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poliwat · 1 year

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Nipomo

Four weeks sharing a room in San Francisco, four weeks since I decided not to go back to England. Michael wasn’t sleeping. A quarter tab of acid for his breakfast. Spliffs throughout the day, booze and blue raspberry C4 preworkout all through the night. He was recording an album, working on his set, making a website, building a 24-7 open-source radio live-stream at a free hackers’ space, and not finishing anything.

I was trying to write but spending a lot of time crying on the hot roof of the apartment building when he wasn’t around. He found me up there one afternoon at the end of one of his twelve-hour stints at the hackers’ space. Two straw hats, a beer, two cups. “I know you like to drink out of little cups!” He smiled and the inside of his mouth was blue from the raspberry preworkout. How do you hate someone as much as you love them? He said he’d been looking for me because he had a great plan. A childhood friend in the city was driving down to their hometown and we could get a ride. I could meet Michael’s parents; go to the beach; see the fields, wildflowers, and back roads. So beautiful this time of year. I wondered if it might save us. “It’s God’s country,” he said.

We arrived at his parents’ the following morning, after a four-hour drive south. A low ranch-style house on a wide road of low ranch-style houses. Michael said it was too nice a day to be stuck inside, so he took me around the side and we climbed straight up onto the roof: “I know you like roofs in California!” I did like roofs in California. The front and back yards of gravel, wood chip, and pebbles, interspersed with the occasional palm tree or redwood. At the end of the road was the main street, a couple of stores, a steak house, and a taqueria. Beyond, fields of lemon trees and mustard grass and farmland that stretched a few miles inland, up to a range of golden hills. Above us, the sun shone like the grill of a new truck.

The house was full of knickknacks and shells and crystals and string lights. A “Be Grateful” sign by the coffee maker. A “Be Grateful” mat by the front door. A canvas in the kitchen printed with a picture of three fluffy ducklings and the words “I have joy down in the bottom of my heart.” It was hard to make out how many cats there were. And then PooPoo, the overweight chihuahua, waddled in from the hallway and charged at Michael, baring his red gums and gnashing tiny, pointed teeth. Michael told me the dog was the spawn of the devil and the root cause of all the issues that existed between him and his parents. I already knew that the issues between Michael and his family had begun when Michael had gone to college in Santa Cruz five years before, found drugs, wouldn’t get a real job, and kept having to move back home when he ran out of money.

His parents were musicians who’d met in Santa Barbara in the seventies. She’d sung in one band and he’d played guitar in another. They’d both worked in the same hippie jewelry store downtown before marrying and moving to a smaller town up the coast. I met them that morning when they followed the pets into the kitchen. Gene was short and round with a kind face, freshly shaved with a peaked cap on his bald head and a smart cowboy shirt tucked into chinos. He gave me a warm hug that smelled of Irish Spring. He picked up PooPoo and fed him some bratwurst from the fridge. Mom went straight to the coffeepot. She wore a blue shirt with cropped leggings and had her blond hair put up neatly in a clip. She had the same unblinking stare as Michael.

Gene left to work his shift at a music shop in the next town over and Mom said she needed more coffee before her pain medication kicked in and she could talk properly. She had arthritis and had pain from a series of botched surgeries. The pain was the worst in the morning, but she was managing it with physical therapy, swimming, and half a pill on the bad days. She spent the next hour pacing around the house, telling me about all the things she needed to do—pay the bills, fill out paperwork, physical therapy, feed the dog, feed the cats—only to be derailed from doing any of it by the pets, or the phone ringing. She kept apologizing for being so busy, but she couldn’t seem to get anything done. The bills stayed untouched in a pile that took up most of the kitchen table, the phone rang and rang. There were Post-its all over the house: “Put coffee out,” “Tell Dad to clean sink,” “Ask Michael where he is living in SF,” “Be Grateful.”

Michael derailed her the most, as he tried to make breakfast and clean up after himself. Mother and son knocked around the place, from the coffeepot to the piano to the back door, to the front door to the coffeepot again. They both had the habit of getting lost midaction and the same strange sweetness. At one point, just after getting at him about putting the dishes away in the wrong place, she went into the living room and sang out with joy. When she came back into the kitchen she was smiling. She put her arms around her son. He rested his cheek on the top of her head and closed his eyes.

Michael and I spent the afternoon walking around town. Not a place built for walking but it had its charm, the slanting golden light making even the Vons supermarket look beautiful. We bought three beers for five dollars at the Stop and Shop and watched the sun go down as we sat against a fence by a dusty abandoned lot. He told me that the most famous thing about this town was a Dorothea Lange photograph of migrants from the thirties.

For dinner Michael made sandwiches and, to his mom’s exasperation, moved the bills off the dinner table and told everyone we were going to sit down. They were very good sandwiches, pastrami and banana peppers and mayo with a steak seasoning, on thick slices of bread. He made a sandwich each for his parents, and two types for me and him to share. “Me and Helen share everything,” he announced. “We’re in love.”

After a few bites, Mom started talking about how hard it was, living with her husband, how she loved him but needed him to leave. “I keep telling him, but he won’t go. He does nothing around the house, just eats and spends and plays his guitars.” She said that when she married him, he was already deep in debt. He’d never told her how bad it was. Then she said to me, “I love my son, but I’d understand if you wanted to leave him. Don’t make the same mistake I made.” Gene didn’t say anything in response, just happily ate his sandwich and seemed to be somewhere else. Michael went to the fridge and popped a Corona.

The next day was a Saturday. We borrowed Gene’s car and spent the day in the ice-plant dunes of Grover Beach. When the sun set, we snuck into a motel jacuzzi. Crouched in the bubbles, Michael said he’d told his dad that he’d marry me if he had a dollar. “I dunno about marriage,” I told him.

Gene was in the kitchen when we got back, enjoying a Corona Familiar in a frosted glass. He was in a good mood from playing a gig at a wedding where he’d devoured a seafood-platter buffet. “I tell you … those crabs. All that fish. Mountains of it.” We sat at the counter with him. Over more Coronas, Mom cackling along to Scrubs on the TV, he told me about his first love. At one point he made the mistake of asking Michael what his plans were. Michael said he was going to start an open-source 24-7 radio station that spread empathy across the world and freed a billion people. He already knew his mission on Earth, God had told him. His parents didn’t need to worry. Gene turned to me with a smirk. “I told Michael to experiment with LSD. I didn’t realize he’d be experimenting every day for five years.”

They drove us to the train station in San Luis Obispo the next afternoon. Another sunny day but things felt different. Now I knew that this impossible person had a mother and father and that he made some kind of sense beside them. When his parents hugged us goodbye his dad whispered something in Michael’s ear. “If I had a dollar,” Michael said.

We found a booth with a table in the train’s observation car, beside a window. Gene and Mom spotted us as they were driving out of the parking lot and circled back through three or four times, waving as the train left the station. Leaving San Luis Obispo, the train wound around and between the Pacific Coast Ranges. The slopes reached up on either side, rolling above the windows. Michael leaned on my shoulder while I read him a story I’d written about my alcoholic dad. It made him cry. I told him not to move yet—a girl in another booth was painting a picture of us. I could see it in the corner of my eye, strokes of yellow and green and gold.

***

Six months later, Gene was diagnosed with stage four cancer. A melanoma that had not been removed properly in the spring had spread to his organs by September. Michael and I were living in Chicago by the time Gene began chemo, sleeping on a futon at an event studio that my sister ran and earning a bit of money setting up and cleaning up after baby showers and photoshoots during the day and after parties and music videos at night.

The family told Michael not to come back yet. So we stayed in Chicago for September and into October. Michael’s desperate restlessness and acid-fueled benders had subsided, and the deranged passion that had brought us together had calmed to a more dependable, if rocky, companionship. We kept our clothes in a cupboard and pretended to the people who rented the space that we didn’t live there. When the studio was in use, we visited my sister and her son, or wandered around Lincoln Park, or walked along Lake Michigan, waiting for the call from his family to say that he needed to come home. Sometimes Michael brought his guitar and I brought my notebook and we’d sit playing and writing, cooling our feet in the lake. Other times we had long, agonizing arguments walking around the humid parks. He said I was unloving and spiritually dead inside. I said he was cruel and overbearing, that we were two very different people from different worlds and it would never work anyway, it was doomed. He said that only proved how godless and unloving I was. What was cruel was how little I believed in us. All that needed to happen was for me to find faith. We were twenty-seven. We could move off the grid, have lots of children, and raise chickens. I wanted to get on a plane and go home. Whenever we had an especially bad argument, he stormed off to the hot-dog place around the corner from the studio, where the staff was famous for insulting its customers. He made friends with the people who worked there. “The only real people in this city,” he said. Baby Jesus Ted Bundy was one of the names they called him. He would come back in the best of moods. He was on one of those hot-dog runs when his sister called and told him the doctor said it was a matter of days. He spent his entire savings, four hundred dollars, on a flight for the next morning. I packed up the futon and moved into my sister’s apartment. He called after two weeks at home. His dad really was dying now and he needed to see me. Please could I come? My sister found me a flight from Chicago to LA for fifty dollars for the following week.

***

The Amtrak train from Los Angeles to San Luis Obispo goes up the Pacific coast, at times along the beach and at others high in the cliffs. Michael was waiting for me on the platform, wearing a black hoodie and a black cap with a small red-and-white mushroom on the front. He called it his mourning costume. In the car he gave me a paper bag. Inside was a bar of chocolate wrapped neatly in tissue paper. As he drove out of the lot a full moon appeared over the trees.

We arrived at the house to find Gene sitting on a red La-Z-Boy, watching Blazing Saddles, PooPoo on his lap. The dog jumped off when he saw us coming and charged at Michael’s ankles. Michael picked him up, thrashing, and plopped him outside, slamming the screen door. Gene had almost halved in size, his face completely sunken, his arms and legs, bluish and pale, poking out of a baggy T-shirt and shorts. I tried to hide my shock but it must have been apparent. People had been coming over all week to say their goodbyes.

When Michael had first told me they’d put Gene on home hospice, I’d assumed it meant he would be home under regular medical care. What it really meant on his low-cost insurance was a hospital bed in their house, medication, and thirty-minute visits from a nurse twice a week. The rest of the time it was up to Michael, his mother, and his sister to look after Gene. By the time I arrived, the home hospice had been going on for two weeks and they’d stumbled into a rhythm. Gene slept in the Blue Room (blue walls and carpet), which had once been Michael’s bedroom, then the bedroom of a series of lodgers, then a room for Mom to stretch in. Now it was the room where Gene was going to die. There was the hospital bed in the center and a folding table against one wall, covered in a red paper tablecloth, pieces of hospital equipment, dozens of pill pots, and Michael’s junk. Michael and his mother took turns administering a regimen of medication every few hours: liquid morphine, vitamins, blood pressure pills, pills to help his organs deal with all the pills. There was a mattress in the corner covered with a Lion King quilt where Michael had been sleeping. Gene had a little bell by his bedside that he rang when he needed something.

I was tired from the travel, so Michael set me up a bed in the Green Room next door. It had a single bed, another folding table, and a few blankets laid out for the cats to sleep on. Michael gave me his pillow and the Lion King duvet and put on another hoodie over the hoodie he was already wearing. We sat down on the bed for a moment and he rested his head on my shoulder. From the next room the little bell rang and he shot up. I curled up and drifted off.

The next morning Michael woke me up at nine o’clock with a mug of creamy coffee. “Get up! We’re going to the store!” His dad wanted egg bagels. They’d already given Gene his medicine, taken him for a shower, and rustled up a small first breakfast of eggnog and toast. It was only a quick drive to Vons but Michael drove very slowly, all the windows open, lighting one cigarette after another.

We returned to the sound of the little bell ringing. Gene wanted to sit out on the lounger. He wanted a coffee. Michael helped his dad outside and made the bagels. I did the dishes and Mom put on another pot of coffee while telling me how much pain she was in, her arthritis, her hip —she was falling apart.

I soon discovered that the most demanding part of the home hospice was Gene’s appetite. Over the next week we went out three or four times a day to find whatever thing he craved. The bell would ring and Michael would go running. “My dad wants a steak dinner!” We’d jump into the car to go pick up a steak, then sushi, then burritos.

Mom was paying for these elaborate requests with envelopes of cash she’d saved over the years, each one labeled with a particular purpose. Every time she pulled out a new one from the back of a drawer, my heart sank: forty dollars for Michael’s birthday, a hundred dollars for a plumbing emergency, a hundred for yard work—all gone.

As the morphine doses got larger and Michael more sleep-deprived, nights and meals and dreams collapsed into hallucinations. Gene would wake up, feel hungry, and ring his bell. Michael would help him into the kitchen and cook whatever Gene instructed. I’d hear all about it in the morning. Clam chowder from a can with packet noodles. Chicken soup with pork gyoza and taquitos. Michael told me that sometimes he’d drift off in the middle of cooking, laying his double-hooded head on the kitchen counter.

I slipped by the Blue Room one morning, sheepishly hoping I could just make a coffee and bring my book out into the backyard. “The English Muffin!” Gene called out. “I want an English pot roast. Can you do that?”

I returned to the doorway. PooPoo, who was more or less living on Gene’s chest by this point, greeted me with a growl.

“Yes!” I said. “I think I can.”

Waiting for the coffee to brew, I googled English pot roast. It seemed to be something to do with potatoes and meat, a stew. I couldn’t find Michael anywhere.

“Gene …” I said, eventually going back into his room. “What do you mean by English pot roast?”

“I mean Henry VIII creamy banquet pot roast. Pig’s blood! Potatoes! Lots of meat. Don’t forget the meat!”

I called for Michael all over the house, in the front yard, the backyard, down by the shed. Finally his voice came down from the sky.

“I’m up here!” he said. I couldn’t see him, but some branches moved at the very top of the thirty-foot redwood.

“He wants me to make a medieval pot roast,” I told Michael when he came down.

“He’ll go back to sleep. I need to give him some more morphine now anyway. He’ll forget all about it.”

Michael was right. While PooPoo barked and tore at his fingers, he fed his father the liquid morphine, and Gene fell back to sleep. Michael took a nap. An hour later the little bell rang again.

“Blueberry pancakes!” I heard. “Can she do blueberry pancakes?”

I found a mix for blueberry muffins in the cupboard. It was the middle of the day by the time they were done. One came out with a funny face. Two freeze-dried blueberries for wonky eyes and a crease below them like a sideways smile. I thought it looked a bit like Michael. I showed his mother and she agreed. Excited, we woke Michael up with the muffin doppelgänger on a plate.

Hold it up to your face, we told him. Do your wonky eyes. Smile sideways a bit. See?

Mom brought a muffin cut up in four with a pile of butter to Gene on a little plate. He put the whole lump of butter on one quarter, had a bite, and put the plate down on his lap, exhausted. “Do you like your muffin, Dad?” Michael said. Gene didn’t respond. I felt that in some great way I had failed.

***

Michael’s sister, Bonnie, lived in the next town over. She had a two-year-old girl, Sofia, and was heavily pregnant with her second. She’d bring a meal or some shopping over every few days and spend a few hours with her dad. When she and the little girl spilled in through the front door, the whole house seemed to calm.

One afternoon, Gene and Bonnie were stretched out on the sofa, the patio doors letting in a warm breeze. Sofia was running around, looking for the cats. Mom was out in the hammock. I was sitting next to Michael on the piano bench. He started playing a peaceful, sweet song. I asked Bonnie what Sofia’s birth had been like. She said it had been an amazing experience. She said she went full wild woman. At the moment of the birth, she’d been on all fours and felt her whole heart open wide to God. There was no pain, no body, no one else, just her baby and God. Gene said that was the way he felt about death. When the moment came, he was going to go into it with arms open to God. He held his arms out wide as he said it.

Later, Bonnie’s husband, Paul, came over. They got out some guitars from the garage, brought them into the Blue Room, and sang songs around Gene’s bed. Nineties folk—The Moldy Peaches, Bright Eyes—and then an amazing rendition of “O Holy Night,” Paul on the harmonica, Michael on the guitar, and Bonnie singing. I sat on the mattress and watched them. I wanted them to keep playing—no more talking, talking, talking. “O night divine, o night …”

At the end of the song, Mom came in. She said it was late, Dad was tired, she was tired, we were all tiring him out. Michael said, “Wow Mom, you even managed to ruin this.” Bonnie snapped at Michael, “Don’t talk to her like that.” Michael said, “Yeah, yeah, it’s all my fault.” Bonnie’s husband asked no one in particular if they’d noticed that the moon’s face had changed. “They’ve done something to the moon’s face,” he said. “I swear …”

“He’s tired,” Mom said, turning to Gene. “Are you tired, sweetie? Tell them you’re tired. No one believes me. Someone’s gotta look after him. He needs his rest. Tell them for once. I know how tired you are. He’ll never say it himself …”

“All right, Mom. I’m tired.”

I followed Michael out to the backyard with a beer and a cigarette and found him up in the redwood again. I coaxed him down with my offerings and convinced him not to climb all the way up the tree in the dark.

***

Gene’s body was shutting down. His legs and arms were swelling and leaking fluid. He had to carry paper towels around with him to mop up the mess, but he never complained. We took turns massaging his legs to ease the pain. When it was my turn, I made a bit of conversation, asked him about his life. He didn’t want to go into any of that. He just smiled and told me to massage with all the strength my skin and bones could muster.

Amid all this, Michael wanted to have sex whenever he had a minute free. When his dad was sleeping he’d usher me into the Green Room or drive us out to the back-road fields and pull over on the side of the road. At night, with the hills behind us, the hum of cars in the distance, a light breeze through the grass, it was kind of spectacular. But I was never in the mood. So often we would go all the way out there for me to freeze over. “You’re removed,” he told me. “Checked out. A sandbag.”

“Well, sorry,” I said. “But I massaged your dying dad’s legs earlier. I’ve come all the way here. I’m doing what I can do. Right now all I can be is a sandbag.”

“I’m exhausted and I need love.”

“We just had sex.”

“Oh yeah. ‘We just did this, we just did that. I gave you a blowjob last week …’ ”

“I know you’re sad but you’re being a dick. How can you not see that?”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“You were the one who started the conversation. I was just lying here.”

“Exactly.”

***

The days went on and Gene held on. One evening I noticed a slice of a moon through the kitchen window and realized it had been two weeks since I’d arrived. Despite the pain, Gene still wanted to move around, take a stroll with his walker, barbecue pork, play guitar on the patio with his son. “This is not how normal hospice patients behave,” Mom said. We were standing in the kitchen, looking at family pictures. In many of them the whole family and some friends were sitting around jamming, having a good time. Not that long ago—five years, maybe.

“Most people just lie in bed. But my husband—he’s on his feet demanding fine dining! I don’t want to complain, but it makes me think—miracles can happen. And if he does get better, things would have to change around here. There’s no money. We can’t live like this. Steak-dinner takeout! We’d lose the house.”

I nodded and made to say something, but she carried on.

“Sometimes I think I might be an alien,” she said. “I’m not like other people. Like lying—people lie so easily but I can never lie. Neither can Michael. We’re both like that. I can see how hard it is for him in the world. We just don’t make sense here! He needs to get a job, get a car. Get going with his life. You’re so good for him. He listens to you. I always told him, If you wanna just do what you want, then find a groupie. You’re no groupie. You’re like an angel sent here. I mean it. I prayed to God for you and you came. But you’ve got your life ahead of you.”

Michael must have been listening because he ran out of the Blue Room at that point.

He took my hand and peeled me away. “We’re going on a walk now, Mom. She doesn’t wanna talk anymore.”

“See,” Mom said. “He’ll do anything for you.”

***

Gene was still ringing his bell on his sixty-fifth birthday, November 16, a milestone that had seemed unthinkable a month before. We arranged a small party for his family and a few of his music buddies. Michael spent the morning setting up the backyard with microphones and guitars. He even put a TV and VCR on a cart on wheels to play home videos. We drove out to the Mexican supermarket and bought carnitas and a case of mini Corona bottles. On the way out he impulse-bought a ceramic Day of the Dead guitar to give his dad. When the friends arrived at the house, Mom took the opportunity to go have some time alone and run errands at Vons and CVS.

The men barbecued pork, and I made pico de gallo, according to Bonnie’s instructions. It was a hit. The men in their cowboy getups were shocked that the English girl had prepared it. The sun was shining, people were sitting out, eating the barbecue. Michael tried his best to get people to play music but it wasn’t happening. How do you celebrate the birthday of a dying man? I couldn’t figure out what to do with myself. At one point, Michael gave his dad the ceramic guitar wrapped up in Christmas wrapping paper. “Día de los Muertos,” said his dad. He held the guitar in his palms, disgusted.

The men got it together and started playing “The Cowboy Who Started the Fight.” Gene watched on in his wheelchair. He closed his eyes as they sang “screamed through the veins of the street.” They sang a few more songs. Michael and I took a break to catch the sun go down over a field of tomato vines. In the ten minutes that we were out, Gene stood up with a guitar to play a song with them. He was just sitting back down as we came in the door. Soon after, the guys all left.

“Man plans, God laughs,” Michael said.

Mom was gone for most of the day. She returned from her errands with a gift for Michael. She was so excited about it, she wanted to give it to him straight away. Out of a green and white paper bag, Michael pulled a fluffy llama with wonky eyes. He squeezed it and the llama squeaked.

“It’s a dog toy,” he said, sounding like his father when he held the Day of the Dead guitar. Mom laughed and laughed. She said it reminded her of Michael and the blueberry muffin. I laughed too. Michael grimaced.

“Oh no … I think he’s angry,” Mom said.

“Here,” I told Michael. “Don’t be angry. Squeeze your dog toy.”

He took the llama in both hands, crossed his eyes, stuck his tongue out, and let it rip.

***

November 18 was the eighth anniversary of my own father’s death. I woke up feeling sad and drained. At this point, I thought to myself, Gene needed to die or someone else would. I spent the morning swinging in the hammock by the redwood at the bottom of the garden, hiding from everyone. I heard Michael and Mom calling for me from the house. Gene wanted a massage, they said. His legs were hurting. I couldn’t face it. Michael called my phone. I ignored it.

When I went back inside, the two of them were maneuvering Gene into the living room. Michael almost dropped him and he fell back on the sofa with a cry of pain. “You’re not helping!” Mom screamed at Michael.

“Mom. I am midhelping. You’re brain-dead from your painkillers.”

“Enough!” Gene’s voice boomed from the sofa, where he was half-collapsed, falling off the side of it. “Stop it! Both of you!”

Mom and Michael stopped, ashamed.

“Now, son.” Gene took in a quiet, pained breath. “Can you help me off this damn sofa and take me back to bed?” Michael pulled him up by the armpits.

That night Gene could only manage a spoonful of canned tomato bisque.

“I think he’s going to die today. The same day as your dad. If our dads die on the same day that’s God talking. We’ll have to get married.”

Later, Michael slept next to me in the Green Room while his mom was with Gene. I dozed while I listened to Mom talk to Gene, telling him about their life together. “We’re good people,” she told him. “Weird people.” She could have been saying anything really, the hum was so soothing. “There’s no one around here like us.” It kept sending me back to sleep.

I woke up to Gene’s voice crying out: “Help! I can’t breathe!” I pushed Michael and he bolted into the Blue Room. Mom woke up too. “I’m coming!” she called out.

I stayed in bed, listening. They were arguing about how much morphine to give Gene. Mom said Michael was giving him too much. Michael said it wasn’t enough. She ran to get the phone to call the nurse. Gene was desperately trying to get words out. He couldn’t breathe. And then a desperate gargling, drowning on thin air. Michael was saying, “It’s okay Dad. I’m right here. I’m right here,” all through the gargling until Gene was no longer making any sound.

When I walked in, Gene’s skin had already yellowed. I realized I’d seen three dead bodies now. My dad, my granddad, and Gene. They all looked the same, laid out on a hospital bed. It was five minutes to midnight. An hour later a nurse came. Another hour, and a man and a woman arrived from the mortuary. At the door, their long, gray, thinning hair obscuring half their faces, they told me they were here for the body. Never have I seen more ghoulish-looking people. They wore baggy suits with sleeves that came down over their hands, and round, shiny shoes that also seemed a few sizes too big. They moved slowly. “Was he in the military?” they asked. “No,” we said. “He was not in the military.”

“Okay, thank you.” They put a sheet over Gene’s body and wheeled him through the house, out the front door. Mom followed him out, holding PooPoo. She wanted to show the dog that Dad was leaving. Dad was being wheeled onto the van.

“See, it’s okay, PooPoo. There he goes. They’re wheeling him in now. He’s going …”

Michael didn’t want to watch his dad go into the back of a van. I found him in the backyard with a tall glass of vodka, smoking a cigarette. He joked that he’d been praying to his dad as he was dying. “Come on, five more minutes. If you make it five more minutes I won’t have to marry her.” Then he said that he was plotting to steal morphine to kill the dog.

All the lights were on. It was three in the morning. Michael pulled out a crate of home videos and Mom and I told him to put them away. I made us some tea. We had some more vodka. Mom went to bed and I put Michael in the shower. I washed his hair and cried, but he was like a stone. I could tell he was still obsessing about killing PooPoo. After the shower, I put him in a clean T-shirt and underwear, tucked him in to bed, and held him tight until he fell asleep.

I woke up in the morning to Michael sleeping soundly next to me. He looked so at peace I didn’t want to wake him up. It made me cry. His eyes opened. “Dad?” he said. I couldn’t tell if he was joking. Soon after, we heard Mom howling. Long, slow howls. One of the saddest, strangest noises I’ve ever heard. “My life!” she called out between the howls. “My life!” It was almost like singing.

After that first day Mom said she needed to mourn alone. We needed to leave so she could scream and cry and talk to God. We went to Bonnie’s for a night but then Bonnie said she was too sad and stressed to have us there, with the baby coming soon. A little desperate, we decided to go camping. For the next week we drove between beaches along the central coast, walked, wrote, drank beer. Michael wrote a list of plans for the future, plans that involved him getting paid to travel, recording his album, singing at a body of water every day, building the 24-7 radio live-stream, moving every three months. He was going to give this list to his family, to prove to them that he had a plan. “You two need to move on with your own life now,” Mom had told me before we left. I couldn’t understand how his family could abandon him at a time like this. I’d had to remind her that Michael had come home to look after Gene, that we’d been living and working in Chicago. At the same time, I got what she was saying and why they didn’t want him hanging around. Michael was a liability, and now he was my liability.

***

Gene didn’t have a funeral. They were going to take his ashes out to the ocean in the spring. After the week of camping, Mom got lonely and wanted Michael back again. I decided to leave, to stay with a friend in Brooklyn for a while. I found a flight from San Francisco and booked a train from San Luis Obispo up the coast. Before I left, I found Michael a job doing yard work for a neighbor. He would save some money and leave in January. We said we might travel around. I tried to believe it could happen but I knew that it would not.

As we left for the train station, a commode arrived for Gene, more than a month late. Mom couldn’t bear to look at it, so we said we’d give it to Goodwill on the way to the station. She gave us a trash bag of old blankets to donate, too. I said a tearful goodbye to Mom and she gave me an envelope with a hundred-dollar bill in it. She thanked me for all the help and told me to get something nice for myself.

“Michael doesn’t want you to go,” she said.

I hugged her again and got in the car. “I never say goodbye,” she said. “I only say see you later.”

We drove up to the back of Goodwill and waved down a man who seemed to be accepting donations. “Is that a commode?” he asked.

“Yep. My dad just died. He never used it.”

He shook his head and tutted. “Nah. We can’t take that. That’s nasty.”

“How about these blankets?” Michael said, pointing to the trash bag.

“This bag? Those blankets?” The man took a quick sideways look. “Nah, we can’t take that either. That’s nasty, too.”

We were in a silly mood, driving to San Luis Obispo with the commode rattling in the back. It was a fresh December day. You could feel a change in the air. We stopped off at Ben Franklin’s Deli and I ordered three Californian sandwiches from the cashier, one for me, one for Michael, and one for him to bring home to his mom.

“My dad just passed away and my girlfriend is leaving for New York!” Michael announced out of nowhere.

There was still some time before the train. At the station we ran up over the footbridge to get a good view of the tracks and the hills. I took a few pictures of Michael. He took a few of me. The train came, we said goodbye, and I found a spot with a table at the back of the second-floor observation car, the same booth we’d sat in after that first trip. My bags stowed away, I looked down and saw Michael on the platform below, dancing to get my attention. He was trying to say something, but I couldn’t understand him. He mimed and danced around a bit more. Got on his knees. Drew a picture of a house with his finger in the air.

A man sitting a few seats ahead of me watched the scene in awe. All of a sudden he began narrating it to the rest of the car.

“Marry me,” the man said. “We’ll have a house by the sea.”

Michael mimed writing in a notebook, then swimming, then playing guitar.

“You can write poetry. I’ll swim. Play music,” said the man.

By this time everyone in the observation car was watching. The narrator turned to me.

“Does he have a phone number? I want to tell him something.”

“He doesn’t have a phone,” I said. “But you can leave a message on his mother’s answering machine.”

So the man dialed Mom’s number, and Michael, feeding off the audience, mimed a phone in response. I thought of Mom at home alone, rattled by the phone ringing. The man spoke to Michael through the glass and Michael nodded along, though he definitely couldn’t hear. Neither of them broke eye contact. The man said he was a preacher. He’d married about a hundred couples by now. Each time it had been uniquely special. “Why wait?” he told the future Michael, who would be listening to his mother’s answering machine if he ever got around to it. The preacher ended his message with his number, saying to call him if we wanted to get married.

The train started moving and Michael ran along the platform. I waved until I could no longer see him. Soon I was coasting inland. A rush of green-gold on either side. Pesticide farmland, trees, bushes thick with leaves, sunlight gracing the tip of everything. I stared out the window the whole journey. No sign of December anywhere, no sign of time passing. So much talk of marriage in God’s country. No doubt He had it all planned out for me.

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wormstacheangel · 3 years

Text

When Dean finally rescued Cas from the empty, he expected a happy reunion. He envisioned a strong hug like the first time he had escaped. He expected a long-awaited kiss and repeated confessions that weren’t said with sorrow or heartache. He expected to find the same Cas that was taken, but that would have been too easy.

Cas was left awake, alone, and in complete darkness for months on end.

So when Dean went into the empty, ready to wake up the love of his life, he found Cas curled in on himself—staring blankly out into the void of nothingness. He whispered something so softly and quickly that Dean couldn’t pick up on the actual words, but it sounded familiar. Almost like he was humming a song.

Dean tried to get him to stand up on his own, but he quickly realized that Cas wasn’t even looking at him. His gaze was distant, seeing something Dean can’t even imagine. He then noticed the white film over his eyes dimmed the once bright blue.

His fingertips gently traced over the skin he had only dreamt of touching for months before he took a deep, shaky breath to steady himself. With that slight pause, Dean used whatever desperate strength he had and dragged Cas back to the portal.

Back home.

As they got closer, the light of the portal seemed to startle Cas, and he started to shove Dean away. Dean had to put Cas down so he could take his green jacket off and place it over Cas’s head to calm him before he slowly continued to walk through the portal and into the bunker’s library where Jack, Rowena, Eileen, and Sam were waiting for them.

When they walked through, Dean quickly shushed them as he fell to his knees with Cas still in his arms, hidden under the jacket, and covering his ears at the sudden loud voices surrounding them.

Dean looked around at his family, all sharing the same worried glances knowing they were on the same page. Cas’s welcome home party would be pushed back until further notice.

Cas didn’t cry. His expression didn’t change much at all. All Cas did was sit or lay on Dean’s bed with the lights off. All but the desk light. It was an old lightbulb, so the light wasn’t a bright white like the rest of the place. Instead, it illuminated a soft golden glow against the wall.

Cas squinted at it at first, blinking so inhumanly at it, until all Cas did was stare at it. Whenever Dean made any move to turn it off or even just get near the lamp, Cas made a little whine at the back of his throat.

Little noises were the most Dean can get out of Cas. At least it brought him a little relief. It meant Cas could see him at that moment.

Cas still did that rapid talking or singing whenever it was a little bit too quiet. It made Dean wonder if Cas knew he was out of the Empty. Especially during those times when he would stare right past him, unblinking with cold eyes.

It was only the end of the second week when Dean broke down.

[continue under the cut or on AO3]

He didn’t mean to. He was trying so damn hard to keep it together, especially in front of Cas, but one night he just lost it. He can blame the lack of booze in his system, or as he wants, he can blame Sam, who came up to him about a stupid case. It pissed him off more than it should have. The fact that Sam even believed for a second that he would leave the bunker while Cas was like-well the way he was, just gave him enough of an excuse to raise his voice at someone.

Eileen had to step in and tell him to cool off.

Dean stormed off without a glance back and went to his room. He changed into his pajamas and climbed into bed beside Cas. He laid on his stomach as he wrapped one arm over the top of Cas’s waist, scooting close enough so that he could rest his head on Cas’s shoulder. He then opened his mouth to wish him goodnight just like every night, but something in Dean just broke.

He felt the pressure rise up his throat as he tried to hide his face into the familiar body beside him, but the sob still came.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry it took me so long to go get you. Fuck, Cas, please.” Dean took a shaky breath, sniffling as he reached to hold Cas’s hand closer to him. “We missed- I...I missed you. I missed you so much, Cas.” Dean brought Cas’s hand up to his lips and kissed the knuckles before letting the hand rest by his head. His eyes closed as he sighs, “I love you. So come back to me, okay?"

The only response Dean got was a squeeze of the hand, which was enough hope for the future, and more than Dean could have ever asked for at that moment.

As the days went on, Cas didn’t change. Literally and figuratively. He was still an angel, so there was no need for him to shower or brush his teeth, but Dean swore that Cas’s facial hair was growing, so he liked shaving him at least once a week. Cas seemed to like it by the humming noise he made.

They did learn a couple of things as the days went on.

One, peace and quiet are not what they strive for.

It only brought Cas anxiety, and his humming or singing became much louder and more desperate. They fixed that problem with a Bluetooth speaker constantly playing music in the background, a playlist Jack made mixed in with a playlist Jack helped Dean make. It made the humming stop, and Cas started to roll over in bed. He even sat back against the headboard with his eyes closed a few times.

A month after Cas got back, Dean's phone died in the middle of the night, and the silence must have gotten to him. He covered his ears while he started muttering to himself again. Dean woke up and pulled Cas to his chest while softly sing to him in his still half-asleep phase. He didn’t know why that was his first instinct, but he went along with it cause it started to calm Cas down. Then, Cas held him back for the first time—tucking his head right under Dean's jaw and relaxing.

Dean tried not to stiffen at the touch; if he were honest with himself, he would admit he was trying not to cry because he was busy singing. Busy, not wanting to disrupt this moment.

That night Dean sang all night long until Jack checked on them in the early hours and connected his phone.

Two, always have a light source on.

The lamp was the first one they had. Cas constantly wanted it on, but it bothered Dean all the time when he wanted to sleep. So they bought a cool starlight projector, Sam’s idea, that kept the light on the cement ceiling and not on Dean’s face. Cas seemed to enjoy it as he laid on his back, watching it all night, letting Dean curl up on his side as he slept through the night.

Three, never leave Cas alone.

Nobody wanted to leave Cas alone for more than a minute if they could help it. So they made plans to keep him company at all hours of the day. Of course, they weren’t crowding him. They all came in one by one, except for Dean, who would say, “This is my room. I get to come and go as I damn well please.”

Sam liked to sit by Cas's side and talk nerd like they usually would while cleaning his guns or doing research to help another hunter. He would even pause during the one-way conversation to give Cas some time to answer or try to imagine what Cas would say in that situation. Sam was always calm, wanting to keep it as normal as possible while Cas just stared at him, sometimes his eyebrows knitted together, and Dean had to excuse himself as he felt his chest tighten up.

Eileen sat by his side and watched shows she liked while she talked to Cas out loud and signed so he could hear her voice. Even then, she didn’t talk much. Instead, she let the laptop do the talking as she pets Cas’s hair while sitting on the chair by the bed.

Jack came in the most next to Dean. He liked reading to him or talking about how his skills as the new God have improved thanks to Amara.

"Dad, I hope you'll be proud of me." Jack once whispered to Cas, who was having a bad day, checking out more than usual as he stared off into the distance. Eyes wide and almost screaming.

It was almost the end of the second month when another big mile-stone happened.

Jack was lying in bed with Cas while Dean was at his desk, cleaning his guns obsessively again. Jack was reading him a book he bought during his recent trip to the bookstore with Eileen, it was a Star Wars story.

Jack was getting into the book as he read slower but louder during a big fight scene. He got so excited that he even jumped up and looked back at Cas, "Did you hear that, Dad? He won!"

Cas smiled back at him- a genuine smile- and Dean almost dropped the piece of metal in his hand while Jack froze, his shoulders tightening up while he scrunched up his lips as if trying to hold back his cry.

Instead, he quietly composed himself as he asked in a shaky voice, "You want me to read the rest?"

Cas only blinked at him, keeping the slight smile, and Jack took it as a yes. Jack sat beside him again with a big smile plastered on his face, wiping his eyes every other word, as he rested his head on Cas's shoulder to continue reading. Dean didn’t miss when Cas tilted his head down to rest his cheek on Jack’s hair.

He had to excuse himself again.

After that day, Cas slowly started to open up a little more.

Once Dean woke up with Cas out of bed. Dean was already in full panic mode, his shoes on the wrong feet and jacket inside out as he called out for Sam.

Then just as quick as the panic came, relief flooded him when he found Cas in the kitchen trying to make coffee. He turned towards Dean and gave him the smallest of smiles, but it filled Dean with such solace that he just dragged himself to Cas’s space. Dean held his arms open to press Cas into him, and without a second thought, Cas fell right into him as if it was an everyday normal occurrence.

That was the start of Cas now being up and around the bunker. It was like when a baby starts crawling, everyone keeping tabs on the baby’s first steps, except this baby was an eon old celestial being.

The library, Dean’s room, the Dean-cave, and the kitchen were Cas’s favorite places just to sit. He always had Dean’s headphones on, softly playing music, just in case it went quiet, and it took a while for him to be able to walk around without those.

It was the sixth month when Cas wished Dean a goodnight first and then added, “I love you, Dean.”

Dean fought the lump in his throat, but Cas instantly pulled him in, his arms wrapped securely around him. He had so much he wanted to say to Cas just to hear his voice again, anything to listen to his voice again, but instead, he kisses Cas’s chest before saying, “I love you, too.”

Days came and went. Sometimes it seemed like Cas was getting better as he talked a little more, but then those days would come when he would just stare off into the stars on their ceiling. Not moving an inch or bothering to fake breath like he liked. Those days the music was a little louder, and Cas held on to Dean a little tighter.

“I don’t want to go back. Please,” Cas pleaded as he stared wide-eyed at the darkness in the corner of their room. As if he was having a nightmare with his eyes wide open. “Please don’t make me…I-I don’t want to be in the dark again!”

Dean took Cas’s face in between his hands to hold his gaze. Only talking when he knew Cas was seeing him. “It’s okay, Cas. I got you. Nobody’s taking you away from me ever again.”

“Promise?” Dean felt Cas’s grip at his shoulder, holding him with desperation.

“Promise.”

That’s how Cas became human.

The nightmares have him waking up screaming some days, but at least Cas knew he was safe from the Empty’s clutches.

He was going to live his human life being loved and taken care of, and Dean was happy to say he felt Cas was doing the same for him.

#i am reposting this fic i wrote in October cause i didn't realize all my suptober fics are kinda gone #and i really liked this one so here you go #i edited just a little but not a lot so sorry about mistakes if beta's wanna beta with me that would be dope #destiel #wormstachewrites #my writing #fic #deancas #destiel fic #dean saves cas from the empty #selective mutism castiel #cas deal with the trauma of the empty #castiel is scared of the dark #dean #cas

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with-love-from-hell · 2 years

Text

Melancholia

{part One}

Fandom: Obey me!

Genre: Angst

Written for F!Mc

WC: ~3k

Music Accompaniment (Monster thru Vide Noir)

CW: brief allusion to past injuries, blood/gore, depression, hopelessness, negative self-talk, jealousy, romantic rivalry, possessiveness/incel type behavior.

>> Though I have a Masters Degree in Psychology, I am not your therapist. If you have experienced any form of depression or suicidal thoughts, and are in need of help, please utilize the Suicide Prevention Lifeline, NIMH helpline, or the SAMHSA helpline. <<

I decided to format parts of this in 3rd person, so hopefully the switching back and fourth doesnt get confusing! I hope you all enjoy this one as much as Vermillion Skies!!! I completely forgot who all asked to be tagged so comment on this one if you'd like me to tag you in future parts!

You can find any future parts by searching the tag #Vermillion Skies or #Melancholia on my blog! I have added it to all parts!

Vermillion Skies Masterlist

“So, where have you been?” Barbatos asked as Simeon hurriedly brushed past him. He was just going out to retrieve some items for tonight's celebratory meal at the castle, given Lucifer had announced his engagement to Mc through text. He wanted to ensure they kept tabs on the former angel, given he would not be welcome at tonight’s feast.

Simeon rolled his eyes, continuing on past the foyer and up to the north-most spire without so much as a “hello.” Barbatos turned to him, narrowing his gaze.

“I believe I asked you a question, Simeon.” he hissed in warning.

Simeon stopped, exaggerating a sigh and rolling his head toward Barbatos. “I just went for a walk. Must you question my every movement?”

“Yes, I must. As long as you continue sneaking out to spy on the young Mistress and Lucifer.” Barbatos stood unblinking, waiting for Simeon’s response.

After a moment of staring each other down, Simeon gritted his teeth, scoffing through them as he turned and continued back up the stairs without another word.

Barbatos clenched his jaw, growing more and more irritated with Simeon by the day. The audacity he had in treating the royals like shit when they took time in nursing him back to full health after his brutal fall from the celestial realm was really pissing him off. It was if he was acting like a spoiled teenager, and not a grown man. It’s not like Barbatos wanted to help him after all he’s done- and he cursed Diavolo’s feelings of guilt that resulted in Simeon now residing in the castle with them. After all Diavolo had done to mend connections between the three realms, the Celestial realm was now holding Devildom at an arms length once more, and Barbatos was concerned they may retaliate against Diavolo because of the Angel’s fall.

Diavolo and Barbatos both had warned him to stay away from Mc since the night of the ball was still an open wound needing to be mended, and he doubted she was ready to face him after all she had uncovered about his obsession with her that night. The demon clearly still had a firm grasp on his fixation with the human woman- and it appeared to be even more unhealthy than before. He would frequently sneak out of the castle and roam around the House of Lamentation or RAD, watching from afar as she and the 7 brothers of sin went about their lives in relative peace. It seemed to Barbatos that Simeon was waiting for a chance to disrupt that peace, and the idea gave him a feeling of unease- especially after he had hurt her and Lucifer so severely with his actions. Barbatos shook his head, exiting the castle to tend to his errands. Perhaps he could deal with Simeon’s attitude later on.

As the castle doors shut behind the butler, Simeon turned his head. Once ensuring Barbatos had left completely before leaping over the Banister and heading toward the spiral stairwell toward the east spire. He often sought comfort in the bedchamber shared by Mc and Lucifer during their trips to the castle, often finding solace for his aching heart in imagining it was he who was with her instead of the first born. Her scent still lingered from the ball four months ago, and he enjoyed breathing it in while admiring the view to the castle gardens.

Simeon quickly jogged up the stairs, wincing every so often at the still healing injuries on to his ribcage. He clutched his abdomen tightly as he stopped outside the first guest suite door. He paused for a moment, his hand lingering on the handle as he recalled all that had happened here. His memory of Lucifer deflowering her, leading to his ultimate downfall replayed in his head like a broken record. What he wouldn’t give to turn back time, to stop himself from ever going up those stairs and listening to Satan and Asmo’s warning.

He shook the thought from his head, pushing through the heavy wooden door. To his surprise, the room was different than it had been the previous times he has sought comfort here. Instead of a stripped bed, there were Gold silken sheets adorning the mattress, with matching shams on the pillows. Black and Red rose petals were scattered atop the sheets, and a trail of them lead into the bathroom adjacent to the bed. Vases of flowers lined the windowsill and either night stand, each containing red, gold, and black roses.

The last thing he noticed was a rose wreath displayed on the wall over the headboard with a small card stuck in the middle. Simeon approached the bed, snatching the card from the wreath before sitting down on the bed. His eyes widened as he realized the card was addressed to Lucifer and Mc. With his heart pounding deafeningly in his ears, he quickly tore the envelope open to reveal an elegant “congratulations on your engagement” card, signed from Barbatos and Diavolo.

Simeon’s nose twitched in annoyance as he shreds the card and tears the wreath from the wall, discarding it in pieces onto the floor. His chest heaved, fighting to get air into his lungs as tears stung his eyes. How cruel the hand of fate was to him, to throw one punch after another while he was already beaten down so low. What could he have possible done to deserve this wicked mockery of his heart?

He snatched a rose from one of the vases before exiting the room and making his way to the bedchamber he was given by Diavolo. He knew it was temporary- that the royals would eventually ask Lucifer to make space for him in the House of Lamentation- but he had no idea when that would take place. They still wouldn’t even let him see her, despite his growing desire to make amends. He assumed it would at least be a century before he would be granted a space near her.

“Simeon?”

A voice from behind startled him, causing him to nearly jump out of his skin. He turned, expecting to again be greeted with an annoyed-looking Barbatos, but instead a vaguely familiar face stood a few stairs below him

The silver-haired sorcerer tilted his head to the side as he approached, gazing up at him with shimmering grey eyes. His stared, taking in the new, but also familiar details of the former angel. All things considered, Simeon looked very similar to how he did before, with the exception of the scars littering his body, the dark-toned attire he was now dawning, and the distant look in his pale-blue eyes. He reached out to his shall, attempting to feel if the entity before him was real or if he was imagining him.

Simeon slapped his hand away in annoyance. “What do you want?”

Solomon pulled back, suddenly concerned about Simeon’s demeanor. “Where have you been for the past 4 weeks? W-we thought you were being held prisoner in the Celestial Realm. I thought that...maybe they had you executed.”

Simeon snorted in response, turning back up the stairs. “Why don’t you ask Barbatos.”

Solomon blinked in confusion. “What? I- wait! Simeon!”

He ran up behind him, catching his hand. He immediately pulled back, feeling the sting of the thorny rose as it bit into his skin. He rubbed his now aching palm, curiously eyeing how tightly Simeon was clutching the flower. Simeon stared angrily at him, not having any interest in pleasantries after what he had just had to experience.

Solomon sighed. “I know you’re probably still hurting, but now that I know you’re here- that you’re alive- I want to continue being friends.”

Simeon’s gaze softened. A friend. Something he felt void of over the past four weeks. He thought for a moment before gesturing for Solomon to follow him. Simeon lead him through the winding castle hallways to his quarters, ushering him into the decently-sized bedroom with a private bath. Indeed it was impressive, and Simeon had to remind himself to be grateful for such a nice bedroom during his stay at the castle, but it didn’t feel how he thought it would. It felt empty; void of any connection. It wasn’t home.

Simeon flopped backwards onto his bed, twisting the flower between his thumb and forefinger. Solomon stood in silence for a moment, trying to think of something to say. To his surprise, Simeon spoke first, breaking the tense silence on his own accord.

“H-how’s Luke?” He swallowed hard, desperate to know how his former brother was doing. “Have you heard from him?”

“No, I haven’t.” Solomon sighed sadly. “I’ve tried reaching out a few times, but Diavolo told me that Michael had been wanting to sever ties with Devildom after your fall.”

Simeon snapped his attention toward Solomon, his eyes wide. “They won’t even let him talk to you?”

He shook his head. “No- at least, I don’t think so. It’s hard to say if he’s avoiding my texts on his own or if he is being forced away from contacting me.”

Simeon turned his head back toward the ceiling, refocusing his eyes on the flower. He worried about Luke- about how he had been doing since his fall. When he saw him in the celestial realm, he had looked so small and broken. He hoped he would someday get the chance to apologize to him for what he said, but he figured he was undeserving of such a thing. As he and Solomon sat in a heavy silence, his thoughts wandered to Mc. He debated internally asking about her for a moment, but he wasn’t sure how Solomon would take it. as if reading his mind, Solomon smiled sadly.

“Mc’s been doing rather well. I’ve been seeing more of her lately around RAD. I think Diavolo has purposefully increased her presence among the other demons in preparation for Lucifer’s proposal.”

Simeon’s expression hardened. He gritted his teeth, fists shaking as the flower bent between his fingers. The pressure put onto the thorns caused small droplets of blood to drip down his wrist. He tried to maintain his composure as best he could, but it was clear to Solomon that he perhaps should have kept his mouth shut. Simeon’s voice came out in a gruff hiss. “Is that so?”

“Uh...” Solomon swallowed, regretting his choice of words. “Yeah...”

Simeon’s throat emitted a low growl as he tried desperately to focus on something else. Solomon shifted his weight awkwardly, not knowing precisely how to manage Simeon’s mood. This was very different from how he was before, and he had a hard time coming to terms with the fact that the former angel had changed so much. Solomon chewed his lip as he tried to think of how to change the demon’s sour mood by shifting the conversation to something different.

“She uh- she has asked me about you, though.”

Simeon felt as if his heart stopped. His grip on the flower released slightly as Solomon’s words replayed in his head. “She...has?”

Solomon hummed in confirmation. “Yeah...A lot, actually. She also thought that maybe you were killed by Michael. The idea of it really upset her.”

Simeon dropped his hand to his chest and turned to look at Solomon. His eyes shimmered in the low light, catching the flicker of the candle. “Really..? D-does she want to see me?”

Solomon paused, nervousness evident on his face. “I think so. But I’m sure it will be a feat doing so without Lucifer’s intervention.”

Simeon smiled. His heart felt full in learning that she had been thinking about him. Had he plagued her thoughts just as she did his? He was ever curious to find out. His feelings of determination refueled at Solomon’s assertion lifted him from his lying position. He eagerly jogged to his bathroom without so much as another word to Solomon. Anxiously, he began digging through the cabinets and setting out shaving supplies, cologne, soaps, and towels.

He needed to be presentable if he was going to see her tonight.

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

“Thank you for inviting us tonight, but I assure you that you didn’t need to go to such lengths.” you murmured, face flushed at the idea that Diavolo would be so eager to see two of his closest friends betrothed.

Diavolo let out a hearty laugh, clasping a hand to your and Lucifer’s backs. “Nonsense! What better reason to celebrate!?”

You give Lucifer an uncertain glance. The last time you had celebrated was the night of Simeon’s fall, and you still had an uneasiness surrounding the Demon Lord’s refusal to even so much as utter the former angel’s name. He seemed to act as if the events never happened, even going so far as to completely change the subject when asked about if Simeon was okay. Lucifer wasn’t much better, insofar as anytime you brought the former angel up, his mood would sour further and he would grow tensely silent- even in the most lively of conversations. Part of you wanted to talk more about what happened- to find out what had corrupted Simeon so far that he would give up everything, and to also air your concerns about the fixation he had with you, but after the initial conversation with the brothers the night he was dragged off by Michael, they refused to discuss it. Part of you wondered if it was because Simeon had been killed, but you weren’t quite certain.

Lucifer squeezed your arm reassuringly and gave a warm smile. “I know you are nervous about all this, but it’s just us tonight. Relax, love.”

You breathed out deeply and gave Diavolo an exaggerated smile “I look forward to whatever you have planned, my Lord.”

Diavolo whooped in excitement and eagerly lead his two friends to the dining hall. Awaiting them was Barbatos and the Little Ds, who were surrounding by trays of extravagant looking foods. You were shocked to see how intricate everything looked, and found yourself wondering how in the hell Barbatos had enough time to produce such a well-thought-out buffet.

“Congratulations, Lucifer and Mc.” He smiled, bowing to both of you. “I hope you will find everything tonight and tomorrow to your liking.”

“Tomorrow?” You whip your head around to look at Lucifer, who grins cheekily at you.

“I have talked with Diavolo and managed to reserve the weekend on his private beach. There’s a nice bungalow there with all the essentials. It will be just the two of us.” He pulled you flush against his hip, relishing in your flabbergasted expression. Things had been reasonable calm- well, as calm as they could be with his brothers- since the night of the ball. While he appreciated the relative peace, he figured something exciting to shake up your normal routine would be good for you. “I figured it would be nice to spend some time away. Wouldn’t you agree?”

Your blinked back your surprise, feeling shocked that he would go through these lengths to profess his love for you- all seemingly spontaneously. Though, you do recall numerous phone calls between getting home from RAD and leaving for the castle, so perhaps he was just quicker than you thought he could be. Either way, you melted at the fact that your lover cared this much about you to throw all caution to the wind to make you happy.

Your heart fluttered as Lucifer held up your hand to his lips, kissing the knuckles near the beautiful ring that now adorned your finger. “I hope this isn’t too much for you all at once, love.”

You shook your head, feeling tears of joy well in the back of your eyes. “No...I’m just so surprised, is all.”

He smiles, tugging your hand gently and guiding you to your seat across from him. Diavolo motions for the Little D’s to serve the trays, and the meal begins. While part of you silently wished the rest of Lucifer’s brothers would have been included on your little get-away, it was nice to finally be alone with Lucifer again. It was something that didn’t happen often given the high-chaos that existed within the HOL, but part of that chaos was comforting. You considered Lucifer’s brothers family, and loved them despite their flaws. Their rambunctiousness made you feel secure, and you were glad that things started seeming as normal as they could get after all that has happened.

The night is spent with laughter, drinking, and enjoyable food as all of you celebrate what was supposed to be one of the happiest moments of your life...

...That is, until a familiar face catches the low light of the dining room, making everyone freeze in their seats for only a moment.

Your eyes widen and your jaw goes slack with shock. He was dressed to the nines, his posture the same as you always remembered. He had always had some of Lucifer’s elegance within him, but there was something casual about the way he moved. You felt your throat squeeze shut and your head begins to spin as he walks closer, a devilish smirk on his face. Lucifer bolts upright, his chair flying backwards as he slammed his hands on the table in rage. You know he is yelling, but to you, it all sounded like white noise. All your ears could train on was the sickly-sweet voice that tickled your eardrums.

Simeon took one of your hands in his, kissing the knuckles gently. He looked up through his dark hair with piercing eyes of cerulean. The smirk still played on his lips as he spoke, but something about him felt...off.

“Good evening, Mc. It’s been too long.”

#vermillion skies #melancholia #obey me #obey me!#shall we date: obey me #obey me swd #obey me fic #obey me lucifer #obey me simeon #obm simeon #obm lucifer #obey me angst #obm angst #angst #fic #obm fic

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dragonmuse · 2 years

Note

Your Ledaverse always made my day better :) so thank you for it. Is there any chance about kitten-update in the future?

(I had an anxious day and I want to write about cats and the people who might as well be cats, so you are finally in luck!)

"Why?" Jim asked with a sigh when they spotted Sweeney in the window sill.

"Gotta take him to the vet after work," Izzy shrugged. "So he's hanging out here. Saves me time going back to the apartment and he gets to envision murdering new birds."

"What if he jumps on me?"

"You'll probably die," Izzy said mildly. "And I can collect on that life insurance policy finally."

"Have fun winning that case in court.” They slid into their chair eyeing the cat. “Something wrong with him?”

“His right eye keeps clogging up and leaking. And it’s no pleasure to wipe off.”

“Really? Is that bad?” Their computer booted up with a whir.

“Probably some kind of infection.” He glanced at his email then opened up the report he’d been working on for an ongoing client on some hiring prospects. "He had something like that when I first got him."

Sweeney was pleased with his new domain, investigating the corners of the room and butting up against all the furniture to mark it with intense thoroughness. Eventually he got to Jim’s boots and sat down, accessing. Jim tensed but their eyes stayed on their screen.

Then Sweeney came around and started eyeing up their desk. Izzy probably could’ve prevented the jump, but he was idly curious about what would happen. The cat landed neatly, not upsetting anything on the surface. He then sat and watched Jim intently, tail lashing back and forth.

“What?” Jim demanded after a few minutes of probably near unblinking yellow eyes.

“If he answers you let me know so I can start your medical leave forms.”

“He’s staring at me!”

“Yeah he does that.”

“Why?”

“Why do you do it?”

Jim’s nose wrinkled up and they stared back at the cat. Sweeney allowed that for some time before getting up and stalking across the desk to put his face as close as he could to Jim’s. The rusty purr started up.

Tentatively, Jim put out their hand. It was so slow that Sweeney didn’t startle, just observed and when it was close enough, butted violently against it.

Jim glanced up at Izzy who managed to look every busy and not at all monitoring the situation. So he was rewarded by the immensely awkward moment of Jim figuring out how to pet a cat. Sweeney helped by running himself against their fingers where he wanted the attention.

He also saw Jim smile fractionally when Sweeney sat his butt down on their keyboard.

“No no, “ Jim scolded. “I need that.”

Sweeney considered that, then lay down across it and started purring harder.

“Send me the Wallas file?” Izzy asked mostly just to be a dick.

“Your fucking cat is in the way.”

“So you’ll tackle a linebacker but the six pound cat defeated you?”

“He’s got more knives then me,” Jim protested.

“Just give his butt a shove, he’ll move.”

Jim hesitated then gently shoved at Sweeney, who shot them a look but did get up and wander around the other half of the desk untill Jim started working again. Then circled back to but his head against their arm.

“You’re a pain in the ass just like your damn owner,” Jim informed Sweeney. “Buzz off.”

Sweeney considered that then hooked his claws into the arm of Jim’s sweater and hiked himself up to investigate while Jim muttered something dire in Spanish. Apparently Jim's shoulder made a good perch, steady and warm because Sweeney stayed there for some time while Jim pretended to grumble about it without ever trying dislodge him.

By the time lunch rolled around, Sweeney had ensconced himself next to Jim on the office chair, head resting on their thigh while Jim carefully rubbed his ear between two of their fingers.

"I brought pastrami today, yes or no?" Izzy offered.

"Yeah, thanks."

Izzy brought his chair to them and Jim opened a new tab.

The Price Is Right came on and they both relaxed into the patter as they ate their sandwiches. They did not discuss their mutual game show habit. It's discovery had been accidental and the consumption happened strictly at meals. Within the first few minutes, they started yelling answers at the contestants. It was extremely cathartic.

Sweeney purred on happily.

#leda house and the kraken verse #hands consulting #attend the tail of sweeney todd

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kpop-stan23-writes · 3 years

Text

old money seonghwa

another case of me reading this post by @warmau and being inspired! btw, if you enjoy brilliantly clever bullet aus you should definitely give skye a follow.

read san's part here and mingi’s part here

group: ateez member: seonghwa genre: fluff? rich boy au word count: 1.5k warnings: a few curse words. the note is a little suggestive pairing: seonghwa x gn!reader

note: the seonghwa i portray here definitely isn't the type of seonghwa who would hover over you while dressed in a three piece suit and you're wearing nothing but one of his vintage watches but i figure hey, maybe he can grow into that seonghwa

heir to a trust fund that has been getting richer by the decade

only knows other trust fund babies

appears cold and standoffish to the general public but that's really only because he doesn't know how to interact with people not in the top 1%

(secretly very awkward)

only wears high end luxury brands and old, vintage watches that have been in his family for generations

gets driven around in a limo with windows tinted black

perfect gentleman

has never once in his life forgotten his manners because they were practically beaten into him since he could walk

everybody in the upper class loves him because they think he's perfect: perfect manners, perfect looks, perfect bank account

and that's okay

it's the only life he's known, after all

until he meets you

it's your friend's birthday, and their rich other half has given you some money to pick out something

you're frugal, having grown up modestly, and knowing your friend's taste, found something they'll adore for a fraction of the money their s/o gave you

you're standing in front of a jewelry store when your friend surprises you and all but drags you into the store

you roll your eyes but follow, listening to them say that you should go ahead and spend the spare change *wink wink*

seonghwa is already inside, searching for a suitable gift for his mother's own birthday

he looks up when he hears a salesperson greet the newcomers

and immediately tells the saleswoman helping him to bag everything you look at

her eyes widen at the request but nods and hurries away to inform the others

you're none the wiser, eyeing the lovely jewelry and ignoring your friend as they try to convince you that their s/o wouldn't mind if you spent the money on yourself, since you've already gotten the birthday gift *wink wink*

your friend does find a little something as a birthday gift to themselves and you follow them to the cashier

three large bags are placed on the counter and you and your friend share a look

"i only purchased this," your friend says

"oh no these are yours," the cashier says, looking directly at you

"but i didn't--i can't--"

"oh they're on seonghwa's tab. he's just over there"

your head whips around just in time to see the retreating back of a tall figure

you look back at the three large bags filled to the brim each with neatly wrapped boxes

"how much..."

your friend nearly chokes when the cashier hands over the bill

you don't dare look yourself, just stare at the empty entry where this seonghwa disppeared

your friend fills you in about the park seonghwa as you walk to your car, arms heavy with the unexpected gifts

with every fact your friend tells you, you feel yourself grow more and more confused

this man has everything he could ever want, and you assume that includes his fill of attractive suitors of the same class

so who are you? just a random stranger who happened to stop by a high-end jewelry store way out of your price range

when your friend's s/o hears about what happened, they're just as shocked as you

because park seonghwa spending oodles on a perfect stranger? what has the world come to

you try going back to the jewelry store to return the jewels, but they tell you they can't process a refund without the original card

so you convince your friend's s/o to give you the address to seonghwa's penthouse apartment, because now you get a chance to demand an explanation as well

stepping out of the cab with your arms full of bags with the expensive name splashed across in big bold letters makes you feel sorely out of place

because wow what a building

the lobby, while small, has tall ceilings, and the marble floors make every step you take echo

the woman behind the counter is in a simple black dress that still looks like it costs more than several months of your salary put together and you fidget nervously in your ripped jeans and scuffed shoes

the woman looks down her nose at you even though you're standing over her and for a moment you're at a loss as to what to say

the longer you stand there, though, the more foolish you feel, and you hate feeling foolish, so quickly you're just mad you're in this situation to begin with

you drop the heavy bags on the smooth wood counter and say "let seonghwa know i'm here to return the jewelry"

"and what's your name?"

"he'll know who it is"

she looks like she's ready to argue, but you just turn your back to her, leaning against the counter and tapping your foot obnoxiously loudly in a way that makes it obvious you won't leave until she's given seonghwa your message

she huffs but picks up the phone

she relays your message in a tone that clearly says she doesn't believe a word you say and you have to fight a smirk when you notice her eyes widen in surprise at seonghwa's response

she clears her throat and passes you a key board and tells you to use it to get to the penthouse floor

you take the card and gather your bags and march toward the elevators

frustration is still coursing through your veins when the elevator doors open directly into seonghwa's living room, so you don't notice that wow the pictures you've found online of park seonghwa don't do him justice

instead you march fearlessly up to him, drop the bags on the large leather sofa, and cross your arms over your chest

"what exactly are these for?"

you are prepared for all sorts of reactions, ranging from disbelief to anger

what you weren't expecting was the ever-cool, every-confident park seonghwa to burn holes in his slippers, rub the back of his neck uncertainly, and say questioningly, "they're for you?"

you're so shocked at his response that you're rendered dumb

this is not the park seonghwa you were expecting

he's looking at you now, his dark eyes wide (you know the look he gets, the galaxy-filled boba-eyed look) and look as innocent as a calf

any anger you had at being put in this ridiculous situation leaves you immediately and now you're feeling as awkward and uncertain as he appears to be

you clear your throat and gesture to the bags and explain that no one could possibly wear that many jewels in one lifetime

he seems confused and you suddenly wonder if he's ever seen the women in his life wear a piece of jewelry more than once

"look it's a really sweet and kind gesture," you say quickly, "but it's simply too much. can you please return these?"

seonghwa just nods and you're left standing in front of each other awkwardly

you finally bow and scurry away, but are then left hanging out to dry because where the hell is that elevator and why didn't it just stay on the top floor when you got out??

your friend and their s/o pesters you about how it went but you just wave them off because you're guessing you've seen a side of park seonghwa no one has ever seen before and it feels strangely intimate and you feel strangely protective

you keep an eye out for him in the news, now, though, and can't get over how put-together and suave he looks on camera

it makes you almost wish you could get to know the seonghwa you saw

but you're from completely different worlds, shop at completely different stores, and after all he only spotted you out of chance

what you aren't expecting is to see him at your friend's birthday party just two weeks later

because their s/o is hosting the event, it's black tie required, and with your friend's help you clean up well

you're also there before the other guests, helping the s/o as a second host

so as you're making the rounds of the guests, you stop in your tracks when you spot park seonghwa

damn he looks really good in a suit

and for a moment you see the cool, distant park seonghwa in the flesh

but as soon as your eyes meet, his gaze warms and is that a hint of a blush on his cheeks?

you straighten your shoulders because dammit you will be a good second host and greet all the guests like you're supposed to

you finally make your way to seonghwa and thank him for attending your friend's birthday party

"i never caught your name," he says before you can run away

you stop in your tracks and just stare at him now because he really bought those things without even knowing your name? seeing him at your friend's party you thought maybe he recognized you through their s/o but he really couldn’t have picked you out of a lineup?

he shifts under your unblinking gaze and you quickly clear your throat and introduce yourself properly

he smiles a little and you swear you hear him say "pretty. it suits you" under his breath

but you heard wrong, right?

you finally manage to flee when you hear your name called and you quickly bow before scurrying away

seonghwa is left in a daze the rest of the evening, your pretty name going around and around in his head

the end?

#ateez #seonghwa #ateez scenarios #seonghwa scenarios #ateez fluff #seonghwa fluff #maybe? idk what fluff is #rich boy au #rich boy!seonghwa #the money series

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herradhighpriestess · 3 years

Text

Love Grows in the Valley of Death

Chapter Nine: The $64,000 Question

As Dr. Wakefield began rummaging through the ugly yellow folders in the rows of tall, grey steel cabinets, each containing four drawers of files, across town in Helena’s kitchen, Tig kept his grip tight enough that his touch brushed into near painful as his eyes bored into her, “please,” he finally growled, his tone reeking of outright, face down begging.

Helena pressed her dry lips together and tried to control her breathing, distracted by his ironclad hold, making it difficult to form words. “Can you pretend you didn’t hear the message or see the flowers?” she managed to stammer.

Tig shook his head before she lapsed into silence. He lifted a hand to pinch her chin with his fingertips as he dropped his face until their lips were a breath apart. “Talk to me,” he demanded on a whisper.

In the space before Helena spoke, her mind whirred with the intensity of the turbine engine of a jumbo jet. “What do I say? Will he end up hurting me?” Helena thought before she stopped being able to think when Tig pressed his lips to hers. His kiss turned urgent, and she felt herself left breathless when he lifted his lips, foreign patience shrouded him as he gave her time to think.

Helena blinked and found herself unable to look away from Tig’s probing, penetrative stare. The press of his body made Helena fight competing lust-fueled thoughts as she cleared her throat. “How do I fit in?” she finally asked.

Tig frowned, unsure of what she was asking, and Helena continued before he could speak.

“How do I fit into your world?” Helena asked as her mind once again conjured the seemingly inerasable image of the skinny, glossy-lipped, spike-heeled, gonorrhea ridden, parasitic whore trying to play with Tig’s stick.

Tig dropped a strong hand to encircle Helena’s wrist, the tips of his middle finger and thumb overlapping. He lifted her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips to the center of her palm. Tig squeezed her smaller hand, free from scars, lines and nails gaudily encrusted with rhinestones before he spoke.

“I should be askin’ you the same thing baby,” Tig murmured on a heady rasp, his exhale a hot tease against her skin.

Helena drowned in the electrical sensation that was ignited the nanosecond he pressed his lips to her palm, the wiry strands of his facial hair, near-singeing where it brushed against her skin.

Helena blinked hard as she tried to collect her flurrying thoughts, she was suddenly a snow globe that had been violently shaken and left to find herself again amongst the falling chunks of artificial snow. “How does he fit in?” Helena asked herself. “How do I tell him that he scares the nightmares away, that since the moment I met him, he filled a space inside me that was empty?” Helena asked herself as her face turned a brilliant, fuchsia hue as she let her mind wander down a sexual rabbit hole.

“Because you’re different,” Helena finally managed and added in a quick stammer as Tig’s hands slid down to rest on her hips. “You’re not like the rest of them.”

Tig squeezed her taut hips, massaging the supple flesh through her jeans. “Who do ya think I am doll?” he asked on a heady tease.

“I think you’re dangerous,” Helena whispered on an exhale as Tig tugged her closer and slid one hand up the length of her spine, his fingertips brushing each of the protruding vertebrate until he could tangle his fingers in the silken fall of her hair.

Tig couldn’t even pretend to deny the veracity of her words as he tugged on her hair until her neck pulled taut and Helena met his unblinking eyes. “Not towards you in any way baby, nothing bad will ever happen to you again,” Tig rasped and crushed his lips to hers, stealing her breath with the intensity of his want.

Helena was forced to surrender in Tig’s embrace, his hands everywhere at once while holding her immobile.

Tig’s strength was equal parts frightening and protective, his physical intimidation was not lost on himself as he settled closer to her.

“I’m not the kind of man you think I am,” Tig whispered as he pressed his lips against her ear and smoothed one hand down her side and cupped a hand under the curve of her bottom.

“What do you think I have wrong?” Helena asked on a low murmur.

“That I’m some kind of monster, inhuman,” Tig growled in a low tone.

“I don’t think you’re a monster,” Helena said softly and lifted a hand to cup his jaw. Tig captured her wrist, keeping her palm pressed hard to his face. Helena shivered as she felt the stubble against her warm palm and could feel his words vibrate against her skin as he spoke.

Helena almost didn’t hear him add in a strangled whisper against her flushed skin over the thundering beat of her heart. “Please don’t reject me,” Tig growled.

As Tig and Helena’s red blood cells bloated and their pupils pulsed with the increase of their collective and rising blood pressure, across town in the Human Resources office at St. Thomas’s, Dr. Andrew Wakefield pulled open a metal drawer and pawed through the folders until he found Helena’s personnel file.

Andrew began to whistle a lively show tune as he opened Helena’s folder on top of the HR secretary’s desk.

For a second Andrew looked like a reptile, so much so, one would’ve expected a forked tongue to slip out from his thin lips and wet his twisted smile as he read her name aloud from the sunny yellow folder tab.

Onassis, Helena.

Andrew skimmed her contact information, most of which he already knew, before he fished his phone out of his pocket and took pictures of each page in the manila file folder.

Andrew replaced the file and easily slipped out of St. Thomas’s before he casually made his way back to his hotel room.

As the prominent and adored Floridian doctor returned to his hotel room, back in Helena’s kitchen, the air had become charged, and Tig found himself closer and closer to losing the mere semblance of control he possessed.

Helena found her voice as Tig began to tug open the top button of her jeans and deftly lowered her zipper. “No, I, I can’t,” Helena began before she trailed off into silence and desperately tried to avoid his gaze.

“Ya can’t or ya won’t?” Tig hissed, his exhale fell from lungs surrounding his heart that began to gallop in its opaque pericardial sac.

Tig never stopped his touch even as Helena unsuccessfully pushed at his hands and incoherently protested. “I can’t right now,” Helena finally spit, her anxiety had melted into vulnerable defensiveness.

Tig tried to lessen his hold but failed as he took a deep breath in through his nose as he softened his tone but fell flat in an effort to blunt the crassness of his words. “I’ll do anything you tell me, just let me fuck you baby,” he grumbled, his words delivered under the growing roughness of his touch.

Helena couldn’t help but laugh nervously once she caught her breath and dropped her hands to close around Tig’s wrists, simultaneously brilliantly blushing at his ragged admission. She shook her head, “I should probably tell you something,” Helena lamely managed.

“Tell me,” Tig said on a rasp as he buried his face in the curve of her neck, his exhale causing her to break out in goosebumps.

Helena danced her fingertips up his forearms and along the curve of his triceps as she tried to formulate a coherent sentence. “I need some air,” she said in more of a shrill tone than she would’ve liked.

“Could we go outside for a few minutes?” Helena asked on a breathy moan as Tig slid a hand to cup over the clothed junction of her thighs, shuddering with the urgent want to sheath himself in her wet center.

“Just a few,” Tig finally conceded on a frustrated groan.

Helena looked past his shoulder as she raised her hands to his chest, feeling his heart pounding under her palm. Tig let her slide along the edge of the counter away from him as he drummed his fingertips on the outside of his thighs.

“Don’t fuck this up,” Tig told himself as he followed Helena outside.

They each settled into the new turquoise chairs that Helena had picked up at the hardware store, the southwestern round chair pads were still stiff with newness but stood out brightly on the sagging porch.

Helena tapped the arm of the metal chair. “I bought these the day I moved here.”

Tig squeezed the cold arms of the matching chair, “from Harvest’s?” he asked, not sure how to have a casual conversation with her when all he wanted to do was fuck her until he forgot how to spell his name.

Helena nodded, “that place is great, I think I’ve been there more than the grocery store.”

Tig nodded and fumbled for his freshly opened pack of cigarettes out of his pants pocket as Helena directed her gaze out at the overgrown yard that needed countless full weekends to clean up and who even knew how many trips back and forth to Harvest’s for mulch, weed killer and topsoil.

Tig was grateful to whoever was on the other end of the incoming call that made his phone buzz in his other pocket.

Helena moved her eyes off a trio of overgrown Meyer lemon trees, their wickedly sharp thorns ready and waiting to rip the flesh from anyone who dared supplant them, to look over at Tig as he frowned down at the caller ID.

“I gotta get this,” Tig murmured, suppressing the anger from his tone that he was being pulled away from her. Helena nodded and watched Tig disappear into the house before he answered the call.

“Yeah,” Tig grumbled tersely as he picked up Clay’s incoming call.

“Where are you?” Clay barked, irritated that Tig had been ignoring a laundry list of calls and messages.

“I’m just working on some things,” Tig benignly answered.

“Well brother, we’re meeting with the Irish in a few hours. Can you break away from your ‘things’ for a while?” Clay added with a chuckle, recalling Gemma telling him what she’d seen in the grocery store aisle with toiletries and over-the-counter products.

Tig walked over to the kitchen counter and stared down at the chipped tiles on the edge and ivory-colored grout lines as he tried to come up with an excuse to not have to leave.

As Tig was trying to come up with an excuse that would hold water to skip out on Club business, Helena’s phone chimed from where she had left it by the stainless-steel toaster.

Tig glanced over his shoulder and could see Helena still sitting on the rear porch, staring out at the yard just as she had been when Clay called.

“Tig? You there?” Clay asked when Tig fell deathly silent as he picked up her phone and glanced at the message preview that popped up on the phone.

“I gotta call you back,” Tig muttered abruptly and hung up on Clay.

Tig clenched his teeth until his jaw popped as he read the first sentence of the incoming text message. Helena’s locked screen kept him from reading any further than the three words displayed on the smudged screen.

“Remember this baby?” Tig read aloud before another message arrived. Tig squinted down at the small square photo that was too tiny to discern much detail.

Helena flinched when Tig stomped back outside and held her phone out towards her, the screen facing her.

“What is this?”

Helena’s face first drained of color as she swallowed hard and was then replaced with a wave of defensiveness as she reached out for her phone. Tig held it just out of her reach, “tell me who sent this.”

Helena blew out a low breath before she moved her eyes from the rectangular screen to settle on his face. “Fine,” she finally said in a heated tone as she began to flush. “Give me the phone first,” she demanded as she held her hand out.

Tig pressed his lips together. Feeling his salivary glands leak and a trill of excitement stimulate his nervous system as Helena’s indignation at his invasive encroachment into secrets she wanted to keep hermitically sealed in a titanium coffin, buried under three million miles of earth.

Tig’s watched her eyes grow wide as her irises practically vibrated in their sockets. In the center of his brain, his pituitary gland ejaculated hormones that further fanned his lust as her pink tongue darted out to moisten her lips.

Helena felt the tiniest lessening of the electrical heaviness in the air when Tig gently placed her phone in her waiting palm. They both felt a tingling jolt as his fingertips brushed against her open hand.

Tig sat back down on the firm chair pad and watched Helena unlock her phone and read the messages. He watched her eyes move back and forth over the words before she began to speak.

Helena spoke without meeting his eyes, never taking her gaze off her phone clutched in her hand. Her voice grew in strength as she gripped her phone so tight that the skin over her knuckles turned white as it was pulled taut.

“Before I started in the neurology ward, I heard all sorts of rumors about several of the physician department heads and a game they played.”

Tig waited as she gathered her words, willing to give her eons to continue, as long as she would speak only to him.

“Dr. Gatez, with a Z, was the one who started everything. He paid off a guy in maintenance to put cameras in the bathrooms, changing rooms and staff lounges. They had competitions for best pictures and videos recorded. They set aside one department head meeting a month to talk about their other conquests,” Helena said before closing her eyes and resumed leaning back in the metal chair.

Tig didn’t have to wait long for her to continue.

“Besides their surveillance fun, they would often use the footage to blackmail people they found in compromising footage or threaten to release still frames. Sometimes they’d try to leverage more with their threats,” Helena said as she looked down at her phone and reread the simple message and tapped on the photo, enlarging it.

Helena was transported back to the events she had moved three-thousand miles away from as she stared at the screen.

Helena turned the phone’s face towards Tig, she cleared her throat as his eyes fell on an image of her emerging from the employee shower. She positioned her fingers to cover most of her nudity.

“After I was sent this and a few that were similar, there was another message that said I could find out how to keep that picture and more from being circulated to the entire staff.”

Helena settled back in the chair and turned the screen back towards herself as she struggled for a moment to find her words.

“One of the doctors told me that all I had to do was perform a few free favors and I’d get the originals.”

Tig felt himself hit with a simultaneous tsunami on each hemisphere of his brain as he battled vastly different thoughts about what Helena described. Tig was both compelled to comfort her while at the same time he felt a coiled charge of excitement in his body as he wanted to rip her phone out of her hand to see the uncensored image of her wet nakedness.

“He tried to take payment when I said no,” Helena started to say before her voice broke and she sniffed hard. “There was a security guard close by,” she added and pinched the bridge of her nose as a headache decided to start brewing behind her eyes.

Tig finally spoke when Helena didn’t seem like she was going to offer more. “What happened after that?”

“I filed a report with the hospital and police department but of all places the cameras weren’t working was the parking garage and the security guard never got a good look at him. It became my word against the esteemed Dr. Wakefield and Gatez,” Helena spit.

Helena blew out a low breath. “The threats quickly escalated, and I tapped into my trust and left everything behind. I didn’t even put them down as a job reference for St. Thomas.”

Tig left his chair and dropped to a knee in front of her. If someone had been watching, without words, it would appear he was proposing. “Let me in,” Tig breathed as he pulled her phone from her tight grip and set it aside. He gathered her hands and smoothed his fingers over her soft, unscarred skin.

Tig pressed his lips to her palms before he buried his face in her lap. “Please let me in,” he begged.

Helena stared down at Tig’s head, his face pressed against the tops of her thighs, his ragged exhales were hot through the denim.

Tig held himself statue still on the outside while inside his chest cavity, his heart leapfrogged itself with its rapid beating.

Helena lifted her hands and slid her fingertips through his hair, the strands tickling her palms.

Tig closed his eyes and smoothed his hands up and down the outside of Helena’s thighs as she rubbed her fingertips in slow circles on his scalp.

As Helena and Tig remained in silence, across town at the Clubhouse, Piney was eating a second sandwich, the new anti-nausea medication had made his appetite return with a vengeance.

Inside his body, the cancerous cells continued to divide. Piney’s discomfort was trapped behind a narcotic wall that was difficult to maintain, the breakthrough pain made his spine practically bow with its intensity.

Piney lowered the volume on the game show rerun as Cassie brought him an extra slice of pie she had brought from St. Thomas’s cafeteria. As the two of them talked about bland topics and then shouted out their answers to the game show trivia, back on Helena’s rear porch, Tig squeezed her hips until she hissed from the pressure as her whispered words fell around his ears.

“Can I trust you, Tig?” Helena asked. He began to nod his head the nanosecond she was done speaking.

“I need something, “ Helena began and trailed off as she lost confidence in her words.

“Talk to me,” Tig demanded as he snapped his head up to find her eyes on him.

“I want,” Helena began before she paused briefly. “I need to know I mean something to you, I’m not disposable.”

Tig rose to his feet and pulled her up and out of the blue wrought-iron chair to join him. “You’re everything,” he growled and crushed his lips to hers.

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reyescarlos · 4 years

Text

you and i || a buddie fic

for my yeehaw darling @buckleys-diaz who has a heart bigger than her home state. i’m wishing you the absolute happiest of birthdays! forever grateful the fates decided to let our paths cross. ily 💕💜

word count 4.7k || read on ao3

We can meet in the middle Bodies and souls collide Dance in the moonlight When all the stars align

There are few people Eddie would drive six hours for on a Friday afternoon but with one goal in mind, for one person in particular, the journey— he knew— would be well worth it.

Putting a label on what Buck was to him now was a difficult thing to do. They were exes. They were friends. They were co-workers. But they were so much more than all of that combined. Those titles did not begin to tell the story of what Buck meant to him. But finding the words, let alone saying them out loud was just as futile a task as trying to parse through what he felt each time Buck so much as said his name.

Eddie’s feelings were many and varied and he wasn’t particularly skilled at speaking his mind. But what he could do was show a person what they meant to him and today would be no different.

Six hours behind the wheel was exhausting but it was worth each and every second to see the look on Buck’s as he pulled up to Mysterious Galaxy Bookstore in San Diego.

Buck had stared for a moment up at the shop. A line was starting to form

“You drove us six hours to go to a bookstore? There are so many great ones back in L.A.,” he said, confusion coloring his tone and features.

“True but none of them are doing an in-store signing with Andy Weir today, now are they?”

Eddie had thought Buck short-circuited with the way the man held his breath, jaw slacked, and eyes unblinking for a moment.

“No. No way,” he finally said, tearing his eyes away from Eddie and swiveling back to look at the store. He’d craned his neck a bit closer to the glass, taking notice of the poster in the store's window advertising for Andy’s latest novel.

“Eddie,” he breathed, shaking his head. “Are you serious right now?”

“Like you said, I drove us six hours. Do you think I’m kidding?” he laughed. “Come on, let’s grab a spot in line before it turns into a complete zoo out here.”

Eddie had gone into the backseat and retrieved an item he’d hidden back there this whole time. He came around to where Buck anxiously stood on the sidewalk

“I wish I had my—,” he started to say but stopped short as Eddie held out Buck’s personal copy of The Martian.

“I may or may not have nicked it off you the last time I was over at your place.”

Buck took the book from him and smiled so brightly it made Eddie’s heart ache. To be able to make Buck smile like that even after they called it quits felt like a gift.

“Unbelievable, thank you,” he remarked holding on closely to the well-loved book.

Eddie knew how much he loved it, so much so that Buck had made it a goal to get Eddie hooked on the novel. Buck was a huge fan of Weir’s but had unfortunately missed out on his signing back home due to work. Eddie had happened across an ad online promoting Andy’s new book and had clicked around to see more about it, the author’s name etched into his mind thanks to Buck’s repeated mentions.

Watching Buck get the chance to meet his favorite author and chat briefly was something he would never forget and Eddie knew for a fact that Buck never would either. Eddie had stood off to the side, taking pictures of Buck with the author, practically beaming with Buck as the writer expressed how happy he was to see Buck’s well-loved copy of his first novel. Buck’s copy had tabs and annotations in the margins. There was no doubt that he’d read the novel repeatedly.

As they leave the store now, Buck’s happiness just seems to roll off of him in waves, the edges of it reaching Eddie until he’s consumed entirely by it as well. It’s something to relish in.

In the car Buck still clings to his books as if they're a lifeline of some kind. Eddie looks at him for a moment, a perfect snapshot of the man he loves reveling in the high of a perfect day before he starts the engine and merges with traffic.

“I still can’t believe you did this for me, Eds,” Buck reveres, staring down at the books in his hands. He opens up to the title page once more where his name is scribbled alongside Andy’s message and signature.

Eddie pulls his gaze back to the road, Buck’s enthusiasm rubbing off on him as he smiles to himself. It does something to his heart to see Buck this happy, moreover to know that he’s the cause of that joy. It’s a comfort to know he’s capable of such a thing.

“I know how bummed you were when you missed his L.A. stop and he’s your favorite. It only seemed right. It was nothing.”

“Wrong. So wrong, Eddie. It’s everything. Thank you,” Buck says as they pull up to a red light.

Eddie takes advantage of this short reprieve to look over at Buck again. He feels that all too familiar twinge in his heart that he always does when he stares into Buck’s eyes for even a second too long. All those feelings he tries so hard to stifle live so close to the surface. Eddie feels like it’s a full-time job trying to keep them at bay. Times like this really put him to the test, especially when he can see something mirrored back in Buck’s expression. If he was a braver man, he would ask but fear is a worthy adversary and Eddie is left with no other option than to concede defeat.

He offers up a small smile before pressing his foot against the pedal the moment the light turns green. It serves as the perfect break to the trance.

“I will get you to read The Martian one day, if it’s the last thing I do,” Buck jokingly warns.

“I’ll watch the movie and we’ll call it even.”

Buck scoffs and falls silent again. Eddie can hear the rustling of the book’s pages as Buck combs through it once again. The ease to which they’ve always been able to move around each other is something that Eddie will never grow tired of. Considering the fact that they’re no longer together, he’s even more grateful for the fact that they’ve been able to maintain a close relationship.

Far too often Eddie is wracked with guilt and doubt over his decision to end things. They hadn’t even been official long before he broke them up. He had surrendered to fear and succumbed to the voice in the back of his head that told him he wasn’t good enough, that he would inevitably find a way to screw things up. He felt Buck deserved better and had decided to set him free.

It’s a moment in his life that Eddie revisits constantly. He remembers with stunning clarity the way Buck’s face had fallen when Eddie had him over that night to talk. Eddie had been selfishly glad when Buck said he wanted to remain friends. He wasn’t sure how that would work or if it was simply Buck trying to ease the tension but it’s been a few months now and they’re still so tight-knit. Eddie knows how lucky he is for it, that so many people in his shoes would simply just miss out on maintaining any connection to their ex.

Eddie never wants to lose this. He isn’t sure how he’d be expected to carry on if he didn’t, at the very least, have Buck in his corner as a friend. But he also knows that he will always long for what they had. It might not have lasted long but the feelings they both had were quite real and serious. They’d had a solid friendship before getting together, one built on love and trust. It made dating seem like the only logical next step but Eddie had retreated.

He tries not to think about that now. Dwelling on his missteps never leads to anything good. He opts to focus instead on the fact that he’s still able to bring a smile to Buck’s face and do something special for him.

Eddie has only been driving for about thirty minutes when smoke begins to billow from the hood. He turns on his indicator, pulling over onto the side of the road.

“Just great,” he mutters as he kills the engine, unbuckling his seatbelt and exiting the car. He heads to the front and unlatches the hood, fanning the smoke away from his face as he peers inside.

Buck is right beside him seconds later, trying to gauge what’s the matter. Eddie leaves him to investigate; between the two of them, Buck is the more mechanical one. Eddie watches with furrowed brows as Buck pokes around for a bit, tracking a bead of sweat as it races down the side of Buck’s neck and disappears into the collar of his shirt. Eddie quickly shifts his focus. The priority right now is tending to his vehicle, not getting distracted by his ex. It’s far easier said than done as Buck stands back and wipes at his brow. He looks particularly rugged, his fitted t-shirt hugging his frame just so. It’s enough to make Eddie’s throat feel dry.

Eddie reins himself back in, all too glad when Buck speaks so that his thoughts can get back on track.

“I’m sorry, Eddie. I think we’re going to have to call this one in,” he says with a sigh. “Looks to me like you’ve got a cracked cylinder.”

Eddie purses his lips but nods, taking his phone out of his pocket and pulling up the number for a local car service. He explains the situation they’re in to the man on the phone who assures him that he’ll get a tow truck out to their location as quickly as possible.

“And now we wait,” he says to Buck, heading back to the car to take a seat.

Buck is grinning as he settles back into the passenger seat.

“And I know just how you can kill the time,” he replies, holding up his tattered copy of The Martian.

Eddie jokingly groans but takes the novel from a smug Buck before turning to the first page. The opening line couldn’t be more accurate to how he feels about being stuck on the side of the road with an ex-boyfriend he’s still very much in love with:

I’m pretty much fucked.

He steals a glance at Buck but quickly sees there’s no reason for him to try and be covert. Buck is already engulfed by his new book. Eddie can’t help but to silently observe him, taking notice of the way Buck’s whole demeanor changes when he’s relaxed and zeroed in on the task of reading. It’s such a familiar expression and once again, it makes Eddie feel wistful for their relationship. How many nights had he spent in bed beside Buck, nose in a book swearing that he just needed to finish off a chapter before turning off the light? It’d always been endearing to see Buck in his element, soaking up as much from a story as he could before calling it a night.

If Eddie could go back in time and stop himself from ending things, he would in a heartbeat. At times Eddie would get the crazy idea in mind that he should just tell Buck he’s made a mistake, that he wants for them to try again. But to do so would be to disrupt the balance they’ve been able to find and maintain for themselves.

He can’t risk that nor would he place Buck in the awkward position of being put on the spot. This was Eddie’s error and he has already resigned himself to the fact that he’ll just have to live with the consequences of his decision.

They sit in a silence so comfortable for so long that Eddie has made significant progress on the book by the time their tow truck arrives. Buck’s copy is so dog-eared and well-worn that Eddie has to use a random receipt from the center console to mark his place. Buck reluctantly sets aside his new book, careful to put it back inside of the bookstore bag to keep it protected before hopping out.

Eddie climbs out of the car yet again too and greets the mechanic. The man gives the engine the onceover and confirms Buck’s theory.

“Can you fix it here?” Eddie asks. They’re hours behind schedule and the last thing he wants is to be delayed any further by having to go down to the shop.

“No, ‘fraid not. I can take it in overnight and let you know in the morning or early afternoon.”

Eddie blows out a breath and runs an impatient hand through his hair but Buck doesn’t seem bothered by the sudden change in plans at all.

“Is there somewhere nearby that we can crash for the night?” he asks.

“There’s a motel just up the road there. I can drop you fellas off and give you a call tomorrow when your car’s ready,” the mechanic says.

“Works for me,” Buck replies with an indifferent shrug. “I like a good adventure.”

That was one of the things Eddie had grown to love most about Buck. His optimism could almost be blind but it meant he chose to see good in people and situations. That was a trait Eddie would always respect. Looking on the bright side wasn’t always easy for him but with Buck, he had learned how to let the light in. That kind of thing left its mark on a person and Eddie’s life hasn’t been the same, in the best ways imaginable. But holding on to good wasn’t a skill Eddie had ever truly mastered, even when he had someone so perfect for him right within his grasp.

He fights the thought from lingering now. He’s spent the last few months falling down that spiral and it’s yet to assuage him of the regret he feels.

Instead, he follows after Buck to the car to grab their stuff before piling into the cab of the tow truck.

This evening isn’t going at all like Eddie envisioned; the last thing he pictured for either of them was being smushed in the front section of a tow truck or having to stay overnight in San Diego. But life, he knew better than most, seldom went according to plan. What mattered most was that this day was still special for Buck and wasn’t overshadowed by the sudden turn of events.

The mechanic drops them off at the motel and Eddie trades contact information with him before thanking him and parting ways.

“Do you think we should have called ahead to make sure they even have rooms available?” Eddie asks, suddenly realizing the gamble they are taking.

“Maybe but I’m sure it’ll be fine. If they don’t have any vacancies, we can always try somewhere else. Come on.”

Eddie nods and follows Buck inside. As far as off the road motels go, this one isn’t too sketchy which comes as a mild comfort to Eddie. Their night is already feeling like some kind of parody.

He marches to the receptionist counter where a middle aged man is writing something down on a notepad.

“Hi, excuse me,” Eddie greets. “Would you happen to have any rooms available for the night?”

The man looks up and glances between Eddie and Buck. “For you two?”

Eddie stands up a bit straighter. “Yes.”

“Lucky you; I’ve only got one free one left. Everything else is booked up solid.”

Eddie sighs in relief. “That’s perfect. We’ll take it.”

He hands over his card for the man to charge before taking it back and the key he hands to him for their room. Eddie leads them both over to their room, toying with the motel keychain attached. It’s silly to feel nervous when he’s spent so much time around Buck but he hadn’t been planning on spending the night with him like this. The plan was to just drive straight through, maybe trade off if he felt tired and let Buck bring them back to Los Angeles. Nowhere on the itinerary did he expect to be sharing a room with his ex.

Eddie opens the door to the room once they arrive and falters for a moment. He retraces his conversation with the receptionist, suddenly realizing he hadn’t been clear in seeing if the room had two beds. When the man asked if they would be sharing the space, Eddie realizes now that the clerk hadn’t been prying or being standoffish. He must have assumed that Eddie and Buck were a couple who wouldn’t have any qualms about sharing a bed.

He steps further inside and drops his bag down on the floor at the foot of the bed, staring at it as if it’s something he has to decode. He then looks to Buck to see if he’s just as taken aback as he is but he can’t detect any unease or discomfort at the situation they’ve now found themselves in. They haven’t shared a bed in months, not since they broke up and Eddie doesn’t know if this is pushing boundaries.

“I can take the floor or see if they can bring up a cot or something.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. I don’t bite you know,” Buck teases. But Eddie’s face heats up thinking about all the times that wasn’t true when they both got carried away in bed. Buck must realize the inaccuracy same as Eddie because he laughs and says, “Well, not always, anyway.”

Eddie laughs in spite of himself and shakes his head, stuffing his hands into the front pockets of his jeans.

“Alright. If you’re cool with it then I am, too.”

Buck smiles reassuringly at him before setting his duffle bag on top of the bed and scrounging around for a change of clothes. He manages to find something and Eddie lets out a breath when Buck takes his findings to the bathroom to get changed for bed.

This is going to be a long night, Eddie thinks to himself as he follows Buck’s lead and grabs a change of clothes for himself. He makes quick work of swapping out his jeans for pajama bottoms. As he’s tugging down his new t-shirt he hears a small creaking sound of a door to the left of him.

“Sorry,” Buck mumbles where he stands frozen in the doorway of the bathroom, pulling his gaze away from Eddie’s frame.

Eddie stays in place, rooted to his spot as well. “You’re fine.”

He wonders at how long Buck may have been standing there but he casts the thought aside. It’s ridiculous to think that he could have still have that effect on Buck. What they had was over and done with. It didn’t matter if his heart still wanted Buck, if every part of him still longed for his ex. He wouldn’t drag Buck back when they already agreed to move forward.

Buck taps his fingers soundlessly against his thigh before he joins Eddie in the main space of the room.

There’s an odd energy between them now, living in the silence that cloaks the room. Eddie can feel the weight of it pressing against him but he has to wonder if it’s just all in his head.

“We should get some sleep. With luck we’ll be able to get out of here early,” he says with a small yawn.

It’s been an extremely long day of driving all the way up from L.A. and the thought of closing his eyes and getting decent rest sounds appealing. But once again he looks at the bed they’re going to have to share and suddenly his fatigue dissipates.

“You’re right, yeah.”

Buck braves climbing into bed first, taking a spot on the left side of the mattress, his usual place in bed. Just the familiarity of that makes Eddie feel nervous but to dawdle would be to raise suspicion and the last thing he wants is to make Buck feel as if he can’t be around him.

Eddie shuts off the bedside light as he lays on top the covers. His mind is a storm sending his thoughts crashing around his head. It’s all so loud and disorienting, so much so that all Eddie can do is stare up ahead at the darkened ceiling above him and wait for it to pass.

He doesn't hear the usual soft sounds of Buck’s breathing, the telltale sign that sleep has found him. He knows what this means, that beside him Buck is wide awake too. He wonders about what Buck could be thinking of. A part of him— all of him, truthfully— is hoping that Buck is awake now for the same reasons he is. There’s so much on the tip of his tongue that’s been trying to come out. But for months now, Eddie has been able to hide it safely behind friendly smiles. It’s been taking its toll though and now, laying beside Buck, being close enough to feel the warmth of his body, it feels like he only has seconds left on the clock before this little game is over.

“Are you awake?” Buck asks.

Eddie sits up a bit and turns on the lamp before shifting to see Buck.

“What’s on your mind?”

Buck turns his head to look at him. All Eddie can do is stare silently, studying the features he’s long since grown accustomed to. It’s how he knows there’s a hesitancy in Buck’s eyes, that there’s something he wants to say but isn’t sure how to.

“I’m just thinking about how awesome today has been.”

“You mean car trouble and impromptu overnight stay aside?”

Buck laughs softly. “Maybe even more because of it. I actually wasn’t ready to go back home yet. I really like having this time with you.”

Buck holds his gaze and Eddie’s traitorous heart beats faster at the implication of these words.

“Yeah, me too. I wanted today to be special. You deserve that. I’m glad you had a good time.”

Buck opens his mouth to speak but just sighs instead, casting his gaze downward to where Eddie’s hand rests in the small space between them. Eddie holds his breath to see what his ex will do, silently praying for some kind of contact, some kind of sign that Buck wants to get closer too. Eddie knows he can’t be alone in feeling this pull.

Silently Buck places his hand over Eddie’s and gives it a soft, barely there squeeze.

“It means more to me than I think you’ll ever know. The fact that you went out of your way like that...I don’t know. I’m just lucky to have you,” Buck says. “I mean, as a friend. I’m uh, I’m really...um, grateful.”

Buck frowns a bit to himself and it’s obvious to Eddie that there’s more Buck wants to say. If Buck could be brave enough to breach the conversation that’s apparently long overdue, Eddie knows he can be too and take the baton from Buck and continue this race.

“Friends, right.”

Eddie clears his throat and braces himself for what he’s about to say. Jumping in headfirst is terrifying but if it leads to complete transparency and the chance at speaking honestly, Eddie decides it’s more than worth it.

“I don’t think we’ve ever really gone back to being friends. At least I know I haven’t, not completely. You know, sometimes I’d think it’d be easier if I could just move on from this. But I know how lucky I was. I don’t ever want to forget what we had or how it felt to be loved by you,” Eddie says boldly, cutting right to the chase.

The weight of the truth off his chest is an instant relief though, quickly in its place, comes the worry that he’s said too much too soon. With him it always seems to be all or nothing, one extreme or the other. But Eddie feels that he’s been quiet for too long about this as it is. These last few months have been torture with the true nature of his feelings eating away at him. Now isn’t the time to cower anymore.

There’s something about being out of Los Angeles and miles away from home that makes him feel brave, as if he and Buck are somehow on a different plane of existence. Whatever is spoken now is truly just between the two of them now. There isn’t any concern of anyone coming along and interrupting. True to form, with Buck he can be his full self. He can be candid and vulnerable with him in a way he would never even dream of letting his guard down around anyone else.

“Past tense,” Buck notes quietly. “You say that as if I’m somehow over you.”

This comment catches Eddie off guard and he knows it must show in his face from the way Buck smiles at him.

“Are you really surprised by that? I didn’t want us to break up. I just respected the fact that you weren’t ready just yet. That didn’t mean I stopped caring about you in that way. I could never.”

“I’m sorry I got scared,” Eddie says, intertwining their fingers and pulling Buck’s hand to his chest.

Buck shakes his head. “You don’t have to apologize; I’ve never been upset with you. It’s okay. We’re okay.”

Eddie cups Buck’s face with his free hand, watching the way his stunning blue eyes drift closed, lashes casting shadows on the apples of his cheeks. Another snapshot from this already perfect day: the sight of Buck in what could only be described as bliss from his touch. Eddie takes in Buck’s expression, the softness of his face, the openness and trust being expressed here.

In a word, it’s perfect. And in this moment, it’s his.

Eddie leans in tentatively and Buck’s eyes open once again, tracking Eddie’s movement, his lips parting in anticipation. Eddie breathes him in as he closes the distance, allowing himself to free fall right into this kiss.

He strokes Buck’s cheek with the pad of his thumb, tracing the contours of his face like a sculptor. This moment is a masterpiece and Eddie wants to give it the time and care that it rightfully deserves.

Buck matches his pace, his mouth roving over Eddie’s with such ease. This is nothing new to them and yet in some capacity this feels different. Second chances don’t come around often too often for Eddie but this time around, he’s certain he can get it right. These last few months without this level of access to Buck had been trying. So many weeks stretched out before him, each day fading a memory of what he once had.

Kissing Buck now is like breathing new life into him. The void that had taken up residency in the center of him is being filled with each touch, each soft sound leaving Buck and being entrusted with him. Eddie kisses him back deeply, letting go of all those fears that plagued him before, that he would somehow turn out to be the opposite of what Buck wanted. This man was very clearly choosing him, and has deemed him worth the time it took to wait for Eddie to finally accept a good thing that was being presented to him.

Now that they’ve crossed this threshold, there’s no turning back and that’s precisely how Eddie wants it.

Eddie pulls away to draw in a clean breath after a few moments, his chest heaving. Buck’s face is flushed, his lips slightly swollen and upturned in an almost embarrassed smile but Eddie doesn’t think he has any reason to be bashful. He leans in once more and places a gentle kiss on Buck’s lips, feeling the smile wipe away as Buck grows serious and wraps his arms around Eddie, holding him tightly.

This day has turned into something he couldn’t have ever seen coming but Eddie knows one thing to be true:

The safest place he could ever dwell is right here in Buck’s heart.

#buddie #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buck x eddie #useralie #sulkybbarnes #starlightbuck #userpauline #userthai #captainstennerstar #tylerhunklin #userbeff #userbecky #usermaddiee #sunshinestrand #softboiidiaz #hope yall dont mind being tagged sorry if you do ily byyyye #kimmy writes

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youngbloodbuzz · 3 years

Note

Part 2 of chapter 9 re-read:

“Because you kept complaining it wasn’t neat enough,” Mikey countered with a scowl.

This screams nan 🥺

But Dani wasn’t particularly listening, her eyes flickering across Jamie’s outfit of black slacks, a slim fitting black button up, and brown suspenders.

I’m imaginatively looking respectfully 👀 my heart burns for you, suspenders Jamie ❤️‍🔥

”That’s ‘cause I was the one she was calling handsome instead.”

💀💀💀 where’s the lie

“You and I both know I didn’t do it for you,” Jamie said with a wink in Dani’s direction.

💔💔

Snorting derisively, Jamie said, “I’ll settle for an open bar tab at the reception, thank you very much.

………… I stg if we get to the wedding and you give us drunk and sad Jamie I will throw hands

Dani watched with a faint smile, her arms still loosely wrapped around her torso, on the cusp of too enamored.

You can never be too enamored Dani!!!

And like a gravitational pull, Dani’s eyes immediately darted to Jamie’s to find her already looking back.

*chefs kiss*

Slowly, Jamie’s eyebrow arched with a faint look of concern and quiet question.

They are so attuned to one another it is so beautiful 🤧

She smiled and began to slowly show him the steps with his back to her.

Such a sweet image I can’t deal 😭

“Just put the bloody boots on,” Jamie grumbled

Embarrassed Jamie has my heart.

“Because I missed you.”

😭😭😭😭😭

And before Dani could react, Jamie was rearranging their arms. Dani’s breath caught quietly as Jamie rested one of Dani’s hands on her shoulder and took the other to clasp their palms, and then slowly, as though waiting for Dani to stop her, to push her away, she slipped her hand around Dani’s waist.

*screams incoherently*

Ducking her head to bury into the crook of Jamie’s shoulder, nose and mouth pressed against the skin of her throat, making a small sound of contentment.

🙂 I’m fine!

Her eyes darted up and met Jamie’s, darker than before, unblinking as they were piercing, and then Dani sucked in a quiet breath when gray eyes slowly traced down over Dani to where they were pressed together before traveling back up, lingering on Dani’s mouth for a long moment before catching Dani’s gaze again.

I take it back I am NOT FINE. The yearning of it all….

Slowly, Dani braved another smile and eased closer, knocking their foreheads together. “One more song?”

I’m sobbing 🤧

Dread pooling in her stomach, Dani slowly looked up as though awaiting some hungry creature to jump out from the shadows and bite her, but instead she found a mistletoe dangling from the light fixture above her.

I can FEEL her anxiety. I hate it :(

And every time their eyes would meet, Jamie would hold her stare until Dani felt rooted to the spot, her feet melding to the floor like just another fixture.

This is such a telling move from Jamie. Of course she would never broach anything but just those lingering seconds speak to her crumbling resolve.

She wondered faintly, what Jamie’s forearm would look like if her hand were to slip beneath Dani’s skirt and between her thighs, how the leather of her suspenders would feel in her hands if Dani were to grip them for leverage.

You know I think we need some clarity on this. You know. For science.

The phases of her mother’s inebriation were as constant as the moon; Dani knew them all by heart.

So heartbreaking. Ouch.

But when she reached the foyer, she looked up and blinked in surprise to find Jamie there in her coat and boots with two jackets slung over her arms, that old scarf wrapped around her neck.

Ugh that image front the show when she’s waiting for Dani at the bottom of the stairs 🥺

But for the first time, Jamie was a constant presence at her back, and when they stumbled halfway up, Dani felt the press of a warm hand at her lower back, burning through her blouse and keeping her balanced upright.

😭😭😭😭

Jamie’s hand was warm, as they always were. Her eyes were soft and understanding, her mouth curving into a faint smile.

Such a different reaction than the one she had when they were younger but in many ways so similar 🤧

It was a silver half-dollar piece. Dani could remember piercing it in Judy’s garage, Mike guiding her hand around the drill bit

This story is literally going to be the death of me. But I ain’t mad about it.

“You kept this?” she asked, her voice sounding too loud in the quiet darkness of this moment, this brief chamber of the world.

I am literally going to perish on the spot.

Jamie pressed a warm chaste kiss to the peak of Dani’s knuckles before — finally — letting her go.

I hate you both (affectionately)

I am so excited for chapter 11!!!!! Feeling so lucky to read this beautiful work 🤠 hope you guys enjoy all of the freak outs that ensue and get all the love & appreciation you deserve!!!

i am delighted every time someone notices that parallel between jamie and nan re the wrapping paper, but also i am keeling over because nan lives somewhere in jamie's heart

@romanimp

#asks #anonymous #cfau #cfau spoilers #r

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ryqoshay · 4 years

Text

Tri-Arame: Take the Lead Right

Primary Pairing Trio: YuuAyuSetsu Words: ~1.4k Rating: T with my signature implied off camera M finish Time Frame: First year of college? Maybe second? Dunno yet Story Arc: Stand Alone

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Author’s Note: I really do intend to write some scenes for my other fics, honest. But a, I can’t help where my µ’s muse leads and b, I checked a few versions of the ship tag last time and found the results... lacking.

Also, the link to the inspiration for this scene will be in the followup post.

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“Mmm… that was so~ good…” Yuu leaned back and let out a content sigh. “Setsuna-chan and I are becoming a force to be reckoned with in the kitchen.” She grinned. “Maybe someday we’ll be as good as you, Ayumu.”

“I think you may already be there.” Ayumu said, raising her last bite as if to toast the idea.

Setsuna shook her head. “No, I believe Ayumu-san is still the best cook among us.” She offered a smile to the blushing redhead before picking up her plate.

“I’ll take that.” Ayumu said, reaching over. “You two made dinner, so I’ll clean up.”

“You sure?” Yuu asked.

Ayumu nodded. “I should be done before the episode airs if one of you wants to set things up.” With that said, she stacked the three plates and moved everything over to the sink.

As she began washing, Ayumu couldn’t help glancing over regularly toward the others. She enjoyed watching Setsuna’s excitement as she unlocked Ayumu’s laptop and brought up the streaming site. It came as no surprise that a moment later, sounds from the previous episode started coming out of the speakers as the anime addicted girl skimmed through it for a review.

For her part, Yuu remained in her prior position. From there, she could see the screen, but like Ayumu, she seemed more content with watching Setsuna.

“Ne, do you think we have enough time to make tea?” Yuu suddenly asked after a few minutes.

“Probably.” Ayumu responded. “Want me to put on the kettle?

“I’ll get it.” The twin-tailed girl bounced up. “Anyone else want some?”

“Yes, please.” The redhead nodded.

“Setsuna-chan?” Yuu asked.

“Mm?” The raven-haired girl startled from her review session and looked up.

“Tea?”

“Oh, yes, sorry, yes, thank you, please.” Despite where her gaze was directed, her attention was obviously still on the show.

Yuu laughed lightly and moved to the kitchen to fill the kettle. Not long after, Ayumu finished with the dishes and headed back to the kotatsu. However, instead of taking her usual spot on her own side, she settled in directly next to the girl already there. For her part, Setsuna glanced over and offered a quick smile.

Once the tea was ready, Yuu brought it out to the table and sat down on the other side of Setsuna from Ayumu. It was almost perfectly timed as Setsuna was ready to switch tabs, refresh and begin streaming the newly uploaded episode. Finally settled, the trio, crowded comfortably together, began to watch.

As far as Ayumu was concerned, the anime in question was yet another high fantasy with powerful heroes, dastardly villains and a decidedly contrived romantic subplot. But Setsuna was utterly obsessed with it, having collected the entire manga set, several hard copies of popular doujinshi, a few posters and even figures of two main heroines. And Yuu was quite enthusiastic about the series as well, though nowhere near Setsuna’s level.

As such, it was more her girlfriends’ passion for the series that interested Ayumu than the anime itself, but she paid attention nonetheless so she could participate in the conversations that would inevitably follow the ending credits. Tonight’s episode was particularly important as it was the season finale.

And befitting of a season finale of such a series, the action was packed to the brim as the heroes confronted the villain. Still, despite the visual spectacle, Ayumu stole many glances over to her girlfriends to observe their riveted attention. But when the big bad was finally defeated and the storyline began to wrap up, Ayumu expected the other two to relax a little. Except they didn’t. Both Yuu and Setsuna continued to stare, almost unblinking at the screen.

Were they expecting something else to happ… Oh…

“Awww~…” Setsuna, unsurprisingly, was the one to vocalize her reaction as the protagonist confessed her feelings to the heroine who had fought by her side for so long.

The scene was a sweet and fitting culmination of everything that had happened between the them, but Ayumu couldn’t help feeling like things could have been handled better. Early development had felt awkward and forced and it had taken more than a couple episodes before Ayumu could agree the two had chemistry. It was quite different from the angelic doujin Setsuna loved so mu…

Eh?

Ayumu blinked as something soft pressed gently against her cheek. And as quickly and unexpectedly as it had come, it was gone. She turned her head just in time to catch Setsuna leaning over to peck a kiss on Yuu’s cheek as well. Then, with a blossoming blush, Setsuna settled back down and began fidgeting with the hem of her shorts.

Cute. By the gods was that cute. But… is Setsuna-chan really satisfied with just that much?

Ayumu was all too aware that Setsuna maintained a fear of pushing her desires onto others. It was why she refused to take any sort of official leadership role within their school idol club when it reformed, despite the other members respecting her knowledge concerning idols and regularly turning to her for advice. Ayumu assumed this was also why Setsuna seldom was the one to offer invites for her friends to join her in shopping for anime merchandise, even after the three of them had a fairly well-established tradition of going together. She would sooner go by herself than believe she was inconveniencing a friend with her own desires.

And while Setsuna had become fairly open with hugs and holding hands, this felt different. Very different. And Ayumu was more than a little intrigued. And she wished she could give voice to her thoughts and tell Setsuna that it was alright to desire such things from her girlfriends as they were more than willing to participate.

“Setsuna-chan.” Yuu broke the quite among them.

“Y-yes?” Setsuna sputtered in response. “Wh-what is it, Y…?” She was cutoff as Yuu leaned in and pressed her lips against hers.

Something twisted within Ayumu. Apparently, she wasn’t just intrigued…

“Hah…” Setsuna breathed as the two parted. Her head wobbled a bit as her expression became dazed.

Yuu chuckled. “If you want to take the lead, you should at least go that far.”

“R-right…” Setsuna pouted as her blush deepened.

More. Ayumu also wanted more than just a peck on the cheek, and more than that.

Of course, that would mean she would be the one taking the lead at this point. Ayumu understood Setsuna’s reluctance to push beyond where she had left off. And it didn’t help that Yuu had teased her about the times she had given in fully to her desires and done whatever had been necessary to satiate them.

But who could blame her for giving into the temptation provided by not just one, but two irresistible girlfriends? And now, tensions were obviously mounting among them, Setsuna was adorably flustered, and Yuu was sitting with a smirk that made Ayumu want to wipe it off her face with her lips. Of course, her desires would be boiling over at this point.

Oh, to heck with it. Let Yuu tease her later, she could be embarrassed then. If neither Yuu nor Setsuna were going to do anything else, Ayumu would.

Setsuna jumped with surprise as Ayumu placed her hand on her cheek and guided her into a kiss.

Yuu giggled. “Looks like Ayumu can go that far.”

Though the teasing was likely directed more at Setsuna, Ayumu felt the need to respond as she pulled away a little.

“But why only stop there, Yuu-chan?” The redhead murmured before trailing a few kisses across Setsuna’s cheek. She smiled as the raven-haired girl shivered when her teeth grazed her ear. “Why not go even farther?”

“That’s a good point.” The green-tipped girl conceded.

“Ayumu-san… Yuu-s-Ah!” Setsuna gasped as Yuu joined in.

As Ayumu made her way down Setsuna’s neck, she placed a hand on her shoulder and began to guide her down. Out of the corner of her eye, she noted that the credits were rolling for the anime stream and made a mental note to apologize to Setsuna for making her miss the last few minutes, as well as delaying the post-credit discussion.

As for that conversation, Setsuna could take the lead for it as that was one place where she excelled. And perhaps someday she might have the confidence to take the lead right in the trio’s current activities.

However, for the time being, Ayumu knew that if her desires were to be fully sated, she would have to be the one to forget her reservations and progress things. It wasn’t easy, but…

Setsuna whimpered.

Yuu moaned.

… or… perhaps maybe it was…

----------

Author’s Note Continued in Followup Post

#YuuAyuSetsu #Takasaki Yuu #Yuki Setsuna #Uehara Ayumu #Tri-Arame #Love Live Nijigasaki #fanfic

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ihavejarlsberg · 5 years

Text

Blue Christmas

Author’s Note: I had a really sad idea for a short fic, so I wrote it so you all could be sad with me. You can pry the headcanon that one of Malcolm’s top love languages is giving gifts from my cold, dead hands. Have some Christmas angst, everyone! (Read more is added for those on mobile… head to AO3 if it’s cut off for you. :D )

Word Count: 2,300-ish.

Summary: Three days after Malcolm has been taken, the team discovers he had bought them all Christmas presents. It doesn’t help them miss him any less. Link: AO3.

They each found them on their desks, tucked in with the rest of their respective pieces of mail. It was obvious Malcolm hadn’t wrapped them, himself; he had clearly paid someone to do a better (and much more festive) job than he ever would have. But that didn’t matter. Not really.

Edrisa found hers first. It was, naturally, an incredibly thoughtful gift, based on a little seed of information about her she had thrown out once that Bright had picked up and tucked away into his pocket for later like a small boy collecting shiny stones.

It was a puzzle. A 1000-piece beauty that was clearly hand drawn by an artist. The pictures on it looked like they were taken straight from an anatomy book, then set ablaze with tremendous color by a talented artist. She loved it with her whole heart, and she burst into tears as soon as she got through the wrapping paper and saw what it was.

Who knows how long it would have taken the rest of the team to find theirs, had Edrisa not mentioned it. As soon as she did, they immediately went to their respective desks to check their own mail. It had been three days since Bright’s disappearance on December 25th; whatever postage they had been missing out on in that time frame was literally the last thing on their minds. Until now.

JT’s was the smallest, as far as size went; a maroon envelope sealed shut with gold-colored wax. It stood out like a sore thumb in his mail box amidst the standard white envelopes that had been accumulating. “Damn,” he’d said to himself, running the pad of his thumb over the dried wax of the seal, “Even this dude’s envelopes are rich.” He had quieted, though, once he’d opened up the card and started reading what Malcolm had written inside with his neat, all-capitalized handwriting.

JT, Sorry for crashing your date. The next one’s on me.

Merry Christmas!

P.S. Justin? Jerico? Jeremiah?

JT had to laugh, despite everything. Attached to the card was a $100 gift card to Amsterdam Billiards. He stared at it, unblinking, for several seconds before his eyes started to water from being open too long (mostly).

“Damn it, Bright,” he muttered to himself as he closed the card. “Where you at, bro?”

There was a small black postage box waiting for Gil on his desk, hiding under a manila envelope. It was not the sort of small black box one would buy a woman; Gil knew was it was the moment he pulled it out from his mail pile and saw the company name stamped on the side in raised silver lettering. He stared at it for a moment, until it blurred together in his vision beneath a sheen of tears.

His fingers traced over the letters on the front of the box, and for a moment he allowed himself to just feel how smooth the cardboard was on the delivery box the gift had come in. He had to clench his jaw against the lump steadily climbing up his throat. Before he even made a move to open the box, he pulled back his right cuff, exposing the watch he wore on his wrist. Despite how worn and well loved it was, the watch was in excellent condition for being nearly fifteen years old. Especially considering that Gil literally wore it every day, to the point that he felt naked without it. It had held up marvelously over the years, which wasn’t surprising, as it had likely been expensive. Just as expensive as the new one he was holding in his other hand.

Without warning, the memory came back, unbidden. He could recall it like it had taken place last week. Malcolm, no older than twelve, handing him a dark blue velvet box with a hand that shook so fiercely, Gil immediately moved to take it from the poor kid before he dropped it.

It hadn’t been Father’s Day, then. The Whitlys didn’t celebrate Father’s Day anymore. But it had been damn close to it, and Malcolm had thought to buy a gift for Gil. As a man with no biological children of his own, Gil had cherished this more than he ever could have put into words. He still wore the same watch to this day.

And Malcolm noticed. Obviously. Because Malcolm Bright noticed everything.

“You still have that watch I gave you,” he had said, exactly 1.5 days into the investigation of the “copycat” Surgeon case, as he stared at Gil’s wrist.

“Of course I do,” Gil retorted. He was standing close enough to Bright at the time to reach out and give his shoulder a slight squeeze. “I wear it every day.”

Malcolm had all but beamed at that. “Looks a little worn, though,” he added, as his gaze drifted back down to the silver time piece on Gil’s wrist.

Gil had shrugged. “It’s well-loved,” he said simply. Malcolm had frowned just slightly at that, clearly deep in thought.

And now he knew what Bright had been thinking about: a wardrobe update for Gil Arroyo.

Gil sucked in a breath, holding the air in his chest for a few seconds to help expel some of the fear that had taken up residence there. He wasn’t afraid a new watch, obviously; unfortunately, he knew exactly what he was afraid of, and it was too terrible for words.

He was afraid he was holding the last piece of Malcolm Bright he was ever going to see.

(They all were afraid of that, deep down.)

The atrocity of that thought propelled him into action, and he started ripping open the little box’s packaging tape. Inside was a hard, velvet case, just like the one a much younger Malcolm had first presented to Gil all those years ago. The watch inside was magnificent. It was all black, even its face, and incredibly sleek. Clearly this time, Malcolm was going for an updated, modern look for him. Gil loved it. There was a small, folded card inside, and Gil pried it open with hands that had gone numb. He recognized Malcolm’s handwriting instantly. It was simple, sweet, and to the point.

Merry Christmas, Gil! Thank you–for everything.

Love,

Bright

Seeing the words in Malcolm’s handwriting was what finally put him over the edge. It had been three long days of fruitless searching for their profiler; they were all exhausted, and none more so than Gil. He reached up and pinched the bridge of his nose, not even bothering to keep the tears at bay anymore.

“Thanks, bud,” he whispered to an empty room when he could finally find his voice again. “I love it.”

By the time Dani found out Bright had all gotten them Christmas gifts and had them sent to the station, she was exhausted. Just at the end of her rope mentally, physically, and emotionally. When Edrisa came up to her in tears, shaking a box in her face, Dani nearly lost it on her. Until he heard what she was saying.

“He got us gifts,” Edrisa squeaked out.

Dani felt the blood rush out of her face. She had a good idea who the ‘he’ in question was, but still had to ask, “Who…?”

“Bright!” Edrisa said. “Bright got us all Christmas presents. Incredibly thoughtful, probably expensive presents.” Her lower lip wobbled, and she looked like she was going to start crying again. “I didn’t get him anything. I thought about it! But then we just got so busy with the case load and… and…” She trailed off.

“And then Bright went missing on Christmas,” Dani finished for her, deadpanning. Edrisa nodded, sniffing once. Dani looked down at the box in Edrisa’s hands, studying it. “He got you a puzzle?”

Edrisa nodded vigorously again and offered up the box to Dani, who took it gingerly, like it was something to be cherished.

“It’s gorgeous,” Dani said genuinely.

“I know,” Edrisa agreed, “I’m scared to even open it. Like I’m going to ruin it somehow just by touching it. But I thought I could get started on it tonight… Maybe have it done by the time you find him, you know?”

Dani’s heart surged at the words by the time you find him, and she ground her teeth together at the familiar tightness in her jaw that meant she was definitely close to crying. Edrisa didn’t seem to notice; she was staring at her puzzle box. Dani placed it back in her arms gently, and Edrisa hugged it to her chest. The pieces inside all fell to the bottom of the box with a soft swish.

“We’ll find him,” Dani said simply. We have to.

Edrisa gave her a watery smile and nodded. “Hopefully before I even have the chance to finish this beast.”

Dani returned her smile. “So,” she started, eager to turn the subject away from the fact that Bright was still missing. “You said he mailed it?”

“Oh, right. Yes,” Edrisa said, “Apparently he mailed them all to the station. Which is kind of silly, but he must have just paid to have everything wrapped, and then he probably didn’t know our addresses, so… They were just here, waiting for us. Since Christmas.”

Dani swallowed. Part of her almost wished Bright had forgotten about hers, that he had sent something to everyone else but her. But the thought was a wasted one; Bright would never forget about her.

Dani’s gift was a fairly large box, about the size of two shoeboxes lined up side by side. There was no way she could have avoided seeing it, once she got back to her desk. (Had it really been that long since she’d been back at her desk, away from the search for him?)

She stared at it for a few moments, willing herself to keep calm, before she took out her pocket knife to cut through the box’s tape. Dani didn’t really do Christmas presents; with her immediate family, sure, but she couldn’t remember the last time she had either given or received a gift from a friend. Even the team–Gil, JT, and Edrisa–usually only went out for a drink, rotating who would pay the tab, for holidays or birthdays. Gifts were not her forte. This was foreign territory, and it left her on edge.

She could almost feel Bright watching her, those brilliant eyes of his staring at her hopefully, like he so wanted her to love whatever it was he had picked out for her.

Inside the package, after she removed a fair amount of bubble wrap and colored tissue paper, was a large wooden box. The moment she read the scripted letters burned into the top of the it, she knew exactly what she’d find inside, and she huffed out a shaky breath. As soon as she opened it, she knew she was right; the smell wafted up from the contents of the box, despite the fact that they were vacuum sealed, and it hit her like a punch in the gut.

I love Earl Grey.

She could hear his soft laugh, his words back to her. “I know. It’s the aroma, isn’t it?”

She was staring down at a beautiful box of British-imported loose leaf Earl Grey tea. Included was a small metal tea strainer, and little wrapped bags of spices and citrus peels, all individually wrapped and sectioned off into their own little spots in the box lined with velvet. In the center was a burgundy tin, and Dani smiled as soon as she read what it housed.

For someone whose tea-drinking habits involved microwaving water and using whatever brand of bagged tea was cheapest, the custom-built box before her was intimidating. And somehow, Bright knew it would be. (Because of course he did.) Inside the tin in the middle were fifty already-assembled tea bags of Earl Grey from the same gourmet ingredients, ready to be slipped into hot water without hassle and enjoyed immediately.

With friends.

It was one of the very best gifts she had ever been given in her life. And she felt a renewed hatred for Paul Lazar that Malcolm wasn’t there to share it with her. She reached down and pulled the tin out from the box. It popped open easily, and she was overtaken by that delightful smell again. She breathed it in for a few moments, until her nose grew used to it and the smell wasn’t nearly as potent to her.

Eventually, she removed the entire wooden box from its packaging, and that’s when she found the card. It was a simple folded card, red on the outside, blank on the inside, save for Malcolm’s writing. It was simple enough–just wishing her a merry Christmas and a happy new year, but the way he had signed it made the breath halt in her chest.

Your friend,

Malcolm Bright

“God, Bright,” she murmured, grinding her teeth again as she willed herself not to cry. But it was a fight she soon gave in to. What was the use? They had been searching for him for days, pouring everything they had into finding some kind of lead on where he had been taken, all to have nothing turn up. And then he’d gone and gotten her a damn thoughtful gift for a holiday he had been kidnapped on. It was all too much.

So Dani let herself cry for a few minutes. When it was over, she felt better and worse at the same time. She closed the lid of the wooden tea box and tucked it into the biggest drawer of her desk. The little card from Bright she taped, open, on the side of her computer monitor; she would see it each and every time she sat down at her desk.

And she vowed she wasn’t going to be drinking any tea at all until she found him, until he could sit and have a cup with her, himself.

#Prodigal Son #prodigal son fanfiction #prodigal son fic #prodigal son ff #brightwell

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ialwayscomewhenyoucall · 5 years

Text

Mine

winterhawk (clint barton/bucky barnes)

~1.6k

Bucky’s alone in the kitchen, snacking on a sandwich, when Clint comes in behind him. “Hey Buck,” he says. Then he goes to the cupboard, snags a coffee mug, and licks all the way around the rim. He grins at Bucky then puts it back in the cupboard. “Someone keeps stealing my favorite mug. But that should be enough of a deterrent. I licked it. It’s mine now.” He winks before he heads back to the elevator.

“I have so many questions,” Bucky says to no one.

“Bless you,” Clint says, a teasing yet somehow reverent tone in his voice.

“All I did was carry the pizzas from the door to the table,” Bucky says dryly. He drops the boxes onto the table where Steve, Sam, and Clint wait to dive in.

“You paid the delivery guy,” Clint protests.

“Not really. I put it on Stark’s tab.”

They all laugh.

Clint opens up the top box, gives the pizza inside a quick appraisal, then leans over and runs his tongue over the biggest piece. “Ow! Is hot!” he says, frantically searching for his drink.

The guys are all making overexaggerated retching noises. “Why, Clint? Why?” Sam asks.

Shrugging, Clint says, “It’s the biggest piece. I licked it--it’s mine now.”

Sam sighs. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to use your words?”

“You could have just pulled it out of the box,” Steve says.

“Nah. Too hot.” He winks at Bucky, who stares back, unblinking.

But inside Bucky’s reeling. What had that been about?

Steve groans. “You are such a child, Barton.”

“Maybe. But no one’s gonna eat my pizza.” His grin is smug.

Clint’s newest example of childish behavior goes on for weeks. He licks forks, bacon, coffee cups, cupcakes, the tv remote (which Tony immediately sprays with some kind of industrial strength disinfectant), and--oddly enough--his arrows.

“Do you really think someone’s going to steal your arrows?” Natasha asks wearily.

“I saw Barnes eyeing them. Didn’t want him to get any ideas.”

Bucky freezes but he doesn’t see anyone looking at him; they’re all pleading with Clint to start acting like the adult his birth certificate says he is. He outwardly relaxes, but inside he’s having an argument with himself.

Because he hadn’t been looking at Clint’s arrows. He’d been looking at Clint.

Honestly, he’s been looking at Clint for awhile now. When they sit together drinking coffee in the morning, when they’re playing video games or watching movies, when they’re all just hanging out together, laughing. But especially when Clint is shooting. Because Clint shooting his bow is a fucking work of art. How could he put his eyes anywhere else? Those arms, he wants to feel them around him, to let his cheek rest against those…

He shakes himself out of his thoughts, actually giving his head a single, sharp shake. This is not the time, definitely not the place.

“Alright there, Buck?” Steve’s hand falls onto his shoulder, gives a squeeze.

“Fine,” Bucky says, a little too fast and a little too loud. Steve gives him an odd look but drops his hand. Then Clint’s eyes flick in his direction and Bucky spends entirely too much time wondering about the look on his face. Clint had only looked for a fraction of a second--what had he seen?

After that it gets both better and worse. It seems like Clint starts waiting for Bucky to arrive before he licks something. So while Clint seems to be everywhere, it also means that Clint is making Bucky absolutely crazy. Once again, just before he licks his favorite playstation controller, he even winks in Bucky’s direction. Bucky thinks. He’s pretty sure it had been a wink. But Tony, Nat, and Sam are in the room too, and no one else reacts at all. (And he knows if Tony had seen anything as overt as a wink he’d have a lot to say on the subject.)

He nearly chokes on nothing when Clint winks at him. (Again. Winks again.) Somehow he manages to turn it into an odd, clearing his throat kind of noise. When he regains himself he looks at Clint and says, “You’re going to catch some awful disease if you keep licking everything, Barton,” in a bland voice.

“You’ll just have to take care of me then,” he teases.

Bucky somehow manages to hold his face completely still. He can feel the heat rising in his neck, though, and hopes no one notices.

Bucky’s alone in the kitchen again, this time drinking coffee, when Natasha comes in and sits on the stool next to him. He just sits, drinking his coffee, attempting to think about nothing at all. After a few minutes Nat clears her throat. Bucky doesn’t react, curious how far she’ll go to get his attention.

It’s not long before he finds out.

“Fine,” she says, as if she’d known all along it would go this way. And in one fluid movement she’s off her stool and on to his lap, straddling his legs, her face directly in his.

She tends to get what she wants. Now he can’t avoid looking at her, unless he closes his eyes; for a fraction of a second he considers it, but then just gives in. Sighing heavily he says, “What do you want, Natasha?”

“He’s daring you. Either accept his challenge or back away. The rest of us can’t take it anymore. I think Tony’s going to have a breakdown, worrying ‘has Barton’s tongue been here?’ about everything.” She takes his face in her hands and kisses him on the forehead. Then, before he can find a response, she’s gone.

“Wait, the rest of us?”

Of course there’s no answer. She’d probably heard, though. He can picture the smirk on her face.

So everyone’s already--

Wait. She’d said--

Well. If it’s a challenge, then challenge accepted.

Of course, now that Bucky’s made up his mind he can’t seem to find Clint anywhere. He doesn’t come down for breakfast--not even for coffee, he must be getting his fix elsewhere--and he doesn’t go to the range at his usual time. Bucky gets wrangled into helping Tony with something in his lab (which actually means “stand here and hold this, just like that. It’s too heavy for the clamps”) so he misses lunch on the common floor and throws together a couple sandwiches before he gets cornered by Sam and ends up playing video games with him for the rest of the afternoon. By the time he gets to the common floor for dinner (a mandatory team dinner called by Steve, as if they don’t spend enough time together already) he’s mostly talked himself out of saying anything at all.

But then he walks in and there’s Clint, perched on the back of his chair, laughing along with everyone else at something or other. Bucky doesn’t pay much attention, because right then Clint turns his way, and when he sees Bucky his eyes light up and he grins and Bucky instantly forgets all his arguments for staying quiet.

He wants Clint to smile at him like that every single day. Over and over again.

His plan had been to get Clint alone, or as alone as they could get on the common floor, and just get his feelings out in the open. But seeing Clint like that, laughing and carefree and oh-so-beautiful he dumps the plan and turns off his brain. He strides over to Clint, puts his hands on Clint’s chest (he can feel Clint’s heart beating so fast in his chest, and he wonders how he hadn’t heard it even on the other side of the room) and licks up Clint’s jaw, from his chin to his ear.

“I licked it,” he says, in a strong voice, loud enough that everyone in the room can hear. “I licked it, so now it’s mine.”

“Yeah?” says Clint. His eyes dance with mischief.

“You gonna argue with me?” Bucky glares, but he’s holding laughter just below his skin and he’s sure Clint can see it all over him.

Clint’s arms slip around Bucky, and it’s far better than anything he’d ever imagined, but he doesn’t have long to think about it because Clint’s tongue darts out of his mouth and across Bucky’s lips. He pulls back, grinning. “I’m not really the arguing kind,” he says, “but I’m definitely laying claim to that mouth of yours.”

And then he’s not thinking at all, because Clint’s lips are pressed against his, and then Clint’s tongue is in his mouth.

“Finally,” mutters Natasha.

“Are you kidding me?” Tony shouts. “I’ll never be able to unsee that!”

“What just happened?” says Steve.

Everyone laughs. Even Bucky and Clint separate enough to laugh (just enough) before they find each other’s lips again.

“Come on, Steve. You must have noticed these two making googly eyes at each other. Even Bruce noticed.” Nat is incredulous.

“I did!” Bruce says.

“We’ll let them work that out on their own,” Clint murmurs, low enough that only Bucky can hear. (Steve can probably hear it too, but he’s too distracted to notice). “Wanna go for a walk?” And then he winks. Again.

Clint’s hand slides down Bucky’s arm until their fingers are intertwined. They’re walking toward the elevator when Steve shouts, “Mandatory dinner!”

“Stevie. We could stay and make out on the sofa if you’d rather we didn’t leave,” Bucky says, not looking away from Clint.

“Have a good time!” says Natasha. She sounds almost gleeful.

“Oh, we will,” Bucky says, but only for Clint.

***

for the @mandatoryfunday prompt “I licked it so it’s mine.”

#lirael writes #mandatoryfunday #winterhawk #fluff #silliness #clint licks things #winterhawk drabble #i love these two dorks #also:#nat is awesome

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siribear · 4 years

Text

just want to say a quick thank you to anyone following this self-indulgent little thing. i hope everyone’s staying safe and healthy. love you guys

alice enters valentine’s office for the second time in the very early morning, morning dew still glistening on the weeds growing around diamond city. not even ellie is present; instead, nick takes her place in pacing around the office, sorting through papers and case files. now, folders are stacked high on the desk in front of her. one folder lies open on the desk, alice scribbled on the tab in sketchy penmanship.

‘i talked to piper last night,’ nick says from across the room. ‘got some of your history, here.’ her life story condensed to bullet points. he gestures for her to sit in the nearest chair. ‘it’s all very interesting, but doesn’t tell me what lead you here.’

she sits, and so does he in the chair opposite. he brings his hands together over her file, skeletal over plastic skin, layered and intertwined. she looks down to her own hands, technically two hundred years old, nail polish still flaking on her cuticles.

if she wants to get any part of her life back, she has to give up another. her history.

‘i assume this doesn’t leave this office?’ at his slow nod, she takes a deep breath. ‘my husband was murdered. my child - my son - was kidnapped. he’s-he’s not even a year old.’

valentine makes a note - missing person’s case, she reads upside down. ‘describe everything you remember.’

she closes her eyes, forces herself to remember. to put herself back in that moment, in that pod, hands pounding against the metal door that separated her from her husband’s killers. ‘there was a man and a woman. they were dressed in-in hazmat suits.’ she frowns, stomach turning. the memory plays itself out. ‘nate wouldn’t let them have shaun.’ tears burn the corners of her eyes. ‘god, he wouldn’t let go - ’ i’m not giving you shaun! ‘ - so they killed him. they just - ’

she puts her head in her hands, tries to will the tears away, but one sniff and it’s - it’s over. that cold envelopes her again, threatens to pull her under, but when she looks up it’s just nick. just nick with a tissue in his hand and his other on her shoulder. she takes it with a nod and pulls herself together. puts claire to sleep again and wears alice like armor.

‘a two man team for an abduction,’ nick says smoothly, pulling out details she hadn’t considered. ‘there are few groups in the commonwealth that could accomplish something like that. we’ve got raiders, gunners, super mutants and, of course, the institute.’

‘not raiders.’ her voice comes out watery. ‘the man was too well armed. i don’t - who are the gunners?’

‘high profile mercenary group. they’ve got the guns to pull that off, but child stealing isn’t exactly their M.O.’ he strokes his chin. ‘super mutants aren’t sophisticated enough to pull something like that off, either. which leaves - ’

‘the institute.’ alice swears.

‘it’s a start,’ he says with a sigh without breath. ‘describe the man.’

‘he had this... deep voice. rough, like being dragged across gravel. he was bald, with a scar, here.’ she drags a finger down across her left eye.

unblinking yellow eyes widen. he picks up a file next to him, then another, and another, until he finds what he’s looking for. ‘i knew that sounded familiar.’ he turns the file toward her. it’s a rough sketch of a man, and it could be him if she squinted, but the features - no hair, distinct scar - are undeniably the same.

‘that’s him,’ she whispers. ‘that’s the man that killed my husband.’

nick drops the file on top of the stack. ‘you didn’t hear the name kellogg, did you?’

‘no - ’ just nate yelling, the man threatening, the gun shot. ‘but i remember he called me the back up.’ face right in front of hers, grinning, not caring that she was screaming -

‘the back up?’ he shakes his head. ‘maybe they were supposed to come back if something happened.’

‘i don’t know,’ she responds lamely. ‘but if he took my son, if he knows where he is...’

nick stares at her. ‘actually, we have records that put him in a house in the west stands.’

stands. like - ‘wait. here? in diamond city?’ is that what mama murphy had meant?

‘it’s been years since he was last seen - ‘

the chair screeches across the floor when she stands suddenly. ‘nick, if he’s here, if there’s any clues we could follow... please. i have to try.’

‘well, you saved my life. let’s go get yours back.’

she’s halfway out the door before he even rises from his chair.

piper catches up to them as the sun rises over diamond city. she’s still rubbing at her eyes when she rounds the corner and literally almost runs into alice and nick. alice looks grim and wan and nick looks - like nick, though there’s a tension in his jaw she can see through his broken plastic skin.

barely seven in the morning and the mood is already dour. she should curse herself for sleeping in, but she didn’t.

‘what’d i miss?’ she falls into step with nick when alice only gives her a tight smile.

‘might have some clues to the whereabouts of her missing person,’ nick replies.

‘that’s... vague.’

‘client confidentiality, piper. this doesn’t go in your paper.’

‘come on. i know i’m pushy, but i’m not intentionally an asshole.’

nick hums, and piper gives up, following in alice’s wake as she storms up to the abandoned west stands. ‘hey, isn’t that - ?’ she points at the singular house up in the stands.

‘it is.’ alice’s response is colder than the morning air.

‘well - damn.’

alice watches nick fiddle with the tumbler. she taps her fingers on her leg, keeping time with the beat of her heart. it’s been five minutes since piper left to get the key to the house. five minutes nick has been trying to pick the lock. five minutes she’s had to wait. it’s five minutes too long.

nick grabs her arm when she moves away from the wall. ‘be patient. piper will get the key. that elevator to the mayor’s office isn’t the fastest.’

‘i can’t keep waiting like this.’

‘here, then.’ he pulls away from the lock. ‘you give it a shot. keep your hands busy.’

‘i - ’ she takes the bobby pin out of his hand. ‘okay.’ she grips it tighter to keep her hands from shaking. ‘right. h-how?’

nick does his best to teach her, she knows. but by the time piper comes bounding up the stairs, alice has broken three bobby pins and hadn’t made any more headway than nick had.

‘thank you,’ she says, and stalls with the key in the door.

piper draws her gun, and nick does the same. alice turns the key, takes the handle, and pulls open the door.

nick steps forward first, gun drawn. piper follows. alice stands in the doorway, stomach lodged in her throat. piper flips the light switch on the wall, illuminating the small house. her stomach falls through the floor. dread numbs her arms.

kellogg’s house is empty.

not even just unoccupied. she could live with that. but wholly and entirely empty. the only thing in his house is the thick layer of dust coating a lone desk in the center of the room.

alice drags her fingers across the surface, watching the lines appear with a disinterested stare. nick comes down from the loft, declares that empty too. but she finds a button, red and too-obvious under the desk; she pushes it anyway. the wall shifts near the door, sliding away and revealing a secret room.

still nothing. the weapon racks on the wall are empty, the shelves are empty, the chair in the center - empty. nick said it had been years - she’s far too late. kellogg is long gone and shaun - shaun -

‘oh my god.’ alice covers her mouth with her hands.

piper dismisses herself awkwardly, squeezing alice’s shoulder as she walks past. alice hardly feels it. hardly hears nick’s words over the rush of blood in her ears, the dull throb, the echo of her own breathing in her head. he leads her, slowly, back to the office, avoiding the waking city residents and waving off anyone that comes too close.

what does she do? where does she go? kellogg was her only lead, the one directly responsible and he’s - gone. like shaun, like nate, like -

‘oh god,’ she whispers again, stifling a sob.

‘breathe. ellie, water, please?’ nick asks his confused assistant, but she does as she’s told. ‘it’s not over yet, kid. don’t give up on me now.’

no matter what. she had said that once, hadn’t she? to piper, for the newspaper.

alice forces herself to drink, to breathe. ‘what now, then?’

‘the institute has plenty of enemies. someone’s got to know something.’

she shakes her head. ‘the brotherhood patrol i met didn’t know anything. they might have been able to contact their superiors by now, but who knows how long it’ll take for them to reach the commonwealth.’ she sets her cup down on the desk. ‘the minutemen - we don’t even have people to gather intel.’

‘hm.’ he pulls open a drawer and removes a holotape. join the railroad is written on it in marker. ‘they may be your only shot. the trouble is finding them.’

‘the railroad?’ a woman’s voice plays from the tape. the pitch is not one she needs convincing on - synths are people, this she knows, with nick valentine sitting in front of her. join with us in fighting the real enemy: the institute. join the railroad.

when you’re ready for the next step, don’t worry, we’ll find you.

‘i’m just supposed to... wait until they contact me?’

he places the holotape back in the drawer after she ejects it from her pipboy. ‘there are rumors that float around diamond city. the railroad is hidden, but people have mentioned the freedom trail.’

‘are you serious? the freedom trail. the one that starts - ’

‘just outside park street station, yes.’ if he could narrow his eyes, she imagines he would. instead, he just tips up his chin, his voice growing suspicious. ‘i’m sure you remember the way.’

too well. ‘i do. can’t forget that swan boat.’

‘ah, yes, swan. you need any help out there?’

alice stands, wipes off the collected dust from her fingertips. ‘i think ellie would have a heart attack if you disappeared again.’ the assistant in question rolls her eyes. ‘the way will be clearer now. i’ll be okay.’

‘well, all right, then. i’ll see what more i can dig up around here. mayor owes me a few favors.’

hand on the door, she turns. ‘what do i owe you for this?’

‘you saved my life. we’re calling it even.’

#oc: alice ward #series: we will all go together when we go #siri drabbles

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