situation, figure out if Bram was mad, or sad, or happy, so he could adapt to it. "We still w-w-want you, R-Red."

“That’s right. We’re the only two people in the world who would still want you after I’ve made you like this for me. No one is looking for you, now. No one wants you but me.”

The young man swallowed, hard, and Bram watched his jaw move, the flash of the fight still in him flickering in his eyes like candlelight. He knew exactly what was going on behind that face - the puppy was thinking about his fucking brother, the one person he refused to let go of.

He had dreams about the brother, woke up crying and Bram would lay there and watch while Nate held him, joy rolling through him in waves, satiated and fed by how intensely and thoroughly the puppy grieved the loss.

Well, it was only a matter of time, anyway, before even the brother was gone... and Bram could wait. But that fight was still in there, inside of him, and he wanted to cut it the fuck out.

“No one,” He repeated, scratching a little at the scar, making the puppy flinch. “No one but us will ever want you.” He wouldn't be able to make it through opening the presents, not at this rate. Not if they were both going to be so sexy like this. "It’s okay, though, isn’t it? You’re just fine with us here. You were dancing with my Nate, after all," Bram said softly. "I saw you dancing."

A red flush went up the puppy's face, nearly as red as his scars, his hair, his name, as the blood that had come out of him when Bram cut him open the first time in the backseat of his own car, somewhere on the side of the road in Oregon. "You s-saw?"

"You're not a bad dancer, Red. Need some practice, though. Next time do I get to watch?"

Red shivered, and Bram moved even closer to him. “If… if you want to, Abraham…” He smelled like fear, like prey, something to be hunted again and again and again, torn open, skinned and laid bare.

Metaphorically, of course.

“I do want to.” How could any red-blooded… well, not man, but his blood was still reasonably red, so it counted... be expected to just ignore something like this? Did other people, out there in the world, see someone so frightened and not just want to claw into that fear and drink it and drag it into bed?

He didn’t love the puppy, but he was getting there with every little shiver like this.

"Hey," Nate said, moving to him, putting a hand on his arm. He turned to look at his true love, trying to get between him and Red, tilting his head the way he knew Bram liked, moving closer. "H-hey, I, uh, Red said he's got a thing he m-m-made for dessert in the f-fridge, we could, we… c-could eat that and do presents? Or y-you and I could g-go into the bedroom." A little more between them, blocking the puppy off from him. He watched Red’s shoulders start to relax. "Just us?"

Nate was trying so hard, and he was so good. Always trying to put himself in front of Bram, to take being hurt so Red wouldn't have to be, interceding on his behalf. Always slipping him extra food when he thought Bram wasn't looking. Arguing with him about the muzzle, about making Red chop wood when his leg was still bruised up. Standing up for him.

He hadn't been so selfless when they'd first picked him up. He’d been wasted potential, all that beauty hidden behind his bullshit argument with his roommate. No, he'd made his love into this, he and Ashley. He wasn't a monster at all.

He'd made Nate a better person by making him a Denner.

He was making Red a better person, too, bit by bit.

This was the best possible place to live. No one asked questions when he went into town. No one had missed the previous cabin’s owner, no one was suspicious when he said he’d bought the cabin. No one cared about what he did out here, so long as he kept his business to himself. No one could hear Red scream, on the nights Bram wanted him to. No one ever heard you scream in the wilderness, and Nate knew that already but Red had had to learn.

It was so wonderful here, and the only thing missing was Ashley. But she would wake up, one day, and come find him, and they would be a family again.

“Dessert sounds great,” He said, and watched the relief in Nate’s face, so easily read. “What’d you make us, Red?”

The puppy jumped to look up at him, nervously. “I, uh, my… my family used to have a cook, and she made us this cake every year for Christmas, so, so I found a recipe in one of the dead guy’s-”

“Body,” Bram interrupted. “They’re not people, Red. They’re bodies. Try again.”

“Right. Sorry, I’m sorry, Abraham, I’ll, I’ll try harder. I found a recipe in one of the body’s cookbooks for the same, um, kind of cake, and I’m, um, I’m better at baking than I used to be. This cake… Ryan hated it, but I always liked it actually - so did, um, my mom. So it’s, so I made-”

“What did you make? I didn’t ask for your goddamn life story. You’re not supposed to think about life before me, are you? What’s your rule?”

“There is no life before Abraham! Sorry, no-... no, I’m not, I know, sorry, I’ll be good, I’m, I want to be good, I remember,” The puppy said in a frightened rush, and Bram grinned at him. They were so different when they were alone, compared to how they were when he entered their minds and made himself right at home. The difference between Red’s laughter trying to dance, or those curses he used to spit at Bram in the first few days, and the way he’d folded into himself now was night and day, and the sound of his voice was better than music.

He was so good now, and all it had taken was a year here. Bram loved people and he knew them so well, knew all their teeny little cracked spots that you could chisel open into wounds, into damage they could never recover from, never undo or take back.

Even if there was a world where the puppy went free, he’d be damaged like this forever, because of Abraham Denner. There was no better way to feed than to know you’d turned someone into something else entirely, and they could never, ever get themselves back.

For a moment, he fantasized about letting the puppy go back to his family, about what it would be like the first time that fucking brother he cared so much about tried to hug him and he pulled away in fear, or when they put food in front of him and he waited to be given permission to eat it, or flinched when one of them raised a hand to touch his hair...

Then coming back to take him again, and seeing all that fragile recovery and hope crumble to ashes. He could live for years on that moment alone.

“It’s a chocolate gingerbread cake,” The puppy finally said, rubbing at his left arm with his right hand, looking nervously at Nate, who kept his eyes on Bram, still trying to read him. “I made frosting-”

“Then go fucking get it.”

The puppy jerked into motion, walking quickly hunched over towards the kitchen, and Bram briefly looked at the some assembly required written on his back.

Wasn’t that the fucking truth.

They took a lot of work, his boys, but they were worth it in the end.

“You d-don’t have to be mean.” Nate crossed his arms in front of himself. While his voice was still low and submissive, the words weren’t, and Bram fought a glimmer of annoyance. But that was part of being in a relationship, really - sometimes you had disagreements.

There were bumps in the road in every love story, and he and Nate had their bumps, too. But they’d gotten over them all - that they hadn’t met under the best circumstances, that Nate had been a fighter at first, that he’d run away a few times, that he’d stabbed Ashley to death, that he’d started seeing someone else behind Bram’s back…

Bumps in the road. Water under the bridge. Bram knew how to have mature adult disagreements with his true lover, after all. You just talked it out, and if that didn’t work, you fucking broke Red until Nate understood the argument was over.

“Yes, I do.” He smiled, tilting Nate’s chin up with one finger. “I heard you call him by his old name, baby.”

“I f-f-figured,” Nate said softly. “When I saw how far in the room you were. Y-you can be m-m-mad if you want.” He leaned forward and kissed Bram, took the initiative and took his sweet time about it, and that wasn’t fair, now was it? He knew Bram liked it when he did that. “Just be m-mad at me, not him. H-he didn’t do anything wr-wrong, did he?”

“He’s always doing something wrong.” He slid his arms around Nate and felt the other man pause, hesitate, and then put his arms around him, too, and all the anger in him melted away. Nate was so fucking perfect, now. “But fine. Just for you, I’ll be nice to him tonight.”

“Th-thanks,” Nate said, with real sincerity, tucking his forehead against the side of his neck. He was still drunk, most likely, and he was always better and more affectionate when he was drunk - always had been - but Bram wasn’t about to look a gift horse in the mouth.

The puppy came back in with the cake balanced on a silver-colored serving tray Bram had brought back from a supply run a few months back, walking carefully until he set it down on the coffee table they’d pushed against the wall. “I, um, I wanted you to see it before I cut it up,” Red said, and Bram just blinked, shocked.

It was a circular tall cake made of at least eight layers stacked on top of each other, frosted up the sides with a cream-colored frosting and topped with tiny little plastic toy pine trees stuck into it, dusted with that fake snow glued onto them.

Off to the side was a little toy deer, just under one of the trees, and on the other side there was a little army man holding a rifle.

“Is that me?” Bram asked, and just… stared at it. “Is that me hunting?”

Red stood back up, rubbing at the back of his neck, smiling a little off to the side, shyly. “Y-yeah. Because you- you hunt deer, and I found some old toys in the d-... the body’s storage shed. So that’s you, and that’s the deer. I-I had ones for Nate and me, too, but I didn’t-”

“Put them on,” Bram said insistently. “Put the ones for you and Nate on. Now.”

The puppy nodded, quickly, moving over to where he still had a mat on the floor, although he never slept on it any longer, he slept in the bed with them nearly every night now. He dug something out from underneath it and crouched down by the cake, adding two more little toy people. One was made of Legos and was just a little man with a shirt and pants and black hair stuck on top. The other was a tiny plastic cowboy. He put the two others behind the hunter, standing right next to each other, then looked up at Bram, who already had his phone out.

“Smile,” Bram commanded, and the puppy did as he was told.

He took six or seven photos, of the worried smile the puppy put on for him, not quite sincere and a little fake and frightened, stretching his scars and pulling at them. He kept the flash on, just so he could make sure the red would be as bright and vibrantly painted on that pale skin as possible when he looked at the photos later.

You spent six weeks with your voice locked away, and you’re so scared I’ll take it from you again, Bram thought. If the way his heart fluttered thinking about that wasn’t love, then what was?

When he was done, he slid his phone into his back pocket, grabbed the puppy by the arm, and pulled him up, hands on either side of his face, to kiss him.

Nate flinched and moved as if to come towards them, but Bram pulled back just long enough to snap, “Stay,” and Nate froze.

The puppy wanted to fight - he put his hands up, palms flat, against Bram’s chest as if he would push himself free. “You even try to get away from me and I’ll put it right back on you,” Bram murmured into his mouth, and all the resistance simply melted away, Red’s pulse a rabbit-fast beat in his throat and he opened his mouth for Bram well enough, then.

Not perfect, not yet - but he was closer every day, and he’d get there.

Bram wasn’t in any hurry at all.

“Thank you,” Bram said softly when he finally pulled away, kissing the corner of the puppy’s mouth. “It’s beautiful. I love it.”

“Y-you’re welcome,” The puppy said, shivering for a whole different reason than before, shifting just a little away from him, and Bram let his hands trail down the sides of his neck, over his collarbone, down his sides. Just proving that he could, that the puppy couldn’t do anything to stop him, wouldn’t dare. “I just, I wanted to make you something, because-”

“Because I’ve been so good to you,” Bram supplied, leaning in to kiss the end of his nose. “Because I still want you, Nate and I, even though no one else ever will.” He kissed each cheekbone, over the red marks. “Because I made you damaged just the way I like you.”

The puppy hesitated - he’d been clearly about to say something, probably anything, else - and then slowly nodded.

“Cut me a slice of cake,” Bram said, nuzzling into the side of Red’s face, against the red line of the scar along his cheek, trailing his lips across it. “We’ll have cake and then it’ll be time for presents, won’t it?”

“Y-yes,” Red said, his voice breathier than before, slightly hitched. “Can you… can you let me go, for a second, please, Abraham?”

He tightened his grip on the puppy, just for one moment, just to remind him that he didn’t move until Bram wanted him to, and that no matter how much he and Nate liked each other, his true love would never stop him from doing what he wanted with the puppy, either - and then he let him go and sat on the couch, watching the puppy move back to the cake with half-lidded eyes.

Nate sat down beside him, still nervous and tense. The puppy gave them their slices of cake, sticking the little people that represented them on the top with a thin half-smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

When he went to sit on the couch with his own plate, Bram shook his head and pointed, in silence, at the floor between Nate’s legs.

“Y-yeah, okay,” Red said softly, scrambling to settle himself with his back against the couch, one of Nate’s legs on either side of him.

He had a bite on the end of his fork when Bram leaned forward, just slightly, and said, “Hey. You forgot.”

“Forgot what? I didn’t-... Oh, I’m, um, I’m sorry.” Red’s face burned again, flushed bright red, and he wasn’t looking his way but if he had, Bram knew he would have seen it again - the fight, buried under the puppy’s attempts to convince himself not to. But it would still be there in his eyes - all that defiance and cursing and spitting and fighting was still there, ready to be locked away piece by piece until all of it was gone and he was finally, finally perfect. “Th-thank you for letting me eat with a fork, Abraham.”

“You’re welcome. This is good shit. I’m proud of you. Good boy, Red.”

The puppy jerked his head down to the floor, but he could see the edge of his jaw as it tightened at the humiliation in the words and he only nodded, curtly, and ate his own cake like it was made of ashes.

The cake was perfect, and the company was perfect. It was all so perfect. He slid an arm around Nate’s shoulders, felt him make himself relax against him, looked down at the puppy’s shock of bright red hair as he kept his own eyes carefully on the TV as the end of the movie played.

Perfect.

Everyone was here, and it was so fucking perfect.

He couldn’t wait for presents. He was very good at gifts, after all, and he couldn’t fucking wait to see Nate and the puppy’s faces when they saw what he had gotten them.

Abraham Denner looked at his warm, cozy living room holding everyone on Earth that mattered, and he thought, Merry fucking Christmas to me.

#holiday whump #whump #tw: noncon kissing #tw: noncon touching #captivity #Daniel michaelson's story #referenced noncon #referenced dubcon #tw: abuse #tw: violence referenced #emotional whump #intimate whumper #creepy whumper #broken whumpee #defiant whumpee #caretaker #caretaker whumpee #whumper POV #whumper

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tangled-the-series-forever · 4 years

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Rapunzel and the Lost Lagoon

As soon as I heard about this book, I put it on my birthday wishlist. But alas, my birthday had come and gone. No Lost Lagoon. Apparently my mom didn’t see it on the wishlist, so that’s why. Flash forward to Christmas Day and I held the book in my hands, which were trembling with excitement. Not really, but you get the idea. I had been waiting to devour this book for months on end and I did. So without further ado, I will present to you this handy-dandy post that encapsulates my thoughts on Lost Lagoon before, during, and after reading. I thought it would be fun to record my expectations and compare them to what I discovered. If you’ve read Lost Lagoon, what did you think? I’d love to hear your thoughts! ❤️

Before Reading

honestly, I’m not quite sure what to expect. All I know is that there’s a lot of moments between Raps and Cass and I am ready for them!

maybe it explains how Cass came to be Raps’ lady-in-waiting? (I hope so because I’ve always wondered this...)

I think I’ll like the book as a whole (I’m hoping I’ll love it)

I’m guessing that it is cute, funny, serious, and adventurous all in one

maybe we’ll learn more about Cass?

will Raps tell Cass about her life in the tower?

what will be the ratio of lighthearted to serious moments? Am I more likely to laugh or cry? Probably both 😅😂😂

this book’s design is absolutely gorgeous! 😍😍😍 I literally just stared at it for a while beginning to read it

During Reading

Rapunzel’s hair hasn’t grown back yet? Oh, it’s her first week in Corona. Okay...

“Something was missing. I was hoping painting would help me find whatever that was, or at least help me end the afternoon on a happy note.” (is this relatable or what? I know not to chase after the elusive beast referred to as happiness, but I do often strive to end the day on a good note because I feel like Satan wins if I don’t)

Friedborg is Arianna’s lady-in-waiting? That makes more sense now. I always feel bad not knowing much about her or her background. I hope she makes some appearances in the book (no sooner did I type this than I look down and skim the scene where she teaches Raps how to sit. Crazy, right?)

Eugene referring to Rapunzel as “my girl” (so sweet 🥰)

“Eugene’s warm brown eyes and mischievous smile are irresistible from any angle” (she’s head over heels, ya’ll 😂💕😂)

first look at Cass 🥰 That’s my girl! Not only does she want to be part of the guard, but she wants to succeed her father as Captain! Go after your dreams, girl! I support you ❤️

“I’d rather shovel sheep dung than mend clothes and gossip.” Mood 😂😂

she recently discovered a hidden spot by using maps of an ancient underground tunnel system? How cool!

okay, but Cass’ animosity towards Raps is fair. And the fact that she refers to her as “that girl”? Priceless

names of nearby nations? Like, yes please!

the irony of Cass piquing Raps’ interest in her by leaving as soon as she can after throwing the shot put 😅😂😂

Cass worrying she got herself in trouble by practicing shot put. Poor thing!

the angst Cass feels towards her dad because he wants her to be a lady-in-waiting when she clearly doesn’t... so relatable (it’s tough when a parent’s expectations and our own dreams/desires don’t match)

I didn’t realize Cass created the maps herself! She’s so determined to prove herself to her dad, it hurts 😭😭

I wonder if the pools in Yultadore are what make up the lost lagoon...

“Her enthusiasm was so shiny and bright I had to squint” (I totally understand this)

pretty boy Eugene and his quips 😂😂

Cass trying to keep her distance from Raps by calling her “Princess” and firmly saying “Goodbye” before shutting and locking the door behind her

So that’s how Cass and Eugene met... okay, cool. Nothing too crazy or weird. I don’t know what I expected but it’s nice to know how their battle of wits began

I’m noticing a pattern in the words used to describe Cass: knowledgeable, brave, etc. I think that’s cool because I feel like her pessimism gets a lot more attention in the series. It’s nice to acknowledge her other qualities as well.

Arianna chose Cass to be Raps’ lady-in-waiting. I always wondered how she got the position. I’m loving how many little things this book is explaining 🥰

Also, just noticed the bird illustrations on the page of every new chapter. I wonder if there’s a pattern...

OWL!!! 😍😍 he literally “senses her distress”. I wish we got to hear about how they met

I wanted to cry for Cass. Poor thing just wants to follow her dreams. I like the way the finality of the decision was described. It’s so tragic 💔

“When Cassandra saw him [Eugene], her face clouded over like a stormy afternoon” 😂😂 I love how Cass doesn’t try to hide her feelings about people. It’s true that she keeps personal things close to her chest, but not when it comes to what she thinks of others. Honesty is the best policy, right?

I love how Cass continuously prompts Raps to keep reading the poem. She’s like, “Yeah, yeah, just get to the good stuff” 😂

about that poem... maybe it’s from Herz Der Sonne’s perspective. Could the “truth sealed in precious stones” be a reference to Zhan Tiri’s disciples and how they were trapped within stones? And what about the three gems? What’s the emerald tapestry supposed to be? Does it reference Saporia? I HAVE TOO MANY UNANSWERED QUESTIONS

“A few times I thought I heard some rustling behind me, but I kept going” (me: yeah, Raps is definitely following her) 😂

me when I realize the “emerald tapestry” is grass: 🙃

why is Cass so fearful around water? Did someone try to drown her? someone please tell me who is responsible so I can PUNCH THEM IN THE FACE 😅🤣

painfully ironic how Rapunzel can swim despite being locked in a tower all her life and Cass can’t

Raps nonchalantly offering to teach Cass how to swim just warms my heart 🥰❤️

okay, so Cass is responsible for her fear of water. That’s almost worse because it invites shame and self-hatred, which makes it more difficult to push against that fear or overcome it 😔

the importance of Raps agreeing to help Cass even after realizing she doesn’t want to be her lady-in-waiting is HUGE. This is something I feel like should have happened throughout Season 1 but never did (Raps supporting Cass and trusting that she has a good reason for things even if she doesn’t understand)

“But now I have to teach you which fork to eat your waffles with and stuff” 😂

the first time they call each other Cass and Raps 🥰😍🥰😍

woah, I didn’t expect there to be a time jump. I should have known because I kept wondering why they would depict Rapunzel with her blonde hair on the cover if this takes place before it comes back. Anyways...

I forgot to take notes as I read the majority of part 2. I’m currently a chapter or two away from part 3 and all I have to say is that something bad is about to happen. I can feel it. Dahlia’s definitely shady and so is Marco. I suspected Marie earlier but now I’m not sure. She wasn’t obvious until she was but now she’s not again so maybe she is guilty after all? Either way, Raps is making dumb decisions and I’m over here yelling at her to get her life together before she gets killed or kidnapped (whichever comes first, I guess) 😅🙃

Cass is absolutely roasting Rapunzel and I am here for it! Don’t mind me just munching away on my popcorn over here 🍿

Cass said she’s finally gonna leave Corona so I bet Raps will fess up and tell her that Dahlia’s been helping her with the painting for Cass so Cass will let her guard down and think Dahlia’s okay after all. But... she won’t be and they’re gonna realize she was the bad guy after all 😎

didn’t think Cass would get attacked 😅 also, the fact that she is highly skilled and powerful yet trips and twists her ankle is such a mood. Like, that’s literally me in a nutshell. She is beauty, she is grace, and she falls flat on her face 🤣🤣 while I’m here, I’m guessing Marco is her attacker because he probably has a rough voice

Okay, so I guess Dahlia really is innocent then... idk, I still think she could be up to something

I WAS RIGHT!

Marco’s the bad guy and things just escalated quickly cause now he’s got a knife against Cass’ throat 😳😬😵

so Dahlia’s innocent after all... I thought she or Marie might be working with Marco but I guess not (kinda disappointed to be honest)

okay so this Dahlia chick is exasperatingly hilarious 😂😂 she legit took part of Raps’ bookcase to use for an art piece. Like, who does that?

“Pascal shook his head, totally fed up” me too bud, me too 🤣

After Reading

so I did get to see how Cass and Raps first met (also how she first met Eugene as well)

I like how they combined their talents and passions at the end to create the map painting

There were a bunch of lines that made me laugh, although there were just as many that hit me like a knife to the chest (pretty much anything angsty from Cass’ POV) so I like how it made me feel all the feels (I felt like an investigator trying to figure out who the bad guy was and that was a blast 😆)

overall it was pretty good. I did feel like the characters were off (Arianna seemed like she swapped personalities with Frederick at times and Eugene apologized for joking Cass- as if!), but other than that I enjoyed it. There were a bunch of new characters being introduced so it was somewhat hard to tell who was bad and who wasn’t but I guessed correctly in the end. I was hoping there would be more than one bad guy but oh well.

I’m glad I read it because now I know a few extra things about Corona and its surrounding countries (plus I can finally read through all the Lost Lagoon related tumblr posts I saved for later... I was waiting until I read the book and here I am!)

If anyone needs me, I’ll be going through LL tumblr posts. I should definitely be sleeping but that’s not important 😅😂😂

#tangled the series #rapunzel and the lost lagoon #tts lost lagoon #lost lagoon spoilers #tts lost lagoon quotes #lost lagoon quotes

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dearyams · 5 years

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december 16, 1985

Strange, isn't it? Each man's life touches so many other lives. When he isn't around he leaves an awful hole, doesn't he?

— It’s A Wonderful Life, 1946

[ day 1: love, actually, is all around ]

Today is Monday. Winter break has started but Mondays are still Mondays whether vacationing or not. Snowball or whatever high schoolers called it—basically the winter formal for ‘85—was the night before, the first winter dance for high school freshmen, and Mike didn’t attend. He didn’t see a reason to even though Lucas, Max, and Nancy kept trying to convince him otherwise. Even Dustin got on the floor and danced to a few tunes according to Lucas’ overly excited report on the night’s activities. It almost makes Mike wish he dropped by, but he couldn’t stomach hanging about in the corner watching everyone dancing and hugging and kissing when his heart drove away stuffed inside a packed box of Byers’ belongings in the back of a U-haul two and a half months ago.

Maybe Mike would have gone if he called up El and asked how she felt, even though they hadn’t talked in at least two weeks. Ever since the Wheelers visited for Thanksgiving, things between Mike and El have been a tad...awkward. He couldn’t tell who made their every interaction more tense than a trip wire but he knew he couldn’t absolve himself of all blame. He’d take accountability for his actions if he knew what he did that made El decide a break would be best for their friendship. For the first few days after Thanksgiving, Mike and El still talked but December came around and finals kicked Mike’s ass and calling El slowly fell off the list of most important tasks on the day.

Will still called though. Mike never hesitated to pick up the phone and send him a hello when he did. They still had a lot in common and Mike found it silly that he ever thought moving away would suddenly mean they can’t be friends anymore, but it seemed like a valid concern at the time. It was difficult coming to terms with distance as a barrier blocking him from the tactile friendship he grew up fostering, nurturing, and protecting for longer than he could remember. Mike quickly found he missed the way Will’s breath hitched on certain words, little notches in consonants that were swallowed by the static found in a phone call. He also missed that he couldn’t see Will’s face when they talked. He forgot how often he watched the other boy’s face to read his expressions and words far more than he would listen to his actual words. Not that he didn’t listen but...Will’s face said a lot in the glow of his eyes and the small upwards tilt of his lips.

And maybe Mike didn’t attend Snowball ‘85 because he tried to call the Byers residence Saturday night and no one answered. And maybe his imagination had him thinking that El and Will were out at a dance for their new school, having fun with strangers and mingling with people Mike only knew the names of from Will and El’s stories about their new school. And maybe, Mike just wanted an easy excuse for staying home alone as the rest of his family went out, so he could hide behind scribbles in his writing journal, painting phrases meant to echo the sound of his beating heart, hollow in his chest as winter chilled his mind.

So, it’s Monday. It’s cold, damp, and snowy, and the scarf Mike’s mom draped over his shoulders and the lower half of his face filters stingingly cold snowflakes from drifting up his pink flushed nose. He’s been sent out to grab eggnog from the shop downtown, the one Joyce used to work at in fact. Mike would have protested but his mom and Nancy agreed that since he stayed home all day yesterday, it was only fair he went outside himself for a short spell.

The bike ride is easy. His fingers are stiff on the handle bars despite the thick gloves protecting his fingers from the worst of the cold. The ice on the roads was cleared off early in the morning so he doesn’t skid very often making his way down the asphalt streets. Snow continues to swirl around him in a dainty breeze, peppering white specks in what hair peaks out from under his wool hat, making his hair look washed with bits of white as if he’s older than 15, which he only just turned a month ago either way. Mike’s mind wanders to his birthday party, the first one without Will since he turned 6, and he angrily grits his teeth and pedals faster. Various other snowflakes melt on his red freckled cheeks and sparkle on his lashes. Mike hums lightly and turn around a corner until he skids to a gentle stop at his destination. He hops off his bike, booted feet crunching against a thick pile of snow, and parks it before making his way inside the building.

Mike pulls his damp scarf from around his nose and mouth with a rough exhale. He snatches off his hat, shaking it off as he walks inside, and takes a hand to his hair in a messy attempt to make it look more orderly than before. Stuffing the hat in the wide pockets of his puffy snow jacket, Mike traipses toward the refrigerated isle. He keeps humming as he did on his bike ride, grabbing two cartons of eggnog and snatching a red and green container filled with candy canes he passes on his way through the nearby candy isle. The candy canes made him think of Will, who was always so eager to start eating the peppermint flavored treats once December came around. A tiny smile slips onto his lips as he stares at the goods in hand, remembering drinking eggnog in large mugs, chewing on candy canes and making eggnog mustaches that they would tease each other about as they imitated Hopper and his brutish tone.

“Is that all for you, Wheeler?”

Mike blinks out of his memories. “Oh? Yeah. Just picking up some eggnog for my mom.” He places the items on the counter and scrounges his pants for pocket change. “She’s been really on top of making sure we have everything for Christmas even though we’re still a bit over a week out. Just on Friday we went out shopping for a lot more food than I think any of us could eat. I don’t even know why we need more eggnog.”

“It’s never too early to prepare yourself,” the cashier takes Mike’s money and stores it in the register. “She could be preparing a surprise for all you know.”

“A surprise?” He takes the plastic bag passed along with a snort. “Yeah, my mom doesn’t really do surprises. Outside of presents but everyone knows those are meant to surprises.”

He gets a hum in response. “Well, enjoy your surplus of eggnog, Michael. Take care of yourself out there. The snow is coming down harder.”

Mike looks out the storefront window and sighs. “I’ll be fine. It’s not like I’m biking through a blizzard.”

“You’re welcome to stay inside for a few and wait for the snow to calm down.” A soft smile dons the other’s face. “I can call your mom and let her know about your delay.”

“Oh,” Mike stares at his goods. “I don’t want the eggnog to get warm.”

“No worries; you can put it back in the ‘frigerator and I’ll be sure to remind you to pick it back up.” Mike nods slowly. “Let me call your mother now.”

He nods again, brow wrinkling as he puts the eggnog back. His hands only hold a plastic bag filled with candy canes. Mike pulls out the container and rips off the plastic to take out one of the cane-shaped candies. He walks back to the counter, hearing but not listening to the last dregs of the shopkeeper’s conversation with his mom, and starts to chew on a candy cane. He remembers when Joyce used to man the store and how she would let him and the boys jump up and sit on the counters during rainy days when she didn’t want any of them walking outside getting soaking wet. Sometimes Mike’s mom would stop by and say hello, chat with Joyce for much longer than she needed to if just to let Mike have a few more minutes with his friends before he was carted back home.

The memories are washed with the sweet yet strong blanketed taste of peppermint that fills his mouth thanks to the candy cane. Mike sighs and pulls the candy from his mouth, smiling to himself as he already sees he’s started to suck a sharp point from the tip. Dustin and Lucas loved to sword fight with the pointy end, which Mike found pretty gross since it was all covered in their spit but it was still fun in that typical boyish kind of way. He bites the pointy tip off and turned to look outside just in time for a bundle of cloth to barge its way through the doors as the snowstorm outside indeed gets stronger.

Mike belated wonders why he didn’t bother to check the weather, and then grows confused about why his mom sent him outside knowing the upcoming weather—she’s always on top of things like that so her kids don’t get sick. He turns to the intruder who’s interrupted his trip down snowy memory lane, and then unintentionally drops his candy canes once the figure uncovers enough of his bundled face. The candies break on impact but it’s a distant noise to the rush of blood pounding through Mike’s heart. All Mike would have to see is his hair, let alone his eyes—those always familiarly homey green-hazel eyes—to know exactly who stands before him.

“Will?”

The mentioned boy turns on his heel and then drops the scarf he had been untying from around his neck. “Oh my god, Mike!”

Mike can’t move; his feet seem frozen in place as if he’d been standing outside for three hours straight. Will makes his way forth, hat in hand and—oh, a haircut. Mike’s throat dries up but he manages to move his arms for a hug. Will’s warmth shatters the ice around Mike’s legs and he practically crumples into the shorter boy’s arms. He burrows his face in Will’s hair with a crooked smile. “What’re you doing in Hawkins?”

“Mom said we could come by and visit since you came up to see us last month.” Will pulls away with a wide grin that makes Mike’s heart climb up his throat. “I didn’t expect to see you here, though! What a coincidence.”

Mike looks over at the store clerk who is washing off the counter and acting as if she can’t hear their conversation. “Yeah, coincidence.” He turns back to his friend and places his hands on his shoulders. “You’ve grown even more already.”

Will shrugs. “Guess it’s my time to grow a foot in a year, huh?”

“Try me,” laughs Mike, squeezing Will’s shoulder in a comforting gesture. “It’s great to see you, honestly. You left a big hole for us to try to fill.”

“Did you really try to fill it?”

Mike shakes his head. “Nah, not really. It’s a Will Byers shaped hole anyway. No one else could have it even if they tried.”

The warm smile that curls on Will’s lips sends Mike halfway into a hysterical conniption. How can he miss one person this much? How is his entire life so affected by the presence—or lack thereof—of one person? How did Hawkins as a whole feel so bleak without this boy? Mike didn’t think he grew this attached, but looking back on things, of course he did. Of course it was so obvious; now, if he can get a handle on how attached he is...

“I think you dropped your candy canes.” Will bends down to pick up the pieces and Mike, startled by the sudden action, ducks down to help as well. They both reach for the same piece, Mike’s warm fingers brushing against Will’s chilled ones, and their eyes immediately lock. Pink blossoms against Will’s soft cheeks and Mike is sure the same can be said for him.

“Sorry,” he whispers, snatching his hand away but Will reaches out. His hand is shaking, whether with the cold or the emotions racing his chest, Mike can’t tell but it’s a comfort either way. He stares at their hands, the slight tan of Will’s against the lighter pale tone of his own, pink at the knuckles and tips of his fingers. Mike has always been prone to easily flushed skin thanks to how pale he is, and while it was a bother when he was younger, right now at least, he likes seeing the difference between himself and Will, even if it’s not a startling difference.

Will’s thumb brushes against the back of Mike’s hand. “I’ve missed you a lot. You haven’t called recently.”

“I called on Saturday,” he blurts out, “but you didn’t answer.”

“Oh.” Will squeezes Mike’s hand and he looks up to see the other boy smiling as he watches their fingers. “We were on our way driving to Hawkins.”

“We?”

“Yeah, me, Mom, Jonathan, and El.” He looks up at El and Mike cringes slightly. Will’s hand stills. “Uh, I can go get her if you want to say hello?”

“No! No, this is...you’re fine.” Mike scrambles to gather his splintered candy canes and shoves them in the grocery bag as he stands. Will stands as well. “Don’t worry about that. We’re not...I mean we’re still friends but...”

“Yeah, I know.” Will stuffs his hands in his pockets and rocks on the heels of his feet. He’s not slouching as much anymore and that brings a soft smile to Mike’s lips. “I just thought you might want to catch up with her.”

“Later. Later for sure but right now just,” Mike looks back outside and see the storm has gotten worse. He thinks back to the conversation with the clerk about surprises and ducks his head as he smiles. “This is fine, just you and me. I’m glad you’re here.”

He feels something brush his hand and turns his gaze to Will’s fingers dancing against his hand. He turns his palm up and blushes when Will goes for the plunge and holds Mike’s hand in his own, their fingers slotting together with the ease of matching puzzle pieces. Mike looks up but Will isn’t facing him, though he doesn’t need to see Will’s face to know he’s happily blushing, too.

#byler #byeler #byelerholidaybash #frogfaceandzombieboy #i used a different quote bc i love this movie so much #fluff #multi part

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