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glassartpeasants · 2 years

Text

Sickening Whispers

Ghost!Isaac Grossman x GN!Reader

Warnings: paranormal elements, angst, horror, parents screaming, physical injuries, gore, blood

A/N: No it hasn't been a year since I've updated this. Your losing your mind. Just read it and pretend it didn't take a year. WHICH IT DIDN'T

Chapter 6: Nightmare

~~~

The library was now the place you were at the most instead of your own home. Why be there when you could be here? Instead of hearing your parents fighting, you can learn more about the house and take notes. You can also study what you wanted to go into for college. So being here was a perfect idea.

After talking to your brother, you wrote down any paranormal happenings the rest of the week. How many times a week did your brother see the small child who you now assume is some sort of tulpa or poltergeist, even maybe? The mask was still as hyper as ever, and the feeling of being watched never left your mind. The attic door closed even if you took two steps out of it without any wind blowing.

Your best guess was how much time Isaac’s parents spewed their hatred for him; they must have made him out of the image they see him as. Their thoughts on how much they despised him. Their hateful thoughts created a personality stuck in your world, forever stuck inside the home where his parents built him.

Because Isaac had died at the age of 22, not at 7, he either channeled his childhood hatred into this being before he died, or he made it when he was 7. While you had no real clue if you were correct, that’s the best you could come up with when it came to him.

That’s why you believe there are separate entities at your home. Your brother is the only one to see the boy. You also remembered that your brother saw the boy staring at your door but never going in. Was there some force blocking him or something?

Whatever it was, you were going to figure it out. Even if it took you all day.

~~~

You didn’t notice you fell asleep until someone softly tapped your shoulder. Your eyes flutter open to see the lovely librarian you met last time.

“Oh dear, did I stay till closing? I’m sorry I made you stay late because of my lack of sleep schedule.” She only let out a small laugh before patting your back.

“Oh no, dear, you’ve only been asleep for an hour. I just happened to be passing by and noticed all your notes and what your researching. You’ve taken up the entire table with your books and papers.” Your eye finally gets used to the light before seeing that she is correct.

“Oh geez. Guess I didn’t realize.”

“It’s quite okay, but I must warn you about the subject you seem to have dived into.” The lady grabbed one of the books and started flipping the pages.

“I don’t know if you're doing it or not, but playing with the dead is a hazardous idea. Nothing good ever comes out of talking to the dead. The ones who say they’re good as always the most evil.”

“Yeah, I know. I-My friend has this problem in their home, and they don’t have a car to do this themselves, so I’m kind of stuck in it. Plus I really want to help because they’re always so scared of what's going to happen next.”

“You're a good friend, my dear. I can see that you care about others, even if it affects you. Tell you what, I know someone who can help you. They have some paranormal equipment that you can borrow. Would you like me to call them?” Your heart races at the thought. What could they have?? You’ve searched for stuff like that before, but you didn’t want to waste hundreds of dollars on stuff that didn’t work.

“Yes! Please! Thank you so much for doing this!” You felt your luck turn around, knowing that this was perhaps a new step in the right direction.

“No problem, my dear. They live near so it’ll be quite easy to call them. Please wait here. I’ll make sure to get you when they arrive.” She sends you a small smile before walking over to the front area of the library.

You started rejoicing that you finally had a bit of support. Just at least one step ahead rather than be 26 steps behind.

~~~

You only had to wait about 20 minutes for the person to arrive. But it took forever for them to show you how to work each of them and what they were for. There was a lot more stuff than you initially thought, but if it makes it easier to figure out what’s going on, then you’ll take it.

They said you were given just basic standard stuff, but to you, it felt like you were holding the power of god in your hands. EVP to hear whatever the spirit has to say, an infrared thermometer to detect cold spaces, and a camera just in case to catch it.

It wasn’t much, but it was all you needed to finally get a little bit of sleep at night.

~~~

Once you got home, it was pitch black outside, with only the car's headlights and the house's indoor lights on. Barley illuminated the dark forest that surrounded your home. You had to gather up all the stuff before taking a deep breath and rushing towards the door as the car's headlights turned off, leaving you in almost complete darkness.

‘Get in the house. Get in the house. Get in the house.’ Luckily, the door was unlocked, and you quickly jumped in and locked the door behind you. Finally, let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Oh, sweetie, I'm so glad your home! I was getting worried about you!” The concern in your mother's voice made your beating heart calm down a bit.

“Sorry bout that, mom. I was at the library, and I fell asleep. And you know how long it takes to get here from town.” You laugh nervously as you hold all the books and files you’ve checked out and the equipment in a backpack you were given.

“I know. I’m just a worry wart. Glad to see you at least still have your learning spirit.” Your mom gave you a kiss on the cheek before you went up to your room.

‘Okay, now wheres that stupid key?’ You carefully try stuffing your hand in your pocket to find it, only to come up short. Annoyed, you fear you’d have to go back outside to check in the car.

“Looking for this?” The sound of your brother's voice scared you and almost made you drop everything in your hands. You looked at him and saw that he held the key that should have been in your pocket seconds ago.

“You dropped this on the ground when you left earlier. I’ve held onto it to ensure dad doesn’t sneak into your room or anything. That and you don’t lose it.”

“You scared the shit outta me! Don’t sneak up on me like that!” Your brother only laughed as he scooted past you, even though the stairs to the attic were super narrow. You could hear the door being unlocked as it opened and your brother's footsteps going in.

“Man, your room’s a mess.” Raising your eyebrow, you turn to look, only to see your room completely trashed. Your bedding was thrown all around the room, and your clothes were pulled out from your closet/dresser. Copied documents were scattered across the floor.

“You can’t be serious right now…” You simply sighed as you walked in and placed everything down by the desk.

“Damnit. I just cleaned it too.” You start gathering everything so you can hopefully return things to how they were before you left.

“Does the ghost always do this?” The sound of your brother picking up some of the scattered documents made you smile in relief at having a helping hand.

“Thank you for the help, but no. Not always. It’s like it has tantrums or something.” Your brother let out a nod of acknowledgment before continuing to help you.

~~~

“Well, now that that's over, I can try these things.”

“OOOOO, can I help?!” Your brother started jumping up and down in excitement. It was cute, and you would have let him if it weren’t for the fact that you were scared of how the thing would react to all this going on.

“How about tomorrow? I know we're both excited to use these, but shouldn’t we get well-rested and ready to go in case something happens?” Your brother held a pouty face before taking a deep breath and walking towards the door.

“Tomorrow, we can. Plus, we can try all day since you don’t have school.” A smile plastered on your brother's face as he closed your door and ran down the steps to his room. You laugh as you grab the key to your door and put it in your nightstand drawer.

The only thing lighting your room was your phone flashlight now and small fake candles that lived around your room. Your father told you to get rid of the real ones so as not to ‘burn the house down.’ You were initially annoyed, but then again, it was an ancient house, so his concern was valid.

You went to your dresser to get changed before going to bed. You weren’t hungry for anything; besides, you had already missed dinner. You were just too tired to even think about food.

It was a lovely couple of minutes of clean thoughts before you were reminded of the mask that had made its home in your closet. No matter what you did, it always came back in that one spot. You ended up just forgetting about bringing it back, as it was shown to be a waste of time.

A sigh left your lips as you put away all the documents from the hours before and hid the equipment given to you under the bed. You didn’t have the energy to even try it out tonight or look more into everything. Your brain was just exhausted from all the reading and research it did. So you only changed into your pajamas while throwing your clothes in the hamper. The sound of the wooden floorboards creaking under you made your eyes even heavier.

You simply closed your eyes as you felt sleep overtake you.

~~~

You open your eyes to hear the sounds of loud whispering coming from your closet. It's not like this was the first time the mask has done this. It does it all the time, but for some reason, tonight, it was louder than it ever has been. Not to mention it spoke clearly enough to the point where you understood it.

‘Come here’

That's all it said over and over again. It gave you the creeps, so you desperately tried to ignore it, but your body started shifting out of bed before realizing it.

Its voice kept getting more and more louder as your body finally managed to get off the bed. Its words rang through your ears as you felt your bare feet hit the freezing cold floor. No matter what you did, it seemed like it wouldn't stop or listen to you. The floorboards creaked as your body walked towards the closet.

The sound of the closet door opening made your heart skip a few beats as a blast of cold air hit you.

The mask still whispered to you, but it was pounding in your head now. Echoing off every surface before its tune changed.

'Wear it

You didn't even get a chance to second guess what was happening before your arms reached out and grabbed the mask. It felt ice cold while you were holding it but at the same time scolding hot. Your body didn't even seem to mind as it soon pressed the mask against your face.

Putting it on, you felt your body go utterly numb as your eyes soon were the only thing that worked. You could turn your eyes around and such, but you had no control over your body. It was like you were having sleep paralysis but wide awake simultaneously.

The sounds of your feet shuffling across the floor rang through your ears as you felt your body go towards the locked door. You knew you locked it when your brother left, so there shouldn’t be any reason that you’d be able to get out.

But the sound of the door unlocking made you rethink what actually happened. Cause when you looked down, there in the door was the key.

A sharp cold breeze hit your body as the door opened. Your body moved down the stairs without any effort that it made you feel as if you were air itself. There wasn’t a single creak of the floorboards. Your body even knew where you were going even though the house was as black as night.

You desperately tried to remember every way your body was going, but your mind was going blank, and the fear wouldn’t let you focus on anything other than what's happening in front of you. Which was only worse as it got only darker the father you went into the house.

Your body stopped suddenly in front of something. It stood there for about a good 5 seconds before moving again. Pictures started playing in your mind about where you could be, but you were answered when you heard the familiar creak of a kitchen drawer opening.

You knew which one that was. Only one drawer made that noise.

The knife drawer.

You soon felt the weight of the situation hit you harder when you realized how bad this could go. Why did it come down here? Why grab the knife? What's the ghost gonna do now? You couldn’t even move your body or do anything to stop it!

The feeling of your body moving towards the stairs gave you a horrible feeling down in your gut. There was no reason to be going upstairs with a knife in the dark of night. Nothing with good intentions.

No matter what you did against yourself, your body kept moving forward with the knife still clasped in your hand tightly. All you could do was stare in horror as you saw your body walking toward your parent's room.

Pushing open the slightly open door had your heart pounding in your chest. You could feel your body gripping the knife harder as your body walked more angrily towards your sleeping father.

You stopped right in front of him and just…watched him. Watched him breathe in and out as he slept there peacefully without knowing. Just as you were staring at him, the hand with the knife lifted up quickly before slamming back down forcefully.

You’ll never forget the sickening crunch and slicing noises you heard as the knife plunged into your father's rib cage. The knife went up as soon as it came down. It stayed still for a bit, almost as if contemplating, but when your father opened his eyes, the knife went back down once more. This time with more hatred and force behind it.

Your father tried grabbing your hand but couldn’t catch it with how fast it was going up and down, making holes in your father's chest.

Opening your mouth to scream at him and tell him it’s not you, you're not controlling it, someone controlling you only for nothing to come out. You could feel your eyes water as the feeling of warm blood slowly covered your hands, making your stomach churn.

It just wouldn’t stop. The sound of skin slicing and bones breaking rang through your ears and echoed through the room as you screamed for it all to stop and end. Not even a word left your mouth as your mouth stayed closed the entire time.

You look into your dad's eyes and see them go from fear to lifeless in seconds. His once lively eyes showed nothing but an empty husk with no soul. You screamed no and begged him to return and that you were sorry.

You kept screaming until the words finally came out of your mouth.

~~~

Screams echo through your room as you jump out of bed. The screams were your own as you tried to determine what was happening. To your horror, the mask was right beside your bed with a red liquid sprayed. You walked away from it and towards your door as it all came running back to you.

You quickly open the door without grabbing the key and rush to your parent's room. Gripping the cold metal handle, you slam the door open, and to your relief, you see both your parents lifting themselves up from bed and rubbing their eyes to see what’s going on.

Seeing your father alive and breathing made you collapse to the floor in the middle of the doorway.

It was so real. The feeling of breaking bones and ripped open skin never left your mind. The sound of all those horrible noises was enough to make you cry even harder.

“Sweetie, are you okay?!” Your mother jumped out of bed and rushed to your side quickly as she hugged you. You tried to get out the words, but nothing came out. Only gasps for air and cries.

“It's 3:28 in the morning! What are you doing?!” Your father yelled at you. You look at your mom before scooting closer into her arms as you finally get the words to tell her what happened.

The tears blurred your vision, but you could feel your mother wiping your tears as she tried to calm you.

“God, look at you! Your too old to be crying like this! Only babies cry as hard as you are right now.” Your father's words stung as they only made you cry even though you tried to stop.

“Your child is crying, and this is how you respond?! How rude and horrible could you be?!” The feeling of your mother helping you up gave you a sort of calm. She rubs your arms before wiping one last tear.

“It’s all okay, sweetie. Me and your father are okay. Do you want me to walk you to your room?” Even though you felt like a child, the thought of your mother being with you when you entered the room helped you stabilize your breathing.

Nodding your head, your mother starts walking with you to your room. Before you left, you could hear your father mumble something under his breath. Choosing to ignore it, you just walk with your mom to your room.

As you walked towards the stairs, a cold breeze hit you as you looked up at your door. It was wide open but as dark as night itself. Fear settled in your stomach, but your mother went right up and into the darkness before turning on all the false candles you had around your room.

Only when everything was on did you step foot into the room.

A single step was all it took to feel the usual unwelcoming presence in your room, but this time, you felt more safe knowing that your mom was here to at least see you in bed.

Looking at your nightstand, you notice that the mask was gone and nowhere to be found. You weren’t gonna complain about it. Just ignore it and continue going back to bed.

You didn’t waste any time going in as the bed was much warmer than the room's cold atmosphere.

“Alright, honey, I’m gonna go back now, okay?” You wanted her to stay with you until you fell asleep, but you wanted her to get some sleep too. You also didn’t want her to fall victim to whatever hell you were in as well.

“Okay. I love you.” Your mom kissed you on the forehead before repeating the words back. The sound of her footsteps leaving and the door closing reminded you that you were once again all alone. At least, you hoped so.

Covering your head with blankets, you try to make sure that the rest of you is covered before grabbing your phone and putting on some music loud enough for it to block out any noise from outside but quiet enough so that your parents don’t hear it.

Having at least some sort of noise that isn’t your own thoughts made going to sleep a little easier.

~~~

A bright light shone on your eyes as you squinted them before opening them. Rubbing your eyes, you see that your room is now covered in sunlight, and you take a deep breath before sitting up.

Just then, a searing pain spreads through your body as you grab your shoulder quickly. It's where the source of the pain seemed to be coming from. The pain was intense enough to have your eyes watering, and you let out a small slew of cuss words.

You clasped down on it, giving it a little pressure in hopes of calming it down for a second. Standing up, you walk over to your desk to see what could be giving you such pain.

Lifting your shoulder sleeve down, your face contorts into a look of horror as you see whats giving you so much pain.

A red bite mark right on your shoulder.

It looked so new, so fresh. You could feel the pulsating and pain it was giving off. Hell, it might have even been hard enough to give a bruise or bleed. But you were so confused about how this could happen. No one had a key to your room, and you usually hid that in your drawer.

You look at the bite mark once more, and the confusion on worsened. If your parents or brother were to come in your room, why on earth would they bite you? And how come you didn’t wake up? You didn’t have any animals, and there was hopefully no way one could’ve managed to get into your room.

Plus, the bite mark had human shaped teeth.

It was positioned in a way where a romantic partner would bite their lover. But you didn’t have one, so why was it there, of all places?

The pain started getting worse so you grabbed a blanket from your bed and wrapped in around yourself before grabbing the attic key and making your way towards your door. Hopefully getting an ice pack or hot pack would calm down the pain at least a smidge.

You didn’t even make it to the second flight of stairs before your heard the yelling coming from the kitchen. Annoyance filled your being. It was already so early in the morning what could they possibly have to fight about?

Sighing, you turn around to go back upstairs and suffer with the pain to avoid the fighting but you heard your name being caught in the mix. With that being said, you silently tip toed down the last flight of stairs and hid behidn a wall to the kitchen. You just wanted to eavesdrop on what they could be talking about with your name in the mix.

“They should be out of this house! They’re old enough to find their own home! We’re broke enough as it is so it’s simply another mouth to feed!” Alarm bells start ringing in your head as you remembered something that you read in that journal.

‘We barely afford to feed ourself! How are we suppose to feed it once it gets older?!’

The fact it was so similar sent chils down your spine. Your father wanted you to come home because he worried about you since the job market is picky and rent is high in town. So why know after all this time did he change his mind?

You couldn’t help the rage that came over you. Without thinking, you stepped out from behind the wall, letting yoru blanket fall to the floor behind you. If he wanted to say something about you he could say it to yoru face.

“Hey! You might have forgotten that you asked me to live here! Cause you were worried about me! So why now are you acting like im such a damn burden!” Crossing yoru arms as you walk up closer to him.

“Cause all you do is whine and moan! Never doing anythign other then staying out or being in that room of yours! And don’t talk to me like that in my house!”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed but I actually help mom with household stuff, help my brother with his homework, take him to and from school all things that you never do! I go to job interviews! I got to the library to study things and get away from your screaming! And maybe I would rather be in the attic then have to listen to you scream to my mom!”

“Oh please! I do so much for this house! You don’t know what your talking about since your so stuck up on how your ‘better than me’. I bought us this house and i allow you to live in it!”

“Oh you mean a house that you no longer put effort in?! All you do is sit on yoru lazy ass while mom, me, and (B/N) do all the work! You knew that it’d take a while to get this house fixed up but now you’ve given up on it!”

“You will not talk to me like that in my own home! Stop being such a disrespectful little shit! Pack your shit and leave and don’t you come back as long as im in this house!”

“Like hell I’ll leave! I’ll leave the day i know its safe for mom and (B/N)! With your temper and other sides of you that your showing who’s to tell what you’d do!” Not even seconds passed when you saw your father raise his hand high. As soon as if cracked down you managed to catch it before it made contact with yoru skin.

Your mother looked at you and you looked at her before turning your heads and looking at your father. You looked into your fathers eyes and you thought yousaw a twinge of regret and shock before it quickly vanished and turned into anger.

Ripping his hand away from your grasp he shoved your harshly. The shove made you lose footing as you stumble into the kitchen counter, your back hitting it hard enough to paralyze you. You feel to the ground as you try to gather back the air in your lungs as you try to move but your back was just in to much agony to do so.

Your mother rushed to your side quickly. She put your head on her lap as you could see her hands shake in either anger or sadness. Maybe even both.

“What the fuck is wrong with you!? How dare you do something like this to your own child! You should be ashamed of yourself! This is not the man I married! Get the fuck out of this house before I call the cops on you!” Your mothers voice boomed through the entire house, almost enough to wake the dead even more. You’ve never heard her scream like that before in your life.

“Fine! Whatever you stupid bitch. You’ll come crawling back like all women do.” Your father stomped out of the house and slammed the door behind him. The whole house suddenly grew quiet. The silence was cut by your mothers sobs as you looked up at her. Tears poured down her face as she held onto your still struggling form.

“It’s okay, honey, I’m here. No one can hurt you as long as I live.”

#creepypasta #creepypasta x reader #isaac lee grossman #isaac grossman x reader #isaac grossman #creeps #paranormal #tw: blood #tw:gore #sickening whispers

6 notes · View notes

bokettochild · 3 years

Note

For the requests if you're game?

Four and Warriors dynamic since we don't see it much?

Also you're awesome and absolutely don't have to do this if you don't want haha

So, words aren't nice to me today, and your prompt really helped with that. I'm sorry I didn't get to it sooner! But I'm glad I did it today. The verb tenses are a bit off and all over, but I really like the pretense.

For context, this is something that used to happen with me and my dad when he was in pain. I have no clue why it works, but it does somehow? For him anyway. Anyway, as I am the shorty of my family, I figured Four could take my place here :)

“Four, how tall are you?”

Don’t kill him. Green whispered, whether to himself or to his brothers none of them knew.

Why would he even need to know that? The grouchier voice in his head huffed out as hazel eyes shot up to meet the captain’s blue.

Was that particularly necessary? Vio groaned, and if he’d had a physical form the color in question would likely have just flopped over tiredly.

“Four foot four.” They answered curtly, turning their gaze back down to the sword in their hand as they continued to work over its length.

Warriors chuffed out a strangled sort of noise across from them, whether it be from pain, surprise or laughter they didn’t know, and as long as the captain didn’t push, they’d give him a little grace. The poor man was in enough pain as it was, and it really would be a shame to have him writhing on the ground if they kicked him in some... painful places.

“Really?” The man wheezed. “Please tell me you’re joking?”

They rolled their eyes.

Permission to kick him in the nuts?

One minute, let me think about it.

Pities sakes you two, we are not kicking the captain! Vio scolded. We’ll dye his hair while he sleeps or sew a patch on his tunic while he walks or something, not...oy vey.

“I’m four-foot-five.” They corrected aloud. “Happy?”

Sharp eyes met the captain’s again, four voices fighting over whether to cause harm or not. “Huh.”

Guys, look at him! Red huffed. He’s not even able to sit up straight! Give him a break, this one time?

Agreement rang in their mind. Wars was in pretty awful shape. The man had pulled his back while trying to heft a wounded Twilight through the forest the other day, and while he’d insisted the entire time that he had it handled, he’d come to regret it the next day when he woke up nearly too sore to move. They all teased Time about being an Old Man, and it was well known that Legend’s arthritis gave him trouble on some days, but neither the vet not their leader had ever moved as slowly as the captain this morning when they’d been on the road, and Time had had to call an early halt simply because Wars was clearly in so much pain.

The man currently lay on his stomach on the ground at the edge of camp, trying to stretch out his strained back and staring as Four with an odd look in his eyes. “Could you do me a favor?”

Could you not mock our height?

I thought we liked our height?

We do, but we don’t need to be teased for it!!!

“What do you need?” They eventually settled on, setting their sword aside and giving the captain their full attention.

“Stand on my back.” Warriors answered.

They blinked, startled. Once, twice, thrice, four times at the man. “Pardon?”

“Stand on my back.” Warriors repeated himself, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“But-”

Is he bonkers? Captain, we are not cracking your spine to put you out of your misery? Blue frowned, confused.

We’d hurt him doing that, why would he even ask?

This is Warriors, he’s not known for having all the lights on a good day.

“Aren’t you in pain?” Red managed to take the forefront, worry spilling into his voice as he stared down at where the captain lay on the ground.

The man smiled, shaking his head slightly only to wince and instead offer one of his charming smiles. “It helps. Just trust me, ‘kay?”

And what were they supposed to do? Even Legend had stepped up to offer help with the pain this afternoon, not that it would do much good for Warriors’ specific problem, but it had earned the vet a warm chuckle and a head ruffle, resulting in much squawking and insults as the vet protested the action. Wild had searched his slate for supplies to make a cure, and Time had called a halt for the day’s travels entirely. Sky had even offered what little help he could provide, but while offers of aid had come from everywhere, there hadn’t been anything that had worked.

But Wars was claiming that actively stepping on the injury would help it, and as absurd as it sounded, the captain seemed utterly confident in it, eyes almost pleading as they shifted where they sat.

“It won’t, I don’t know, mess up your back at all? Are you sure-”

“Goddesses, Four! It’ll be fine.” The captain huffed desperately, just do it, please?”

Now they understood why Warriors could charm discounts and special deals out of merchants and inn-keepers, his royal blue eyes looked utterly pitiful and almost tearful as they stared up at them, pleading and wide. The effect was ruined though when Wars added a tiny little pout that sent Vio reeling with laughter as Blue and Green stifled their own, Red cooing softly in their head.

“Alright.” The laughter of three of the four colors spilled over in a light chuckle as the smithy pulled themselves to their feet, stepping over hesitantly and setting one foot on Warriors’ stretched out back.

“Go on.” Wars prompted, chuckling fondly. “It won’t hurt me, I’ll tell you if it does, okay?”

That didn’t help at all. They weren’t big, they knew that, but they weren’t as slight as they looked, they were smithies after all, and they were a solid little brick of muscle mass. Warriors may be certain it would be okay, but they sure weren’t.

“Four, I’m literally begging you. Step on me.”

The smithy’s nose wrinkled and they pulled back. “That is incredibly weird sounding.”

“Step.” Warriors ordered.

“This is so weird!” A nervous laugh fell from their lips. “How does this even help?”

“Just do it!” The captain groaned. “It helps, I promise. I can’t explain it, but it does.”

One tentative foot pressed against the captain’s back again, only for the smithy to back off, earning a huff in annoyance from the captain. “Four-”

“Let me take my boots off first.” They murmured, shivering off the awkward feeling that came from stepping on of their brothers. But they could only avoid Wars’ pleading gaze for so long and once their shoes are properly put to the side, they had no valid excuse to not ‘help’ the man.

How does this even help him?

Do we care? We have an excuse to step on him!

Vio, I think you spent too much time around Shadow. Stepping on people isn’t funny.

It’s funny if it’s Warriors. Vio sounded particularly satisfied with himself at the moment, and the others could only sigh at that, finally giving in to the captain's request as Vio pushed the body forwards until they are standing, fully, on Warriors’ back.

“Oh, yes, thank you.” The captain’s voice comes out in a relieved sigh. “A bit lower if you could- that's the- yes, right there. Oh gosh.” Blonde hair met the dirt as their resident “pretty boy” let his face fall to rest on the ground. A satisfied sigh escaping him, albeit muffled by the earth. “That is so much better. Thank you, Four.”

“How does this help?” They frowned, staring down at where the man spread out on the ground, utterly limp and incredibly boney under their feet.

“No clue.” Comes the muffled reply, no attempt made to explain as the captain continued to let himself melt into the earth. “But it always works like a charm, so I don’t question it.”

Always?

“Who do you usually have step on you?” They ask, standing awkwardly on a boney spine any trying their hardest to keep their balance so they don’t slip and tumble onto Warriors’ head and give him a concussion on top of everything.

“My kids.” Comes the easy reply, as if the words don’t send them reeling enough that they almost do fall. “Mask jumped on top of e once to try and wake me up. I wasn’t asleep, but it was a tough battle the day before. Come to find out having a smallish person stand on you does wonders! My younger siblings used to do it too, but then they all hit growth-spurts.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.” They chuckled easily, finding a comfortable placement for their feet as Warriors’ back rises and falls with soft laughter.

“Believe it or not,” The captain rumbles, the vibrations trailing up their legs and making them stifle a giggle. “I’m the short one in the family. The eldest, but the Hylia forsaken shortest.” There’s very nearly a pout in the man's voice and they failed to hold back their laughter as they look down at him.

”You’re the shortest?”

“To my eternal torment.” Comes the groaned reply, and all the colors can do in reaction is laugh.

Later, when the others finally look over and see what’s happening, there are shouts and concerned looks from the heroes when they see their shortest standing on the previously sore and aching back of their tallest, but for now, Four gets to tease the captain for being short; something they never thought would ever happen.

Vio cackled madly in the background the whole time, leaving his brothers concerned after the first ten minutes when the color’s mirth failed to fade.

#sorry I took so long!!!#vio is a member of #the warriors bullying squad #red is a member of #the warriors protection squad #lined universe #linkeduniverse #lu warriors #lu four #lu vio #lu red #lu green #lu blue #fluffics #linked universe fic requests #claybrownie7566 my beloved

105 notes · View notes

kachuuyaa · 3 years

Note

Hhahhhahahh I have more quotes. Again credits to @/ratdoodoo666 on Twitter for many of these incorrect quotes

---

Lumine, with hesitant confidence: gas? I light that. Gate? I keep that. Girl? I boss that?

Chuuya: what the FUCK are you saying??

Jean, in the corner: [sobbing] I DONT- [cough] --KNOW I DONT FUCKING KNOW

Reader, who taught Lumine that: the truth

---

Reader: I am DONE loving people

Beidou: I sank my fucking ship arm wrestling a red headed twink straight through the floorboards

Reader: I want you so bad

---

Reader: Fyodor is so fucking funny to me, nothing about him screams "straight" but everything about him screams "homophobic". Homophobic homosexual.

Dazai: the closet is made of glass

---

Dazai: [exists]

Reader: don't go to the hospital. Die. Be a man.

---

Reader, drunk: babies are loveable, and innocent, but they're not good. They're interested self centered, as they have to be in order to survive.

Reader: "I want mommy," "I want milk" "I wanna be held" "I wanna be comforted....and if you don't do any of that immediately, I'm going to ruin your life".

Reader: That's not goodness, that's narcissism.

Diluc, who unfortunately shares the same sentiment:

Mori: good morning, Y/N

Reader, over worked and just back from a long mission, hating themselves and everyone else: shut the fuck up.

Reader: did it hurt when Steve from blue's clues gave you more closure than your ex?

Kaeya, in the BSD world, who discovered TV's: I hurt when he gave me more closure than my dad.

---

Poe, with a crush: when his name starts with a J and rhymes with one of the 50 US states

Reader, immediately: the very SECOND I meet the man named Jebraska, is the very second That. Man's. Life. Ends.

Chuuya: [exists]

Diluc, every passing moment: Fuck my vision I'll punch you--

---

Fyodor or Nickolai: [Falls through a broken floorboard]

Reader, struggling to stay stoic: He's. He's Da-fallen.

Venti, trying to breathe:

---

Reader, talking to Rosaria and Yosano, about the BSD boys: Do you ever spend 5 minutes with a man, and you just know that they were never told, to shut the fuck up once in their childhood. Sometimes even less than 5 minutes.

Yosano: yes.

Rosaria: Amen.

----

Kaeya: oh, you're so sad and lonely? How's your obsession with a gay rat going?

Dazai, smiling through gritted teeth: mmm. Come for me like that again and I'm gonna fuck your dad.

Kaeya, grinning wider: I don't care what you do, but it you find him, let me know. He went to get grape juice when I was 7 and never came back.

---

Yosano, talking to Jean: Daily Affirmation, repeat after me:

Yosano: The great grand children if my enemies will weep at the sound of my name because of the generational curse I have placed upon their family.

Ranpo: [plays piano]

Jean:

---

Kaeya: where is the remote?

Dazai: up your ass

[They start fighting immedately]

---

Chuuya: you could absolutely have horrible coping mechanisms! Cause looks at Moloch, they're the fucking [waves hands around] moloch of the Port Mafia...

Chuuya, stressed out: I like Moloch, what the fuck do they know about good coping mechanisms???

---

Fyodor: I have a lot of thot's, let me introduce you to them--

Fyodor: Rats in the the house of the dead!

Fyodor:[Looking back at the person he's talking to] I have a lot of thots--

Fyodor: Rats in the house of the Dead--

---

Reader, talking about Atsushi, Akutagawa, and Albedo: if his name starts starts an A...he not sus, he gay.

----

Dainslef: why is this place covered in blood

Fyodor: : )

Albedo: it's simple color theory Mr. Dain

Dainslef: no the fuck its not.

---

Reader, having a mental breakdown:

Childe, who learned Modern day memes: put your head up king your mascara is running

Reader, who stops crying: whAT--

---

Chuuya: visualize the ocean

Dazai: I am drowning

Reader, behind Dazai, ready to beat his ass with a rolled up piece of news paper as a form of behavior correction:

---

Childe: apparently I am very mentally ill, but I don't believe that.

Childe: thoughts?

Reader: and prayers.

----

Amber: I tried my best but I didn't succeed.

Fyodor: how would sucking seed help?

Amber: you have to be doing this on purpose.

---

Fyodor: what are your pronouns?

Albedo: he/they

Fyodor: wrong answer

Albedo: wh

---

These are not the most top quality memes I could create but to be fair I'm so tired lmao goodnight

-- 🐗 anon

oh my god these were so good

“hows ur obsession w a gay rat going😊”

“shut ur dumb dumb looking ass the fuck”

FYODOR BEING A HOMOPHOBIC HOMOSEXUAL IS CANON………. it’s just true he killed a man upon being touched🤣 but has white haired whores within his arsenal (NIKOLAI, sigma, shibusawa) 😞😞 ehat

i fucking KNOWWW that kaeya and dazai hate each other it’s like a mutual understanding that you have to prevent them from burning a fucking city because they hate the other

me whenYosano i Want mOmmy i want milk I want to be Held

#THESE R SO FUNNY HELP #im gonna put fyodor in a jar #bsd x genshin #🐗 lovez

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murderousginger · 4 years

Text

Temporary Bliss

John Shelby x reader x Finn Shelby

Word count: 4,330

Warnings: Angst. Yearning. Smutty things. They're criminals guys, they do bad things.

Note: So this took some time and might be a bit rough, but we all need a distraction right now. I hope you all enjoy!

(gif by @bonniebirddoesgifs )

Every day, John thought, Like fucking clockwork.

Finn was outside his office, like a lovestruck idiot, making moon eyes over his secretary. Five minutes before end of day. Every. Day.

It started cute enough. Finn ran past her one afternoon to give John a message from Tommy. He was so wrapped up in getting the message to John that he didn't even notice the girl that he pushed past in John's doorway. That was, until, Finn was knocked off balance from her hands on his collar as she dragged him out of the office. He was taller than she was, which only made it easier for her to move him.

"Excuse me," she had said, face red as she glared up at the youngest Shelby, "I don't believe you have an appointment and you are supposed to see me before you interrupt Mr. Shelby."

"(Y/N)," John said, hiding his smile with his hand before he pointed to the scoffing boy in her grip. "I see you haven't met Finn, my youngest brother."

She immediately loosened her grip on his shirt with a gasp, her eyes dropped to the floor as a waterfall of apologies left her lips like prayers.

"It's okay," John said laughing. "We don't think much of him, either. What do you want, Finn?"

Finn scoffed at his brother as he smoothed out his suit and walked back into the office, closing the door loudly behind him.

John watched through the frosted glass as (Y/N) settled back into her seat at the desk in front of his office before he stood up and met Finn's waiting eyes.

"Well," Finn said, "what's your response?"

John tilted his head.

"To what?"

"To what I just told you," Finn exhaled, hitting his thighs with his hands. "The message."

"The message," John said as he cleared his throat. "Right, well tell me again while I gather a good answer."

Finn groaned.

When Finn left, he had stopped by (Y/N)'s desk to tell her that it was okay, he wouldn't take it to heart, that it was a misunderstanding. But his breath caught as he looked down at her wide eyes looking up at him. He stammered his words as she gave him a smile, politely nodding to encourage him to finish his sentence.

It was all over at that moment, John thought, the idiot fell in puppy love.

Honestly, that was the day John looked at her differently, too. She had always been a good secretary, but her courage to pull a man out of his office made him want to know more about her. He started to notice more, pulling himself out of his head to acknowledge her. For a 20 year old, seven years his junior --far closer to Finn's tender age of 18 than his own-- she had a good head on her shoulders.

She was always nice to the other women, even the gossips and the complainers, and always encouraging on busy days. She did her work and went home. She was always respectful when someone stepped out of line but she had no hesitation in correcting what she thought was wrong. John started finding himself watching her from his office on slow afternoons.

I wonder what she's like when she finally relaxes, he thought. I'd like to be the one that knows. That gets to make her smile.

Finn must have had the same idea, because only a few weeks after their first encounter he started showing up at the office more. He would make small talk, leaning on her desk, bringing her little presents like wildflowers from the ditch or a treat from the bakery. Visit by visit she became friendlier, more animated, relaxed.

The first laugh was music to John's ears. It rang through the empty room after work only to be stifled by her hand. Finn was smiling, leaning over her as he sat on her desk, and something warm knawed at John's stomach. Finn tucked a stray hair behind her ears. He locked eyes with his brother as Finn sat back up and he sheepishly smiled as John's eyebrow quirked.

"I should probably be off," Finn shrugged, looking back at (Y/N). "Let you go home for the day."

"You could walk me, if you'd like," (Y/N)'s voice said softly and John's blood ran cold in the other room. "But only if you'd like."

"Y-yeah," Finn sputtered, standing from her desk. "I'd like that."

After that, Finn walked her home every day. John was always the last one out of the office.

Months went on. Finn continued visiting, bringing her trinkets, walking her home. (Y/N) got more and more comfortable with her position in the company and even began to relax around John. She often stayed late with John to finish counting the books or organize after a particularly busy day.

John found her presence comforting. He started to sit at the table near the safe with his paperwork after hours so that they could talk while the work was being done.

"Exciting plans this weekend, doll?" He asked one Thursday evening after a particularly busy day.

She smiled brightly as she counted a stack of money.

"Actually, yes," (Y/N) said as she scribbled into the book before picking up another stack. "Finn asked if I wanted to see the new Chaplin movie."

John's heart sank as his head shot up. He gave her a weak smile.

"You like Chaplin, eh?"

She nodded excitedly.

"I never really go to the pictures, so it's nice to be able to go."

"A girl like you should have suitors lining up to take you anywhere you'd like," John said as he looked back down to his paperwork. "My idiot brother should be the least of your choices."

"Finn's sweet."

"That what you're looking for?" John asked as he dropped his pen.

(Y/N)'s face is pinched, a troubled look flashing between confusion and annoyance. She bit her lip, as if she had words that would tumble out of she did not hold them.

"Just a question," John sighed as he leaned back. "But not mine to ask. I'm sorry."

"You know what I think?" She said, scrambling to her feet. "Tea. I think we both need a spot of tea. Yes."

She was gone in a blink, off to the kitchens to boil the water. John groaned and pressed his face into his hand a moment, exhaling out the frustration. He tried to read the papers again, but couldn't get past the first few lines.

"Idiot, John, idiot," he mumbled. "Finn's not the only Shelby without a fucking clue."

"He's not," she said as she brought in a cup of tea, setting it beside him.

John flushed as he looked up at her sheepishly.

"Thanks, doll," he said, briefly smiling at her before burying his head back into the stack of paperwork.

She smiled thinly, walking to the door but paused in the frame to look back at him.

"My name's not doll, Mr. Shelby."

John's head snapped up and he frowned as he studied his secretary in the doorway.

"I know your name, (Y/N)," he said, his pen falling from his hand. "Just like I know your last name. Just like I know your family. Just like I know your address."

She froze, and his frown deepened, realizing how that must sound.

"I'm your boss," he smiled as he said in a lighter tone. His eyes softened. "I also know that when the room goes to chaos, you run over and make all the girls a spot of tea, to calm everyone's nerves. Earl Grey, I believe. Probably what I have here beside me, too."

She relaxed as his finger swirled the top of the steaming cup.

"I don't call you doll because I don't know your name," John pressed quietly, tucking the words into the silence like you tuck the edges of a bed cover. "I call you doll because you look it. You're angelic, even in this 'shit lighting' you girls like to complain about."

"I--"

"And I've told you before," he said, picking up the cup and pausing it against his lips. "Call me John."

Her mouth clamped down and she studied the man in front of her drinking tea before she smiled softly.

"Yes, John."

----

When your birthday came the next week, you gasped when you found a box on your desk when you sat down for the day. The small white box was wrapped in a red velvet ribbon and tucked in front of her typewriter. You touched the ribbon, feeling the plush fabric as you carefully pulled on it. You lifted the too to find a white note.

Happy birthday, (Y/N).

You deserve a little sparkle after all the hard work you've put in lately.

-J.S.

Under the note was a sliver of the moon woven into a gorgeous band that felt cool against your fingers as it glistened. It was the most gorgeous silver bracelet you had ever seen.

You appeared in his doorway and closed the door before you could even think straight.

"I can accept this, John," you said as you set the box on his desk.

"Why not?" He frowned as he reached for it. "It's your birthday."

"It's far too much," you said. "I'm just a secretary. This isn't proper."

John's eyes widened as he scoffed.

"There's no attachments," he said. "I'm not asking for anything. I just wanted to give you something nice for your birthday. You've worked so hard around here, a card didn't feel enough." He paused, moving the box in his hand. "And maybe there's an apology wrapped in it as well."

"An apology?"

"The other night I was a git," he said as he scratched his neck. "None of my business who or why you run around with anyone. Not my place. Now come 'round so I can put this on your wrist. I'm not taking it back."

You came around his desk as he opened the box, the chain looking so delicate in his large hands. Feelings bubbled inside and you giggled as he fumbled with the clasp.

"Thank you, John," you said softly as he clasped it around your wrist.

"Pretty bracelet for a pretty girl," he rumbled, smiling at you as you hand lingered in his. He cleared his throat. "Right. Well, work calls. Best go back before the chickens gossip."

He patted your hand before you stepped back, and he smiled at your wrist as you rotated it to watch the bracelet gleam in the light.

"Right, work," you said slowly, watching his eyes follow your wrist as you moved. "Do you need anything while I'm here, John?"

His attention snapped to your face as you said his name and he gave you a lopsided smile that gave you butterflies.

"No, thank you," he said. "Happy birthday again, (Y/N)."

"Thank you, John."

Days went by and you found yourself wearing the bracelet every day. Smiling at it when it caught your eye, even when you were in Finn's company.

One Monday morning, John didn't show up for work. Finn told you that his older brothers were in London, drinking and fucking under the guise of expansion. The answer itched under your skin, but you chalked it up to having to take John's place to keep the girls in the office moving. When he came back, you had no hesitation to visit his office.

"No one's seen you in days," you said as you crossed your arms and eyed him carefully from the doorway.

It has been nearly a week and you had to keep the girls in line as well as the bookies during a huge race while your boss, whose job it was, was off doing who knows what. Or who, the annoying little voice in your head chipped in. The whole thing made you feel tired and agitated. And now he's back, on a Friday evening no less, like nothing ever happened.

"Business in London," John said gruffly as he sat down at his desk to the mountain of paperwork waiting for him. "Tom called it a vacation, but there wasn't no free time. All business."

John sighed as he reached for a pen.

"And there's enough papers to go through I aughta be here half the night."

"Any," you said, smiling softly. So no girls.

"Wasn't any free time. Welcome back, John."

John looked up from his paperwork perplexed until his pursed lips slid into a small smile.

"Thank you, (Y/N)," he said as you kicked off the door and sat back at your desk to finish your work.

"Thought I was doll," you called just loud enough for it to carry into his room. You hoped he could hear the smile in your voice.

"You are," he laughed.

An hour or so later you had finished gathering the information from the last race's earnings and stacked the papers to take to John. You tapped on his door frame and walked in without hesitation.

John jolted in his seat and sat up, a guilty look across his face as if he was caught passing notes in class.

"Papers from the last race you missed," you said, tossing them on top of his pile.

John shuffled in his seat, both hands under his desk. You frowned. His hands reappeared and started shuffling the papers, his eyes not meeting yours. You looked down his pinstripe jacket before you realized why he would look guilty and your eyes snapped back up when you saw his trousers undone.

Oh.

You turned around to walk to the door. You stopped there, a hand on the frame as you looked over your shoulder.

"You know quite a few girls fawn over you," you said. "You could have any of them, really. I don't think I've seen you with a girl in some time. You look" you paused. "Stressed."

John frowned as he looked up from his desk.

"I don't want a razor chaser," he said. "Those girls will blind a Blinder fast. They want the snow and the money but they never think of the violence as more than a thrill."

"Only want those that don't want you?" You smiled, watching closely for any response. A glimmer.

John chuckled before he looked back down to the papers.

"Something like that," he murmured.

Monday afternoon, you were at your desk when Tommy --Mr. Shelby-- stormed past you, cigarette burning between his fingers. The door slammed behind him and you could hear pacing in the room behind you.

"Right, John, you're to lead the Italian meeting in my stead," Tommy's muddled voice said, already moving toward the door. The door jiggled.

"Me? But what--"

"I don't want to hear it," Tommy interrupted, walking through the door before pointing behind him at John. "Just make it happen. This company is growing rapidly. Remind me why you should keep your position."

Tommy walked out with a curt nod at you. Conversation over.

You heard papers scatter as Tommy left and immediately stood up and walked into his office to find John pacing behind his desk. You flinched as he grabbed his chair and threw it into a corner, his hands flying to his head as he growled in frustration. You quickly closed the door behind you.

"John?" Your voice wavered.

He stopped in his tracks and looked up, his wild eyes looked over you before he closed them and took a deep breath.

"Yes, (Y/N)," he said tiredly. "What do you want?"

"It's a slow day today," you said as you looked him over, his hands shaking as he fought to stay still, calm, under your gaze. "The girls were hoping to leave early. Make up the hours when we're slammed later this week."

"Yes," John sighed. "Send them home. Thank you, (Y/N). Now if you could kindly go home yourself, I can properly go 'round the bend in peace."

He started pacing again, but you didn't move to leave.

"John?" You were quiet, and yet it was deafening even as he stomped and growled. You could tell your presence set him on edge, but wasn't entirely sure why. You had started to feel safe around him, joking and talking to each other in after hours. You had thought you were friendly with each other, but his demeanor was tense, agitated.

"What?"

"Is there something wrong?"

You stepped forward and he stopped again, rubbing his eyes in his hand.

"Yes," he said, agitation spilling over like bubbles over a boiling kettle. "Yes there's quite a bit wrong. I've got to lead a meeting with the fucking Italians and I've already been on edge, fucking chomping at the bit for weeks. Between the kids and work I've not had a bloody minute alone."

"Can I help?"

John barked a laugh before he could stop himself.

"Not unless you can dress up as me and talk to the bloody Italians," he said bitterly. "Or you're ready to wank off your boss so his head's on straight again."

His head shot up, eyes wide as he took a step around his desk, his hand outstretched.

"I didn't mean that," he said quickly. "Christ, I'm going bloody crazy."

John started pacing again, a wild animal in a cage. The floor under his feet would wear if he kept going. The boards would creak, give way until he was pacing himself into the ground.

"It's fine," you said quietly. "I'll send the girls home."

You stepped out, keeping John closed in his office to pace as you sent everyone home. Your head was racing with his words. They had been carelessly tossed out without a thought only to be reeled back in, back to the boss you had come to know. They had shocked you. But also intrigued you, you thought. Did he mean it?

After telling the girls the good news, you sat back at your desk for a moment and finished a page of type. As they all filed out and said their goodbyes, you gathered your things but left them on your seat as you went back to John's door.

He stopped in mid pace in the middle of his room as you opened the door. He sighed, as his palms pressed into his eyes. As if to press his brains back in to his head before he did anything stupid.

"I'm fine, really," he said pressing his palms deeper into his eyes. "You can go home."

"I want to help."

John looked at you standing in the doorway. You bit your lip as you watched him watch you. The heat from his hungry eyes made your heart flutter.

"Do I have to say it again?" You asked, your voice stronger than you expected it to be. The longer he stared the more uncertain you felt. You looked down for a moment.

"I--"

John's lips collided into your own as his hand raked into your hair and his hips pressed you into the door. He was hungry, needy, wild. He licked your lip and deepened the kiss. You jolted back to earth as his bit your lip a little too hard. You gasped as you pulled back and his moan was ripped out of your mouth. His hazy blue eyes sharpened as he cupped your face.

"Shit, sorry, doll," he said as he pecked your lips. "You taste so sweet. I got carried away."

You squeezed his forearm and pulled him closer to you again, your skin begging for his touch.

"Kiss me again," you said, watching his eyes light up and an easy smile spread across his face.

He did, and this time he didn't bite you. His hands wandered your frame, expertly memorizing every inch as his kisses made you forget everything but his blue eyes. He lightly tugged on your hair and kissed down your neck, illiciting a moan as he found the spot that made you see stars.

"I could listen to that sound forever," he chuckled into your neck before nipping at the same spot.

You pressed yourself to him as you loosened his tie and pulled his shirt from his trousers.

"Aren't I supposed to be relaxing you?" You laughed before you felt his hand push your skirts up to grab at your thighs.

"Multitasking," he said into your ear and pushed his knee between your legs.

You writhed as he pressed you into the door and you felt the friction he caused at your core. You grabbed his chin and pulled him back to your lips for a kiss as you grinded against his leg without a thought. The pleasure had you. He felt entirely too good against you, and you could not bear to be separated.

"You like grinding, eh?" He chuckled as you gasped when he moved his leg with you and you flushed.

He pulled you from the door, leading you to his desk to sit on top of all the papers. John cupped your face and kissed you so hard you saw stars. You followed as he pulled away, half lidded as he pushed you back onto the desk as he pulled his chair from the corner he had thrown it in.

"Stockings come off, love, before I rip them," he said, setting the chair back in front of you.

"Then rip them," you said lowly as you kicked your heels under his desk and propped a foot on the chair.

"Right," he smiled wolfishly as he sat down between your legs and slipped his hand on your calf and into your skirts. "Come 'ere."

You lifted yourself off the desk for a moment so he could pull your stockings over your ass. John tore them off of you without hesitation and tossed them aside as he ran his rough hands along your legs and up your skirt, pulling you off of the desk and straddling his knee. You purred into his ear.

"Your hands feel so good, John," you rasped. "How do I make you feel good?"

You had no thoughts, no cares, you only wanted more. The world, the room you were in, everything but this feeling and him were static to be ignored. You were lost in lust and couldn't pull yourself out, only through.

You grinded into him and whined as you pulled back to look him in the eye. His eyes were heavy and he cupped your cheek as he pulled you into a kiss.

"Did I need this or do you, doll?" He exhaled a smile as he rested his forehead on yours. "I'm not the only one pent up. Someone hasn't been taking care of you, have they?"

You growled and pressed yourself against him.

"Can you shut up for once in your life?" You gritted your teeth.

"I want to hear it from your lips, doll," he said as he teased you, just out of your reach.

"I want it," you whispered as you rubbed him through his slacks. "I want it. I want it. I want it."

----

Completely spent, John buried his head in her hair for a moment before standing up and fastening his trousers.

"I still have that meeting soon," John said, holding his hand out to help her sit up on the desk. "But after. After I tuck the children in," he kissed her hand, the bracelet catching his eye and causing him to smile. "I want to see you with nothing on but that bracelet. I'm not done. Come over tonight."

She smiled weakly, and he frowned and kissed her hand again. His mind was clear, the fog of cum spent between her legs. The clarity sent warning bells through his brain as he watched her face tighten, her smile artificial and cracking near the corners.

"Or yours," he amended and watched her expression stay the same. "Less chances of interruptions."

He frowned deeper and let go of her hand.

"Did I do something wrong? You're still shaking like a leaf, you can't tell me you didn't--"

"Oy, (Y/N)? John?" Finn's voice echoed outside his office. "Hello?"

John and (Y/N) both froze for a moment as they locked eyes. She gave him a pleading look as she stood up and smoothed her dress back down, slipping her heels back on with effort. John tucked his shirt back in and straightened his tie as she walked to the door and opened it.

"Hey Finn," she smiled weakly, opening the door wide as he strode in. "John was just going over last minute reports before we leave."

"I caught the other ladies down the street," Finn said and eyed his brother. "You're entirely unfair keeping (Y/N) while the rest are allowed to run off for the day. She works so hard for you already, you should appreciate her more."

"I suggested it," (Y/N) cut in as John frowned and opened his mouth. "To get a leg up for tomorrow. But we're done here, so I really should head home. John, good luck with your meeting. I hope I helped."

John nodded and cleared his throat, his brain growing dark. Is she really pretending like I didn't just take her over my desk, he thought. Surely she's just saving his feelings.

"Right, right," he said as he shoved his hands in his pockets. "Have a nice evening, (Y/N)."

"Can I walk you home?" Finn smiled at her as he asked. "Maybe take you to an early dinner?"

John's jaw set as she gave him one last pleading glance before smiling and nodding to Finn, nestling her arm in his.

"I'd love that," she said, her voice shaky as she looked back to John. "I'll see you tomorrow, Mr. Shelby."

John's heart dropped as Finn led her out of his office. He sank into his chair and settled his face into his hands.

Masterlist

#storytime with murderousginger #promptmuderousginger #peaky blinders #peaky blinder fanfic #john shelby #john shelby x reader #finn shelby #John Shelby x reader x Finn Shelby #promptmurderousginger

321 notes · View notes

degenerate-otaku · 3 years

Text

Another one shot of Future Gohan and Trunks for yall

https://m.fanfiction.net/s/13896221/1/Before-the-Rain

(Links in case you prefer)

In the times that had followed the androids' destruction, younger generations were highly protected, as they were the earth's only hope. The government set up an initiative to get more children out of dangerous cities that housed gangs and violence.

Children and any family they had would move to countryside camps, wherein they would receive food, safety and education in return for doing manual labour such as farming and sewing, as well as taking care of the sick.

Trunks somewhat hated this, as it meant that many children in West City, including his own friends often moved away when things got too difficult, leaving him isolated, in terms of having friends his own age.

Sure, sometimes he'd visit, taking the underground railway system, or by hopping on the nimbus, or even flying when he had learnt to do so, but it felt like an arduous task.

However, when Gohan decided to volunteer as a teacher, Trunks thought it would be a good idea to attend full time, as the pair could go together. Trunks was surprised when the day before Gohan revealed he was rather nervous about it.

“C'mon, you're an amazing teacher to me, so I'm sure you'll be able to teach more kids!” Trunks reassured him, snuggling into bed. He always loved when Gohan would stay over at his house, it was so comforting to know he was right there beside him.

“Yeah...but that's you...and I've known you since you were born...and there's a lot of kids!” Gohan hung up his smart looking outfit, which Trunks remarked as being nerdy, on a hanger, before sitting on the edge of the bed.

“Trust me, they aren't as annoying as me. You'll be fine...Good night.” Trunks smiled at him before switching off his light and pretending to be asleep before Gohan could worry further.

Gohan sighed and tucked the boy in a little more before heading to sleep himself.

The next day, the pair flew to the makeshift school building, and landed away from sight before coming in together.

To keep Gohan distracted from his nerves, which Trunks viewed as highly irrational, considering Gohan was also "The Golden Warrior", he inquired,

“Doesn't your mom cook for the kids here a lot? My friends said that a lady called Miss Son is the most amazing lunch lady ever.”

“Huh? Oh...yeah,” Gohan laughed, lifting his head from the book held in his hands.

“I mean...she's used to cooking in massive quantities for me and for when my dad was around...it's a chance for her to share her...motherly-ness.” He smiled, then stopped at the door, listening to the sound of children chattering inside.

“You can do this!” Trunks grinned, taking his bag off his shoulder as he stepped in, Gohan following, the class immediately silenced, intrigued by the smart young man, that was clearly strong looking, his muscles bulging even in his clothes.

“Uh...Good morning class!” He began, picking up a pen and writing his name on the board.

“My name is Mr Son...and I will be your new teacher!” He smiled politely, awaiting a response.

“Oh my god, are you married to the lunch lady?!” A girl exclaimed.

Gohan frantically shook his head, “N-no, she's my mom!” His face had gone red as the class giggled, but he soon regained composure, laughing it off.

“Gosh, she cooks like that for you all the time?!” Another kid chimed in and he scratched the back of his head,

“Yeah...I guess so! I just hope she doesn't come in and embarrass me!” He answered.

Trunks gazed up at him from where he was sitting. He was glad to see his best friend adapting so well to his new job.

“Alright! Our first task is going to be a written task, which I'll get you to read aloud at the end.” He instructed them, handing out some paper, taking a look at every one of his new students.

“I want you all to write about what you did during your summer. Which programs did you volunteer in? Did you visit anywhere?”

He returned to his position at the front and passionately spoke, “I really wanna know about you guys! Oh...maybe I should take the register to learn your names...tell me if I mispronounce any!”

Gohan sat down, getting out the list of names and calling them out, one by one, receiving a pleasant "Good morning, Mr Son“ each time. It was strange to hear Trunks call him that, and by the sound of it, the title was strange for the boy to speak aloud too. The two just had to pretend as if they didn't know each other, Gohan made it a priority not to show favouritism towards him, but he knew it would be difficult.

He loved that boy unconditionally.

”Sir, how long do we have?“ A girl named Cherri, who he knew to be Trunks' friend that used to live not far from Capsule Corp, asked.

”Oh...right, I forgot to tell you that! Uh...you have until half past.“ He answered, before scribbling down more lesson ideas in his book.

The truth was that he had no clue about what he was doing. He was planning his lessons as he went along.

The time passed quickly, and Gohan decided to pick out random students to read out what they had wrote. A few passed, and he made some notes about them in his book.

”Alright, last but not least is Trunks.“ Gohan called out to him, snapping the boy out of a daydream.

”Oh, ok...“ He reluctantly stood and read from the paper, ”Last summer, I mostly stayed at home, played video games and studied. I went to the beach with my mom a few times....uhh I watched TV and...uh yeah.“ He sat back down.

”...that's it? That's all you wrote?“ Gohan glared at his student, hoping he had a good response.

”Yeah.“ Trunks replied, thinking nothing of it.

”Trunks, you had half an hour and you wrote 3 sentences.“ Gohan sounded stern and the class silently watched.

”Well, you already know what I did last summer, Gohan-“ Trunks gasped and the class was confused.

”Wait, is he your brother?“ The boy next to Trunks, who was also his good friend asked and the whole class started chatting.

Gohan cleared his throat and sighed,

”Yes...well...I am very close to Trunks, our families are too...but this does not mean I favour him over any of you.“ He calmed the situation, then spoke directly to Trunks,

”I need you to show the same level of respect to me as everyone else in here, too, ok? It is the morning of the first day, so I will let this slide, but please give more effort.“

Trunks nodded, but rolled his eyes, slumping back in his chair, when Gohan turned to the whiteboard and wrote down the title of the next lesson, before collecting in the students' essays and handing out exercise books.

The next lesson would be a boring maths lesson, which Trunks sat through. He was ahead of his peers in scientific and mathematical subjects, thanks to his master's teaching, so sitting through a recap of something he found so simple was like watching paint dry.

Whenever Trunks raised his hand, he felt like Gohan always asked someone else. He didn't like being ignored.

He knew the answers to everything, it was incredibly annoying to hear someone who clearly didn't know something harder than expanding brackets in algebra, try to solve the equation on the board that Trunks could do in his head.

Gohan was encouraging and made sure the students felt no shame in making mistakes.

”Alright, Cherri, so now you need to get the unknowns on one side of the equation.“ Gohan advised her, writing on the board the step she just explained with his help.

The girl stammered, her face going a little red from the attention.

”The answer is 4!“ Trunks, finally fed up, called out the answer.

”Well, yes, that is correct, but I wasn't asking you, I was asking Cherri.“ Gohan put down his pen and his serious tone returned.

”She obviously didn't know!“ Trunks folded his arms, determined to not apologise for doing what he thought was right.

”It's rude to interrupt, regardless.“ Gohan told him, before moving on.

Finally, it was time for break and when Trunks decided he was going to talk to Gohan, he was surprised to find girls in his class talking to him instead, asking him tons of questions.

”So, you work out?“ One asked, taking a look at his arms.

”Of course he does, just look at him!“ Her friend cut in and Gohan blushed and nodded, explaining his reasons, which Trunks knew to be false.

”Oh, hey, Trunks!“ Gohan spotted him and took his opportunity to get out of that conversation.

”I wanted to have a chat about before.“ He approached his pupil, who was causing him some concern.

”Oh...same.“ Trunks fiddled with the sleeves of his jumper, something he always did when he was nervous, which Gohan took notice of.

”Why did you feel like you could do that?“ Gohan's voice was calm; it always made Trunks feel more at ease.

”I dunno...it just felt like...you were ignoring me. I just got a bit fed up...because I already knew the stuff and you weren't asking me.“ The teen shrugged his shoulders, not meeting his eye.

”Trunks,“ Gohan placed his hand on his shoulder, making the boy glance up at him.

”I just want to know what the others know. I know you're able to do this, but most of them aren't.“

Gohan did make sense, but Trunks was stubborn. His mother said it was a trait of his father, though she was stubborn too.

”I spend a lot of time with you...and I love spending time with you...but it's not fair to give you all my focus...

You know I really love you, right?“

That was enough to make Trunks smile.

”I know...thanks, Gohan...I mean Mr Son.“ Trunks giggled before running off.

Gohan watched as the other kids played together gleefully. It was heartwarming to see them be actual kids and enjoy their disrupted youth. It only made him more determined to fight for their safety and teach them well.

'I might be an even better teacher than you, Mr Piccolo...'

He smirked, hoping Piccolo could hear him somewhere, feeling proud of him.

#dbz #dragon ball z #dragon ball #trunks #future trunks #gohan #son gohan #trunks briefs #dbz fanfiction #fanfiction #fluff #my fanfiction

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thompsborn · 4 years

Note

I'm ~indecisive~ so either parkner, parksborn, or ot3 (Peter/harley/harry), OR just something Harley centric pleeaassee love you hope you're doing well 😊💗💗

wasteland, baby by hozier

be still, my indelible friend

you are unbreaking

though quaking

though crazy

that's just wasteland, baby

[send me a character/ship/dynamic/etc. and i’ll put my music on shuffle and write a drabble/one shot based on the first song that plays!]

i have literally no clue what happened with this, literally i saw the song and was like wow yes hozier song for a harley centric ot3 one shot? perfect! and then it just. devolved? evolved? developed. somehow. into this gay panic lonely tennessee boy meeting two dumb fucked up and traumatized boys on a road trip before they start college and ??? i have no fucking clue tbh

tw: internalized homophobia, classic southern rose hill homophobia, a much thicker version of southern accent typing than i usually do, vague mentions/hints of toxic/abusive home life via one mr harry osborn, basically just canon based trauma but only talked about in passing

Harley feels life like a pressure pushing down on his chest.

It isn’t heavy, per se, but it isn’t light, either - rather a constant weight, comfortable at times, overwhelming at others. He will carry it down the street like a backpack strapped around his shoulders and pressed into the dimples at the base of his spine and he may wince and he may want to whine, but he’ll just smile with the warmth of sunshine radiating from his skin like he is the sun itself, and he will nod his head in greeting at any lonesome soul he passes.

Lonesome as him, at least. Lonesome as lonesome could ever really get.

He’s got his Mama, is the thing—and he loves his Mama with all he’s got, feels it seize up in his chest sometimes, his heart palpitating rapidly as it tries to process just how much love he holds in his chest like a secret he can’t quite share. Got his Mama and his sister, Annabelle, and her missing teeth that she loves to show off with every dimple cheeked grin that she flashes them, a nine year old girl who loves to have her hair braided back and resting between her shoulder blades like a signature, something that is solely hers. Harley can’t see braids without thinking of Belle and her crinkly nose and the laugh lines around her eyes when she can’t stop the chortles that rise from her chest. Belle and their Mama are all that he’s really got, and he wouldn’t trade them for the world.

But he wonders if there’s anyone out there who would really understand what he means when he says, “Life just feels a bit heavy today.” His Mama tries to, but she doesn’t get it, feels the pressures and the struggles of life differently than he does, because he knows she feels the aches and pains just as much as him, if not more so, but she has an energy that he doesn’t seem to have access to, an ability to chime a laugh without feeling like it’s too heavy in her poor lungs to make much of a sound. Belle doesn’t show any of the signs that Harley did when he was her age of any sort of weight pushing down her shoulders, because he felt it early, early, early—far too early than any child ever deserves, but he saw his father walk out that door with a half-assed smile and an unconvincing promise to return and that weight appeared like a lump in his throat and a stinging of tears behind his eyes and it’s only grown and shifted and intensified since then, really, but Belle doesn’t seem to have that weight, or any weight at all, and Harley hopes to the heavens above (that scare him shitless on a good day, really) that she never has to feel like him.

Because he is horribly, terrifyingly alone, sometimes. Sitting on the sofa with his Mama sitting to his right, his sister curled up in between them, letting out endearing little snorts when something funny happens in whatever show they’re watching, and his Mama could be brushing back his hair like she did when he was a kid, Belle could be snuggled in his lap and laughing into his chest, he could be surrounded by the two most important people in his life, the only two people in his life, and he could still stare at that television screen and feel a gaping wound in his chest that nothing can fill. There’s weight, pressure, heaviness--and an emptiness, in the center of it all. A vacancy that may never be filled. Like the eye of a hurricane that never seems to rest.

Then a far too fancy looking car rolls up in Rose Hill, parks itself in the dirt lot of the only motel in town, and everything seems to shift.

“I’m Harry,” one of the oddities tells him, when Harley stops by Rita’s Diner because his Mama is taking Belle to a doctor’s appointment in the next town over but wanted him to pick up her paycheck for her. The guy looks nothing like anyone in Rose Hill ever has, a sleek black blazer over a white shirt with a slogan that Harley can’t read from where he’s standing, dark blue skinny jeans and a fancy kind of tennis shoes that don’t have a smudge of dirt on them, his hand extended towards Harley, head tilted to the side, eyes green and piercing as they scan over Harley in some kind of intrigue.

Harley’s been born and raised to be polite, so he shakes the guys hand and says, “Harley Keener. Nice t’meet you, Harry...?”

The ends of Harry’s lips curve, twist. “Lyman,” he fills in, brow quirking. There’s a quiet snort that fills in the gap of silence that follows, and then Harry is turning, hand still clutching Harley’s in an almost hand shake, looking at the guy sitting beside him and reading the menu with amusement on his features. “What?”

“Nothing,” the guy says, glancing towards Harry before immediately looking away and having to smother a laugh in his palm. Harley takes a moment to examine this guy, too - sticking out just as much as Harry is with his beige skinny jeans (kind of like khaki’s, but nothing like them, at the same time) and a dark grey hoodie, looking far too thick for the sunny day outside. His hair is swooped across his forehead in wisps of curls, brown eyes glimmering. “Nothing,” he says again, more insistent, though it doesn’t sound convincing as he giggles more.

Harry rolls his eyes, turning back to Harley with a grimace, though his eyes shine in a way that makes it obvious that he isn’t actually annoyed. “Don’t mind him,” he says, gaze flickering down to where Harley is still clasping his hand. Harley pulls back as soon as he notices, yanks his hand away a little too fast. It makes Harry’s nose crinkle, for a second, and then smooth. “That’s Peter.”

Giggles waves a hand vaguely in Harley’s direction, then looks away. Harley isn’t sure what to make of that. “What’s he laughing at?”

“Nothing important,” Harry assures with a shrug. “You’re from here, I’m guessing?” Then, with his newly freed hand, he gestures towards Harley’s clothes, the smudge of dirt on his cheek, the slight sunburn on the bridge of his nose and the freckles dotting his skin. “I don’t mean to assume, you just look a lot like a local.”

“Well, I’d bet I do, since you definitely don’t,” Harley muses, brow quirking, resting a hip on the edge of the counter and crossing his arms over his chest. “I don’t mean to assume either, but neither of you are from ‘round here, huh?”

Harry’s smile widens while Peter flips a fork round and round between his nimble looking fingers. If Harley looks closer, he thinks he can see those fingers shaking, yet it doesn’t seem to hinder Peter’s ability to spin the fork with a flawless sort of ease. It makes him intrigued. Confused, too. A bit unsure. He doesn’t get the chance to voice any of it, though.

Julianna, the manager that’s working today, brings Harley his mama’s paycheck, wrapped up in a neat white envelope with Keener scrawled across the front in scratchy script. Harley tips his head in parting when he leaves, and he catches a glimpse of Peter leaning towards Harry with something forming through a whisper of his lips, so close that he brushes against Harry’s ear as he speaks.

He thinks of them the rest of the day. He isn’t quite sure why, but he does.

(Maybe it was the hand in his, or the way Peter couldn’t stop giggling under his breath like there was a joke that no one else knew but him. Maybe the curiosity that Harley felt bubbling in his chest had, for even just a fraction of a moment, filled that cavern the slightest bit.)

“You seem distracted, honeybun,” Margaret Keener says over dinner that night, swooping blonde bangs out of her eyes as she glances towards her eldest child, her eighteen year old son with his shoulders hunched down on himself as he uses his fork to push his food around his plate. Maggie keeps her eyes on Harley, but turns her head to address Belle as she says, “Doesn’t he look distracted, Tinker Bell? Looks a little lost in his head, don’t he?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Annabelle responds, nodding her head politely before shoveling a bite of broccoli salad into her mouth. She speaks around her food, using her own fork to gesture towards her brother, and tells their mama, “Candy Jones was tellin’ me that her daddy saw Harley talkin’ to those city boys stayin’ at the inn.”

Harley shoots his sister a sharp glare while a flicker of understanding sparks in their mama’s eyes. “I see,” she drawls, setting her fork down to prop her chin in her hand, resting in the curve of her palm as she smiles at her son.

“It’s nothin’, Mama,” he grumbles, shrinking in his seat under her knowing stare.

Sounding amused, Maggie says, “Doesn’t sound like nothin’, honeybun. If Annabelle can tell me about her crushes, then you can tell me about yours.”

Instantly, Harley is looking at his sister in bewilderment. “You got crushes?”

Annabelle shovels more food in her mouth. “Maybe,” she says around it all, brows raising in a way that challenges him to say something about it.

“But you’re a baby,” Harley says.

“I’m almost ten,” Belle corrects. “Mama said it was okay, Harls. Right, Mama?”

Maggie nods. “Yes I did,” she says, though her eyes are glued to her son. “’Cause there ain’t nothin’ wrong with having crushes. It’s a natural part of life. So, Harley, why don’t you tell me about these city boys?”

“There’s nothin’ to tell,” Harley insists, looking at his mama with wide eyes. “Honest, Mama. I talked to ‘em for a few minutes while I was waitin’ for Julianna to bring me your check, but nothin’ happened. We just talked. I don’t even know how y’all know that they’re from a city.”

Belle lets out a huff. “Word spreads fast in this town, Harley,” she tells him. “You’d know that if you had any friends that you could talk to.”

“Annabelle Ray Keener, you watch yourself,” Maggie scolds, turning her eyes to her daughter with lowered brows. Belle ducks her head, looks away with red creeping up the back of her neck. “You say sorry to your brother. That was uncalled for, little miss. We don’t talk to each other that way, you hear me?”

Belle sighs. “Sorry, Harls,” she murmurs.

Harley’s head is bowed, ends of his lips tugged down in a frown. “S’alright,” he mutters in response, glancing up at Maggie through his lashes and sounding like nothing but a boy rather than the fresh adult that he is. “I ain’t got nothin’ else to say, Mama. We just talked for a few minutes. They seemed weird, but nice.”

“If you say so, baby,” Maggie softly replies, smile gentle and kind.

He doesn’t say much else for the rest of dinner.

Only a few days later, as Harley is strolling down the streets leading from his house to the mechanic shop that he works at part time during the summers, he sees them again. It’s a particularly hot day, and the weight of life is particularly heavy, and he sees them in the only park resting near the center of Rose Hill, small and meek but all that the town really needs. Peter is siting on one of the swings on the old rickety swing set that Harley has personally had to fix dozens of times since learning how to at the age of eleven, and Harry is pushing him, the two of them looking bright and happy under the sunlight. Laughter chimes in the air when Peter says something that has Harry doubling over, and the smug sort of grin that grows on Peter’s face says that he was hoping for that reaction.

Harley stands there for a few short moments, just watches in silent curiosity, and then he walks over without a second thought. Takes his time, doesn’t want to interrupt but can’t stop himself as he approaches, until they spot him, no more than ten feet away, and they quiet quickly, watching as he slows to a stop just a short distance from them. “You’re from the city,” he says - first thing that comes to mind, and the silence makes him itch, so he throws caution to the wind. Adds, as an afterthought, “My sister heard people in town talkin’ ‘bout it. Is that true?”

There’s a short pause, where Peter looks over his shoulder and Harry meets his eyes briefly, and then they’re looking back and Peter is saying, “Yeah, it’s true.”

“Which one?” Harley questions, curious. He makes a point of raking his eyes over their outfits, which still stand out just as much as the ones that they were wearing last time did. “Doesn’t look like anywhere in Tennessee, I assume?”

“Good assumption, cowboy,” Harry grins. “We’re New York, born and raised.”

Harley tilts his head, brows raising. “Cowboy?”

Peter clicks his tongue, tilts back on the swing until he’s practically hanging upside down, hair brushing against the wood chips of the playground, and then he kicks out his legs and uses an odd sort of momentum to swing back up until he’s sitting, grin wide and toothy as he meets Harley’s eyes. “Southern people use nicknames,” he says with a light laugh. “We thought cowboy suited you.”

“It does?” Harley asks, even more confused. “Y’all were talkin’ about me?”

“Y’all,” Harry repeats, an overjoyed and amused sort of look on his face.

Peter cocks his head slightly to the side, brows quirking, just a bit. “Of course we were talking about you,” he says. “Not everyday you meet a cute cowboy, right?”

That makes Harley freeze, heart stuttering over a beat in his chest, and it feels like what he always thought a stupid high school crush should feel like, his lungs weak and his face warm as he looks away, brings up a hand to run his fingers nervously through his hair. “Oh.”

Harry yanks Peter’s ear lobe lightly and snarkily asks, “What happened to subtlety, Parker?”

“What happened to transparency, Osborn?”

Instantly, Harry is shoving Peter’s shoulder, not too harsh but not exactly kindly, either. Peter exaggerates the push and falls out of the swing dramatically, tumbling into the wood chips with a bright laugh. Harry murmurs, “You’re such a dick,” even as he rounds the swing to help pull Peter to his feet, brushing off the dirt from Peter’s shirt and shaking his head with a sigh.

“You chose me,” Peter counters, grinning.

Harry rolls his eyes, but a smile pulls at his lips, like he can’t quite fight it. “Dumbest decision I’ve ever made,” he says, pulling Peter closer to him, until they’re chest to chest. “And I let you talk me into this trip, so that says a lot, Pete.”

Peter huffs. “Play the part of the Negative Nancy,” he says, leaning in until their noses brush. “Act like I don’t know any better. As if I don’t know you better than you know yourself.”

“Cocky,” Harry grins. “Y’know, we could put some of that confidence to work if you—”

And then Peter kisses him.

Harley feels like he’s intruding on a moment that was never meant for him, standing a few feet away, feeling frozen and unsure. Part of him knows that the proper thing to do would be to walk away, to leave the situation before it can get too awkward, but there’s a pull, something in his gut that tugs and insists he stay exactly where he is. Not that he could resist that insistence even if he wanted to, because his feet are rooted to the ground like a tree that’s been growing in place for centuries, an unwavering and unmovable object.

Warmth climbs up his neck, blossoms across his cheeks as he simply watches, unable to do much else, while Harry brings up a hand to cup Peter’s jaw, as Peter rests his hands on Harry’s waist and they mould together, like they’re filling in the spaces of one another. It looks as natural as breathing, the way they lean together, the way they pull away in sync, how everything seems to be perfectly timed with one another. Harley feels it clog in his throat, that suffocating lonesome feeling he carries around so much—has to clear his throat in order to breathe around it, but the noise just draws two pairs of eyes to him.

There isn’t any surprise or embarrassment, like they had forgotten he was there—rather, there’s an equal sense of content, as if they were happy to see he hadn’t fled. He clears his throat again, looks over Harry’s shoulder to stare unseeingly at the trees behind the swingset. “I didn’t know...” he trails off, tongue tied.

“We don’t usually flaunt it,” Harry offers, hand sliding from Peter’s jaw to his shoulder, keeps it there even as they step apart. One of Peter’s hands continues to clutch the fabric of Harry’s jacket, like he simply refuses to let him go.

Harley swallows roughly. “Usually?”

A smile tugs at Peter’s lips. “Usually.”

“Huh.” Harley looks away, over his shoulder, rubs at the back of his neck. They’re intriguing, is the thing—something about them is pulling him in, making it impossible to walk away. He can’t place his finger on it. “Um, I... I heard—you said trip? That’s why y’all are here? On a trip?”

“A getaway,” Harry offers, tilting his head back and forth, nose crinkled. “Of sorts. I’m emancipated and told Pete that I was thinking about spending a few weeks away from the city, just to take a break before we start our first year at college. He thought of a road trip, and we just... we just started driving. No destination in mind, you know? Just enough shit to last a couple weeks and enough money to keep the tank full, and then we ended up here.”

Harley looks back at them suddenly, because that... he has always wanted to do that. To leave, if just for a little bit, and take a break from how empty and lonely he feels in Rose Hill. He’s always wanted to drive to the nearest city, drive out of the state, explore. But it costs so much, it takes so much time, and his mama... his sister... leaving them, even temporarily—

That’s why he stays. For them. Always.

It takes a moment for him to string together a response, struggling to remember the conversation, what he wanted to say. Eventually, he manages to ask, “Why here?”

Peter rakes his eyes over Harley, the farthest thing from subtle. “Seems interesting,” he says.

“Why not?” Harry asks, his grin wide, toothy.

Harley smiles back—slow, careful, but he does.

There’s an old backpack thrown over his shoulders, dusty and dingy from sitting in the hall closet for so long, but it’s stocked up with snacks, jams and jellies and crackers and a couple jars of his mama’s homemade lemonade, lids screwed up tight.

He tells himself he grabbed so much food because he knows he’s gonna spend the whole day at the pond near the edge of Mr. Samson’s property, the one that Harley helps maintain during the winter months that he’s been given permission to go swimming in whenever he wants. He tells himself that he goes to town first to grab a loaf of bread because he has the feeling he’ll be craving jam sandwiches later, too. Tells himself all these lies until he finally comes across them, sitting besides the road with ice cream cones in hand, chatting to themselves under the warm sun.

As soon as Harley sees them, he freezes, doubt creeping into his mind. None of this was for him, he knows—he packed so much and came up with excuses to wander around town in the hopes of seeing them, of inviting them, but now that they’re in front of his eyes, nerves start to crawl up his throat and lock his jaw shut. He tightens his fingers around one of the backpack straps, knuckles turning white.

Harry happens to see him while glancing around, and then he grins, featuring lighting up as if he was hoping to see Harley just as much as Harley was hoping to run into them. As soon as Harry’s posture changes, Peter spins around, scans their surroundings until he finds Harley, too, and then it isn’t a matter of Harley approaching them—rather, the two of them scramble to their feet and make their way towards him, instead. The hands that aren’t holding their ice cream cones are twisted together between them, swinging lightly.

“There’s—” Harley falters, scrapes his teeth over his lower lip and looks around anxiously. “I just... there are a lotta not-so-friendly people here. People that... frown on—on gay people, y’know? I dunno—I just... if you care, I, um—”

The sun bounces off of Harry’s emerald eyes on a way that might have been menacing, if it weren’t paired with the small smile gracing his lips. “People can think what they want,” he says with the wave of his hand. “We don’t care.”

Harley shifts his weight from one foot to the other, keeps glancing around nervously. “I don’t think you understand. They’ll get violent, if they see—if they see y’all holding hands. They’re ruthless. You could get really hurt.”

There’s something sharp and understanding in Peter’s features. “Have they hurt you?”

“I’m not—” Harley stops, bites back the instinctive denial that tries to claw it’s way out from the back of his throat. It’s been years since he told his mama and his sister, since he spit bloody globs of saliva onto the contrete and cried because the bullies weren’t just ruthless, they were right, they knew, somehow, what he refused to admit for so long. It’s why he hides it now, from everyone other than Mama and Belle. He never knows if they’ll hurt him or not. But there’s a genuine knowing reflected in both Harry and Peter’s eyes, like they could see his pain, like they’ve felt it. He doesn’t feel the need to lie to them.

That fact terrifies him endlessly.

He clenches his jaw, juts his chin up in a choppy sort of nod. “They used to,” he says. “Before I learned how’ta fight back. Still spout shit ‘bout me all god damn day, but words don’t matter. I know better ‘en to listen to ‘em. But y’all... you’re city boys, right? The guys in town, they’ll think you’re weak. They’ll start shit, and they always finish whatever shit they start.”

“I can take ‘em,” Peter assures.

Harley pauses. “Um...”

“He looks scrawny,” Harry says, “but he’s right. If anyone bugs us, he’ll win.”

Harley wants to protest that, mostly because Peter is at least three inches shorter than him and looks like he’d struggle to do a push up underneath the sweatshirts he keeps on wearing, but there’s so much confidence in both if their voices that Harley feels like it’d be stupid to disagree. Instead, he adjusts his backpack and wets his lower lip, battling internally for a moment before blurting out, “Do y’all wanna go swimming with me?”

There’s a short pause, before Harry shares a smile with Peter. “Come again, cowboy?”

Harley flushes, just a bit, and stares down at the toes of his shoes with narrowed eyes. “There’s a pond,” he says, tone almost defensive, already expecting this to go wrong somehow. “It’s a little bit out of town, but it’s nice, kept clean and looked after, y’know? And it’s never busy like the lake out past the school. I was gonna go, and it was brought to my attention that I don’t have any friends and I don’t wanna go alone, and I—I thought—”

“We’ll go,” Peter says. “Right now?”

Harley shifts the weight of his backpack again, glances up in surprise, but knows better than to question a miracle. “If y’all aren’t busy.”

Peter looks at Harry. “Are we busy?”

“Not at all,” Harry answers with a grin.

It takes a quick stop at the motel for them to change into something they can swim in and multiple stammered out reassurances that there’s plenty of food and drinks in his bag for them to share, but they eventually amble over to the pond on foot, Peter and Harry scanning over the place in appreciation while Harley sets down his backpack and starts to unload it all.

“Christ,” Harry says with a laugh when he sees just how much there is. “Were you planning on having a party or something? That’s a lot.”

Harley shakes his head, feels his face burn, just the slightest bit. “Nah, jus’ wanted to make sure there was plenty to last all day.” Then, holding out the loaf of bread, Harley asks, “Sandwich? I got blackberry jam, and raspberry, and—and some apple butter, and there’s—peanut butter and almond butter, so if either of y’all’re allergic to peanuts, I—”

Peter reaches over, settles nimble fingers around Harley’s wrist and smiles. “You packed all this food for us, didn’t you?”

“I...” Harley has to swallow the lump that forms suddenly in his throat. “I just wanted to make sure that there were plenty of options.”

“You’re so sweet,” Peter coos, bringing Harley’s hand down to rest against his chest, palm settled over his beating heart. Harley feels his own heart start to march over the contact, features burning with a bright blush that must look even more sharp under the summer sun.

Harley settles in that for a long moment, breathes in slowly, glances through his lashes to see the way Harry is watching them with intrigue and interest in his eyes. Not knowing what else to do, Harley just clears his throat and croaks out, “Y’all wanna go swimmin’ now?”

With a playful grin and something sharp shining in his eyes, Harry says, “Sure, cowboy,” and reaches down to pull his shirt off.

Harley should have thought this through.

He should have—Christ, does he feel dumber than all hell right now, looking like those idiot pre-teens that burn scarlet at the pool parties in all those stupid movies, the blush reaching the tips of his ears in seconds as he immediately turns his eyes upward to stare at the clouds, almost holding his breath until he realizes that’ll just make his face even redder than it already is. How had the fact that swimming would likely entail a lot of bare skin not crossed his mind? He could have thought of anything else, like going to a movie, or—or roller skating, at the rink a couple towns over, or—

Anything other than this, because it’s a lot harder to act like he isn’t a (mostly) closeted gay dumbass when the most attractive boys he has ever seen are standing five feet away from him, shirtless and grinning like sharks, powerful and hungry and knowing the power they hold.

At least, that’s what it feels like when one of Harry’s hands wraps ‘round Peter’s wrist while Peter’s other hand taps a knuckle lightly against Harley’s chin, a gentle gesture that encourages Harley to lower his gaze—which he does, after a few moments, having to remind himself to breathe normally as he brings his eyes down to glance between swirling chocolate’s and dazzling green’s.

“You can look,” Peter tells him, head tilted, corners of his eyes crinkled with a lovable, boyish sort of grin. “We don’t mind.”

Harley’s mouth feels dry.

Before Harley can try to string together an attempt at a response, Harry cuts in, sounds matter of fact and damn near professional when he informs Harley, “And you can like what you see. It’s okay. We like what we see, too.”

“That’s...” Harley trails off, looks away and looks back because there’s a gravitational pull that he just can’t seem to fight. “That’s... allowed?”

With his nose crinkling up, Harry laughs. “Of course it is. Why wouldn’t it be?”

Harley wets his lower lip. “‘Cause y’all’re... you’re together, yeah? And on a trip, gonna be leavin’ soon, I bet, and I’m—I’m the idiot from the close minded Southern town. And you don’t... y’all don’t know me. I don’t know you, either, really, jus’ that I—I, um—uh—”

It’s Peter that steps forward, head tilting to the side, just slightly. Almost puppy like, if it weren’t for the sharpness in his eyes. The ends of his lips pull back, until he’s sporting a soft and gentle sort of smile, but something about it feels damaged, too, in a way that Harley can’t quite put a finger on. “Give yourself some credit, cowboy,” he says. “Harry thinks you’re hot and I can’t get enough of your accent, and that’s just what we thought after three minutes of talking at that diner, alright? Sure, we don’t know you, and, fuck, you definitely don’t know shit about us, but there’s something, right?”

The thing is, Harley isn’t an articulate guy. His brain is capable of endless things, he’s smarter than anyone will ever be able to give him credit for, sure, but when he’s nervous, in a situation that’s unfamiliar and hard to maneuver, his instinct is to duck his head and change the subject. Which is why he freezes completely, even though he knows this is an opening, even though Peter and Harry just fully and openly admitted to being attracted to him, at least on a surface level, and Harley—he’s never had anyone interested in him before. None of the girls at school ever swooned over him, none of the boys tried to woo him with flowers and cheesy dates. He was just the Keener boy, with the blond waves that sometimes dry in ringlets that hang in his eyes when it rains, the sloped nose that’s just a bit crooked from breaking it a few too many times over the years (clumsy, at times; unlucky run ins with bullies, for the most part), the jean jacket that almost always has on, pulled over plain t-shirts in the summer, thick flannels in the winter, dark blue jeans that are old and ripped at the knees, but he can’t bother to replace them. He’s a graduate barely two months out of high school and his future’s already set, laid out and chosen for him.

Stay in Rose Hill. Die in Rose Hill. Maybe grow old, somewhere in between. Hopefully content, at peace, but he ain’t bettin’ money on that. Probably work at the mechanic shop full time once it becomes clear that he’ll never afford to go to college and he won’t get anywhere without a degree. Besides, Mama says that Rose Hill is home, and he says that home is wherever Mama and Belle are, so there’s no real harm in just going with the flow of things.

But it feels like being offered a taste of forbidden fruit (and, Christ, would his Catholic grandma turn over in her grave if she heard him using such a phrase, daring to reference the holy text in his sin) when gentle fingers brush across his cheek, bringing him back to reality as he sucks in a sharp breath and finds green eyes looking into his, brown ones scanning over his features just as closely, as intently.

Harry smiles, all lopsided. “Wanna swim?”

It’s an offer, an ability to ease the nervous (excited?) churning in his stomach. Harley swallows roughly, waits until his tongue no longer feels tangled up and knotted in his mouth, before saying, “Y-Yeah. Okay.”

(They’re swimming ‘round the pond like little kids until sunset, and Harley walks them back to the motel, ‘cause it’s the nice thing to do, and by the time he gets home, his hair still hanging in his eyes in damp ringlets that Harry had called cute while Peter brushed gentle fingers through them with a grin, there’s a swelling feeling of contentment in his chest.

For a moment, it makes the pressure, weight, heaviness, and that chasm of emptiness in the center of it all that so often overwhelms him, pains him so much, seem like nothing.)

They go to the movies the next day, and rollerskating a couple days after that, just because Harley keeps wandering around town while his Mama is at work and Belle is with her friends, going to the lake and having sleepovers because it’s summer and she’s nine and, in a place like Rose Hill, kids start to wander off on their own around the place as soon as they hit first grade. Harley’s got the occasional part time shift at the mechanics, sure, but it’s only ‘bout fifteen hours a week if he’s lucky—five hour shifts, up to three days a week, and with his Mama working so much and Belle having the kind of social life that Harley has never been capable of grasping himself, it’s safe to say there isn’t much else to do to fill up his summer days. Usually, this leaves him terribly lonely, even more so than usual, spending most of his summers in the garage with things to tinker with and a haze over his every thought.

This year, though.

It’s that gravitational pull that Harley thought of before, an otherworldly source guiding him towards these city boys like it’s where he’s supposed to be. He’s always been in the belief that there isn’t a place for him, that he’s just a floater drifting his way among those who really belong, and these two... Harry and Peter are dating—have been for over two years, now, told Harley that they started dating when they were sixteen—and with them is, logically, the last place Harley should feel the most welcome. But, it’s like there’s a space with them, somewhere for him to nestle in, and it feels like it’s purely his own. It feels like his.

Peter is the first to kiss him.

It’s after a day where he wakes up feeling heavier than usual, brain hazed just a bit, chest caving in on that void of emptiness at the center of it all. Mama has a graveyard shift tonight so she passes him in the hall when he shuffles towards the bathroom, presses a kiss to his forehead like he’s a little kid and then makes her way to her room to sleep until it’s time for her to get ready for work, which means that Belle—and her plans to go a few towns over, to go to the sorry excuse for a mall that’s over there, with a couple of her friends—becomes his responsibility to drive around. Which is something he agreed to over dinner last night, but maybe he would have fibbed a bit and said he had his own shift at work if he knew he would wake up feeling like this.

But he takes them, Belle and her two best friends, and spends hours walking ‘round the mall, making sure they’re safe and don’t get lost, holding their bags and offering to pay for all their food when they get hungry at about lunch time, just ‘cause that’s how he was raised to be. By the time he finally parks in the driveway again, all of them having been dropped off at one of the the other girls’ house for a sleepover, his arms are tired, his limbs feel like lead, everything is unclear and slow in his grogginess. He sits behind the wheel for a long time, just trying to breathe like a normal human being, before making his way inside, being greeted bu lights off and silence—Mama already left for work, then. He’s alone.

He’s lonely.

This isn’t anything new—he’s been lonely his whole life, felt it carved into the cavity of his chest like a brand—but it really resonates as he stands there in the entryway, the only light in the room being the slowly setting sun as it shines through the window, illuminates the room with a golden sort of glow. His turns his head so that it’s angled down, curls falling in front of his eyes like a curtain, but even when blocking his vision he can feel it, can hear the distinct lack of sound like a gun shot, save for the distant sound of the washer spinning a load of Mama’s comfy clothes that echoes within his school like an eerie reminder of the fact that no one else is there, and it shouldn’t matter, he’s felt this before and been just fine, but he’s been getting all these little tastes and hints of feeling like he actually belongs somewhere when he’s with Harry and Peter, and knowing what a fraction of companionship feels like...

Harley doesn’t have a cell phone, ‘cause there ain’t no signal in Rose Hill unless you’re on the main road, but that main road is where the diner is, where the bars are, and, of course, the motel. And he happens to have the numbers of two city boys staying at that motel scribbled on a napkin from the rollerskating rink that’s sitting on his nightstand, only just upstairs.

There’s barely a minute of thought before he starts moving towards the staircase, grabbing the house phone along the way, and, a mere fifteen minutes later, he isn’t alone anymore.

He gives them a quick tour of the house after letting them in, mostly because he didn’t actually think of something to do, had only been aching with the need to have someone there, and now he’s basking in the warmth of their presence while trying to figure out something to do in order to not give himself away, but Harry seems a bit more softspoken, Peter keeps brushing fingers against Harley’s shoulder’s, the small of his back, and—

(“I just...” Harley had said over the phone, completely unaware of the empty tone to his words, unable to see the way that the couple had looked at one another, concern and worry and troubled fondness in their eyes. “I’m not busy,” is what Harley had settled on saying, not a lie, but certaintly not the truth. “Are you?”

Peter had been sporting pinched brows and a slight frown. Harry had said, “Never too busy for you, cowboy. What’s the plan?”)

And they end up outside, because Harley takes them out on the backporch for a quick view of the yard and the garden that the Keener’s split responsibility to tend to, and Peter had seen the little campfire set up and insisted they get the stuff for s’mores and have a bonfire. There’s such a simplistic sort of innocent excitement that lights up his features, and it makes Harley wonder— “Have y’all had a campfire b’fore?”

Harry shakes his head. “Always wanted to,” he says. “Pete’s Uncle was actually gonna take us both camping for Pete’s fifteenth birthday, but... um—it didn’t work out, I guess.”

“He passed away,” Peter supplies, when Harley’s brows quirk just slightly, curious but unsure if he should ask. Even Harry looks mildly surprised by the admission, giving Peter a wide eyed look, to which Peter just shrugs and says, “What? I can tell when not to trust someone.” Then, back to Harley, he explains, “My parents died when I was four, so I was raised by my Aunt May and Uncle Ben, but Ben got shot when I was fourteen. I tried to slow the bleeding enough to keep him alive until the ambulance got there, but—yeah. Wasn’t able to, I guess.”

Everything else from before—the heaviness, the loneliness, the ache—it all goes away in an instant, morphing into a shocked sense of dread as he looks into the eyes of the guy he literally called giggles in his head when they met. His tongue is tangled. He has to untangle it slowly before he can ask, “You were there?”

Peter shrugs again, but he looks away.

“Christ, Darlin’,” Harley chokes out, shaking his head. “Yeah, we can have s’mores. We can—so many s’mores, as many as ya’want. Jesus.”

“Shit cards,” Peter says. “They happen.” Then, perking up like they weren’t just talking about him witnessing his uncle’s murder, he looks back to Harley and asks, “Do you maybe have some of those jumbo marshmellows?”

Harry rolls his eyes and groans, and, just like that, it’s like the heavy topic never came up. Not in a let’s just ignore that and let it fester uncomfortably below the surface sort of way, but in a that’s all that needs to be said for now so let’s just move on kind of way instead. It feels natural and comforting rather than cold and dismissive, and it makes that chasm within Harley’s chest feel a little less empty.

It’s after the sun has set, when there’s a fire that’s glowing across them and softening their features in the gentle, flickering light. Harley is sat in the middle because they always seem to want him there, the corner of his mouth sticky from melted marshmellow and the taste of chocolate on his tongue, feeling warm and full. Harry’s leaning into Harley, just a bit, but Peter is sitting a couple inches away, features a bit pinched with a thoughtful sort of expression.

Before Harley can voice his curiosity, Peter glances over at them, practically melts at the sight of Harry settling his head to rest on Harley’s shoulder, and slowly says, “Har...?”

“Mm?” Harry responds, eyes fluttering shut.

“I think—I mean, I wanna—do you think—?”

Harry huffs, one eyes squinting over to look at Peter. “Just do it, Parker. Don’t be a pussy.”

Harley barely has time to murmur a confused little, “Um,” before Peter’s brushing gentle fingertips beneath his chin and turning his head and Harley sees beautiful brown eyes getting closer and closer and—a few freckles, dotting along the bridge of Peter’s nose.

And then they’re kissing.

It’s a basic kind of kiss—lips pressed to lips in what often is only a meaningless point of skin on skin, but Harley’s heart races in his chest as soon as he realizes what’s happening, a tingle running down his spine and—warmth, so much warmth that envelopes him in somethiny soft and cozy and his, it’s his in a way that nothing ever has been, and he pushes in, presses into Peter with a hitch in his breath and kisses back like his life fucking counts on it, ‘cause it does.

Christ Almighty, it does.

(Harry kisses him next, while Harley is still dazed and blinking away the stars in his eyes, but Harry is half asleep and doesn’t do much more than hum against his lips before slumping back down, head on Harley’s shoulder, eyelashes brushing against his cheeks, and it’s so much different yet entirely just the same.)

He didn’t invite them to stay the night.

He also didn’t tell them to leave.

When Harley blinks awake, rising with the sun like he was raised to do, there’s hair ticking his nose and a weight pressed up against his side. It takes a moment for him to clear his eyes of grogginess and make them really focus, but when he does, he finds Harry’s head resting on his chest, curled up against him, snoring softly.

Peter is separate from them, curled up on himself on the far corner of Harley’s bed, wide awake and shivering lightly. Harley feels choked up with the moment and everything that it is, everything that it can be, but the worry clouds over that when he hears Peter’s teeth chatter.

“Cold, Darlin’?”

Instantly, Peter’s head snaps up, wide eyed and sheepish. “Um—I, uh—I’m good, I’m—”

Harley lifts the arm that Harry doesn’t have pinned beneath him, shifts the blanket that they must have fallen asleep on top of and somehow manages to maneuver it from underneath them to over them without moving too much, then keeps a corner held up as he looks to Peter. “C’mon,” he coaxes. “I’ve heard I’m like a heater. C’mere, s’alright.”

Peter hesitates, but then he’s moving, crawling under the blankets and curling into Harley with a shaky sort of sigh. “Thanks,” he murmurs.

“Dunno how you’re so cold,” Harley mutters back, because you’re welcome feels a bit too obvious. “Summertime in Rose Hill can be brutal. Surprised we’re not all dyin’ of heat.”

“M’not actually cold,” Peter tells him. “Just had a nightmare. Almost drowned, once, and I always feel cold after I dream about it.”

Christ, Harley thinks—remembers so suddenly that he doesn’t really know these guys, feels it shock him like a taser. He doesn’t particularly understand why Peter is telling him this, or why he told Harley about his parents and his uncle last night—remembers the shock on even Harry’s face when he had—but it doesn’y feel scary or overwhelming. Just a bit hard to process, feally. Peter doesn’t really act the way Harley suspects someone would after that.

But Harry also doesn’t act like he’s all that traumatized, either, yet Harley can feel the exact moment he goes tense in the shoulders and his breathing takes a hitch. Peter lets out a hum, all too knowing and sad, and reaches out a hand to comb through Harry’s hair. “There he goes,” Peter practically whispers. “Almost had a full night’s rest, too. That would’ve been a god damn miracle, but he needs it, eventually.”

“What happened to you two?” Harley founds himself asking—not maliciously, not demanding, but curious and... upset, maybe, but not at them, of course, rather at the fact that he’s only know these two for a handful of weeks—a month, almost, which is just an odd thought to linger on—and if anyone deserves to never face a bad day in their life, it’s them.

Peter puffs out a sigh as Harry really starts to struggle, brows furrowed, features pinched. “I think we’ll tell you,” he says softly. “One day.”

Harry lets out a pitiful sort of cry in his sleep, and then that’s all that matters, Peter coaxing his partner awake while Harley tries to offer a soothing presence and coo calming words.

Even now, it doesn’t feel like Harley’s an intruder. It feels like he was always supposed to be right here with them, good mornings or bad.

Mama comes home from work with grizzy hair that’s sticking up at random spots and finds three eighteen year old boys curled up together on the sofa with a morning children’s cartoon playing on the screen. Despite the shock and the exhaustion etched deep into her features, she only blink once in surprise before smiling wide at them. “These’re the city boys, I’m guessin’?” she asks, plopping her purse down on the coffee table as she looks them over.

“Yes, ma’am,” Peter says before Harley can do much more than nod. “I’m Peter Parker. This is Harry Os—um. Harry Lyman. It’s nice to meet you, Miss Keener. You have a lovely home.”

“Honey, you can just call me Maggie,” his Mama assures. She flickers her eyes over to Harry, who is so obviously trying to offer a smile and focus on the conversation but is still so rumpled from his rude awakening, borrowed sweatpants and Peter’s shirt askew, eyes a bit glazed over and features a little sad. Still, his Mama gives Harry a smile. “Both of you.”

Harry looks a bit unsure and grateful by that, while Peter offers a quiet, “Okay, Miss Maggie.”

Mama chuckles, looks to Harley with a soft amusement in her eyes. “Honeybun, I think you must’ve found the only polite city boys around,” she says. “You boys have any breakfast yet?”

Harley feels scolded even before he gives an answer, looks down at his lap sheepishly before telling her, “No, Mama, we haven’t eaten yet.”

“Harley James Keener,” Maggie says—not just Mama, not with that tone of voice, sharp and sure but also exasperated and loving. “I know I raised you knowin’ how we treat our guests. C’mon, up you get, we’re cookin’ up some food before anyone starves into an early grave.”

It looks like Peter is about to protest, but he looks at Harry and bites his tongue, instead offering a grateful smile when Harley squeezes his hand lightly before getting up with a simple little, “Yes, ma’am,” and heading to the kitchen.

He’s flipping over the first of the pancakes when his Mama lets out a soft sort of sigh, glancing up from where she’s mixing together the egg wash for the french toast. Harley knows better than to voicea question just yet, waits patient and proper until she’s ready to speak up, though the last thing he expects her to say is a resigned, “You’re gonna be leavin’, huh?”

The spaltula damn near slips from his fingers in his haste to look at he. “Wh—Mama, what?”

“You were never a Rose Hill kinda boy,” she says, smile soft and sad as she looks back down at the bowl she’s mixing. “I knew it when you were just a kid, Harls. Born and raised don’t mean that it’s home, honeybun, and a small town was never gonna be your place. Too much smart in that brain of yours to stay here.”

“Mama...” Harley trails off, only looks away in order to avoid burning the pancake. “I’d never leave you and Belle here. You gotta know that.”

Maggie clicks her tongue and shakes her head, action sharp as her tone. “Harley Keener, there ain’t no way in hell that I’d let you waste your potential just to stay here with us. Rose Hill’s where I wanna be, where I fit—but it isn’t that for you and you shouldn’t make it be. Hard to tell with Tinker Bell, she could go either way, but you? Honey, the world ain’t ready for you, and you’ve been hidin’ yourself here and not usin’ up all that potential you’ve got for too long. You’re gonna leave, honeybun. Stayin’ here was never supposed to be your future.”

Harley wants to fight tooth and nail against this, but the more she speaks, the more her words start to settle over him like a blanket. He’s always wanted to leave, and he’s always felt awfully selfish for wanting it, but the way she says it... there’s not argument. He doesn’t belong here. Up until recently, he just assumed he wouldn’t belong anywhere at all.

“Besides,” Maggie adds, glancing at her son with a curl to her lips. “You’ve got two city boys sittin’ in the other room waitin’ for you.”

“I—I don’t know ‘em all that well,” Harley says.

Maggie shakes her head. “I didn’t know your Daddy all that well when I fell in love with ‘im. Of course, your Daddy changed—wasn’t the man I loved by the time he left us, but that’s not the point. Love ain’t knowin’ someone all the way, honeybun. It’s learnin’ as you go and lovin’ all those bits and pieces that you learn.”

Harley’s face is burning. “I don’t love ‘em, Ma.”

“Not yet,” Maggie says. “But you will.”

Two and a half weeks later, as June turns to July, Harley finds himself packing his things.

“I’ve got an apartment,” Harry says, looking far too put together to be the same guy who was damn near silent in the aftershocks of his nightmare (and the three other nightmare’s Harley has seen since). “If you think you wanna move to the city, you can just stay with me until you either find your footing or decide to come back here. Pete basically lives there, too, with how much he’s stayed over since I got emancipated and moved into their at sixteen.”

Harley looks up from the shirt he’s folding, a single brow arching. “Sixteen?” he questions. “Same year y’all started datin’, you mean?”

The ends up Harry’s lips pull up, amused beyond belief. Peter’s snorin’ on Harley’s bed, tired (couldn’t sleep super well the night befors, Harley was told) and completely unaware of the way that Harry’s eyes glimmer. “Yeah,” he says, shrugging. “Probably got away with shit we shouldn’t have in there, but May was working and doing school to get promoted at the hospital, so there weren’t any adults giving us the you’re too young talk, you know?”

“Your dad...” Harley doesn’t keep talking, mostly because he’s only gotten a slight scratch against the surface with that topic, so he doesn’t want to push. Still, Harry nods.

“He wouldn’t have done much talking,” is all that Harry offers. “That’s why I was emancipated. I’ll tell you about it, probably, when Pete is up to sharing that shit.”

Harley glances at Peter, sleeping soundly still. “Peter had problems with your dad, too?”

Harry winces. “To put it lightly, yeah.”

“Any chance I can find this guy and beat his ass?” Harley questions—mostly for the way that Harry chuckles fondly, but it’s a semi-legitimate question, as well. He doesn’t take well to assholes who treat kids like shit, even more so when it’s his—when—when it’s Harry and Pete.

“He’s not in our lives anymore,” Harry says, stalks forward and brushes a kiss to the corner of Harley’s mouth. “No worries, cowboy. ‘Sides, Pete got a good few hits in, towards the end.”

Christ. “A sight to see, I’m guessin’?”

“Don’t know. I wasn’t there for it.”

Harley shakes his head. “So many stories.”

“So much time to tell them,” Harry counters, a wide grin growing across his face.

From the bed, Peter groans. “Stop bein’ sappy,” he grumbles, words slightly slurred from sleep as he turns his face into the only one of Harley’s pillows that hasn’t been packed yet. “M’sleepin’. Can’t sleep if you’re bein’ all—all fuckin’ gay.”

A light laugh rumbles out from the center of Harley’s chest, while Harry just rolls his eyes and walks over to the bed, plopping down next to Peter with a drawn out sigh. “Dramatic asshole,” Harry grouches, even as he pulls Peter into his side and curls an arm around him, features going soft when Peter doesn’t hesitate to lean against him with a happy hum. “We’re driving back to New York in, like, five hours, Pete. You can’t just wait and sleep in the car?”

Peter cracks an eye open, looking absolutwly scandalized. “And miss out on showing our favorite cowboy all our car games?”

“I already know car games,” Harley says.

“Not ours,” Peter says. “Not yet.”

Not yet. Like his Mama said.

Harley smiles. He likes the silent, unspoken yet powerful promise that comes with not yet.

He likes it a whole lot.

#shadedrose01 #parkner #parksborn #ph2 #peter harley harry #harry harley peter #harry peter harley #harley peter harry #harley harry peter #peter harry harley #parksborner #my writing #HOW did this get so long omg #harley keener x harry osborn

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