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Title: Movie Night
Fandom: Hellboy
Prompt: cuddling
Medium: fic
Wordcount: 564
Rating: Gen
Warnings: Mentions of nightmares?
Summary: John's been having nightmares. And has been keeping himself awake. Liz has a plan and dragged Hellboy in.
Author's Note: Kinda a sequel to Only One Fourth, Ma'am, a story I have up on FF.net. HC Bingo also
It was the fourth night he had been awake past midnight. Manning left before him to go home to his wife, and he passed by John's office every time. John was the only one caught up on paperwork. That mean he had nothing to keep him at the office, and keep him up. The last few times he had gone to sleep, nightmares of what could have happened kept waking him up. He took to doing all his paperwork to keep himself awake. It hadn't worked, but the nightmares were shorter.
It was his fifth night trying to stay awake. He made his way down to Hellboy's room with dinner. There were two plates also squeezed in. Liz took hers and sat down while John set out the bowls. He joined when Hellboy came back and started digging into his. When John finished, he planned on heading back to his office to start pre-writing some reports.
“Movie night,” Liz pestered, blocking his way out. She led him back to the truck bed and poked him until he took took off his jacket and tie. They watched a cartoon before Hellboy finished his meal and came to join them.
“Move it, scout,” he grumbled. John tried to use it as a excuse to grab his stuff and leave. The tai wrapped around his waist and pulled him back. The stone arm lifted him so he was tucked in tight against his side and then draped over him so he couldn't move without asking. Liz started the movie and the three watched the main screen facing the bed.
About halfway through the movie, John began getting sleep. The heat form Hellboy's body lured him to curl up on his side, brain close to shutting down that he didn't even register the fact his head landing on the other half-demon's body. He closed them once and missed several minutes. The second time, he didn't even wake back up.
“About time he went to sleep,” Liz commented, looking over, “Manning was noticing he wasn't sleeping.”
“Abe knew too. Said he kept feeling his nightmares,” he added, “He ain't the only one.” The last few weeks had been filled with abrupt awakenings from John's nightmares. He noticed the last few days were later and shorter, and thought they had been dwindling. Then Liz had told him what Manning had been seeing and got annoyed. If he couldn't get any sleep, then the next monster was going to get away, or be crushed and dusted. It would depend on if he could keep himself awake long enough.
Liz moved a little and wrangled the blanket so she could toss it over the three of them. Herself covered, she settled more and quickly fell asleep to the credits. Hellboy carefully moved his stone arm so he could move the blanket more and cover John as well.
No, no Red, stop!
The tail ended up winding around John's wrist to keep his balled up hand from hitting him. “Knock it off, Boy Scout. The world didn't end; I'm not evil,” he murmured in the agent's ear, “You're still my kid; you have to live with that.” Whether the nightmare was fading or his words got down somewhere, John stopped fighting and settled back down.
My neck is going to kill me in the morning.
Title: Wine and Scotch
Fandom: White Collar/Chuck
Prompt: Hugs
Medium: fic
Wordcount: 561
Rating: Gen
Warnings: None
Summary: There was an unexpected visitor in Neal's apartment.
Author's Note: Yeah, I don't think I'm supposed to do two in an entry for HC Bingo. I don't care at the moment.
The patio door was open.
Neal paused when he opened his apartment door. There was no open wine, no instant greeting in quotes. No Moz. Yet, the door was open when he made sure to always lock before leaving. It didn't stop most professionals, but the alarm system was active and he would have been notified.
“Stop staring. It's unattractive.”
He calmed down and shut the door behind him. “Are you supposed to be dead?” he questioned, pulling out a glass and a wine.
His visitor came out of the shadows and shut the door behind him. “Death didn't like me too much,” Bryce lamented.
“It just likes everyone around us,” Neal mentioned. Bryce pulled out another glass, but reached for a scotch that was hidden behind a Pinot and two Merlots.
“I'm sorry about Ellen,” he muttered, one glass thrown back and another about to follow, “I know you were a lot closer than I was.”
“Yeah,” he said, because he can't say anything else. The funeral was next week; he didn't know who was behind this shit. All he had was someone named Sam who wouldn't get into contact with him. It frustrated him to no end.
Before he knew it, tears were coming back up after he had finally stopped the crying for the last couple of days. His glass of wine shook for a second before Bryce carefully pulled it from his hand and set it on the table. The arms wrapping around him were temporarily foreign. Bryce was never one to hug, even after he met one Charles Bartowski. He kept himself closed off, a trait that served well in the CIA. Neal was too used to Peter's arms, El's arms. He finished the hold, and buried his head because tears blurring eyes were never a good look on them, no matter how much that stupid song kept repeating it.
They stayed that way for a few minutes, starting to rock left and right slowly due to their combined weight. Neal allowed himself to pull away, knowing that Bryce was getting close to uncomfortable. He never was truly comfortable, the last time being three before their Dad was arrested and their Mother started pulling away. Bryce had heard the arguments between Mom and Aunt Ellen, and never told Neal about the supposed corruption, wanting him to keep Dad's image clean.
It's why when he answered the door to the dorm one day, Neal punched him before he could even greet him. It had been funny when Chuck ended up coming back after classes and saw him with a black eye.
“Why are you remembering that?” Neal asked.
He stopped thinking. “Oh, was I talking about that?”
“Yeah, you were,” he confirmed, sitting down and playing with his wine again.
He went back to his glass and the scotch. “Just remembering,” he shrugged, sipping the liquor slower than before.
“You should visit more often,” Neal said, “Ellen wouldn't have minded.”
“We both already have too many enemies; no need to lead them to Ellen.”
“Except Ellen had her own.”
“Yeah.” He finished off his glass and put it aside. “When you start finding out who did this, tell me. I'll deal with them.”
“Same as last time?”
“Yeah.”
Fandom: Hellboy
Prompt: cuddling
Medium: fic
Wordcount: 564
Rating: Gen
Warnings: Mentions of nightmares?
Summary: John's been having nightmares. And has been keeping himself awake. Liz has a plan and dragged Hellboy in.
Author's Note: Kinda a sequel to Only One Fourth, Ma'am, a story I have up on FF.net. HC Bingo also
It was the fourth night he had been awake past midnight. Manning left before him to go home to his wife, and he passed by John's office every time. John was the only one caught up on paperwork. That mean he had nothing to keep him at the office, and keep him up. The last few times he had gone to sleep, nightmares of what could have happened kept waking him up. He took to doing all his paperwork to keep himself awake. It hadn't worked, but the nightmares were shorter.
It was his fifth night trying to stay awake. He made his way down to Hellboy's room with dinner. There were two plates also squeezed in. Liz took hers and sat down while John set out the bowls. He joined when Hellboy came back and started digging into his. When John finished, he planned on heading back to his office to start pre-writing some reports.
“Movie night,” Liz pestered, blocking his way out. She led him back to the truck bed and poked him until he took took off his jacket and tie. They watched a cartoon before Hellboy finished his meal and came to join them.
“Move it, scout,” he grumbled. John tried to use it as a excuse to grab his stuff and leave. The tai wrapped around his waist and pulled him back. The stone arm lifted him so he was tucked in tight against his side and then draped over him so he couldn't move without asking. Liz started the movie and the three watched the main screen facing the bed.
About halfway through the movie, John began getting sleep. The heat form Hellboy's body lured him to curl up on his side, brain close to shutting down that he didn't even register the fact his head landing on the other half-demon's body. He closed them once and missed several minutes. The second time, he didn't even wake back up.
“About time he went to sleep,” Liz commented, looking over, “Manning was noticing he wasn't sleeping.”
“Abe knew too. Said he kept feeling his nightmares,” he added, “He ain't the only one.” The last few weeks had been filled with abrupt awakenings from John's nightmares. He noticed the last few days were later and shorter, and thought they had been dwindling. Then Liz had told him what Manning had been seeing and got annoyed. If he couldn't get any sleep, then the next monster was going to get away, or be crushed and dusted. It would depend on if he could keep himself awake long enough.
Liz moved a little and wrangled the blanket so she could toss it over the three of them. Herself covered, she settled more and quickly fell asleep to the credits. Hellboy carefully moved his stone arm so he could move the blanket more and cover John as well.
No, no Red, stop!
The tail ended up winding around John's wrist to keep his balled up hand from hitting him. “Knock it off, Boy Scout. The world didn't end; I'm not evil,” he murmured in the agent's ear, “You're still my kid; you have to live with that.” Whether the nightmare was fading or his words got down somewhere, John stopped fighting and settled back down.
My neck is going to kill me in the morning.
Title: Wine and Scotch
Fandom: White Collar/Chuck
Prompt: Hugs
Medium: fic
Wordcount: 561
Rating: Gen
Warnings: None
Summary: There was an unexpected visitor in Neal's apartment.
Author's Note: Yeah, I don't think I'm supposed to do two in an entry for HC Bingo. I don't care at the moment.
The patio door was open.
Neal paused when he opened his apartment door. There was no open wine, no instant greeting in quotes. No Moz. Yet, the door was open when he made sure to always lock before leaving. It didn't stop most professionals, but the alarm system was active and he would have been notified.
“Stop staring. It's unattractive.”
He calmed down and shut the door behind him. “Are you supposed to be dead?” he questioned, pulling out a glass and a wine.
His visitor came out of the shadows and shut the door behind him. “Death didn't like me too much,” Bryce lamented.
“It just likes everyone around us,” Neal mentioned. Bryce pulled out another glass, but reached for a scotch that was hidden behind a Pinot and two Merlots.
“I'm sorry about Ellen,” he muttered, one glass thrown back and another about to follow, “I know you were a lot closer than I was.”
“Yeah,” he said, because he can't say anything else. The funeral was next week; he didn't know who was behind this shit. All he had was someone named Sam who wouldn't get into contact with him. It frustrated him to no end.
Before he knew it, tears were coming back up after he had finally stopped the crying for the last couple of days. His glass of wine shook for a second before Bryce carefully pulled it from his hand and set it on the table. The arms wrapping around him were temporarily foreign. Bryce was never one to hug, even after he met one Charles Bartowski. He kept himself closed off, a trait that served well in the CIA. Neal was too used to Peter's arms, El's arms. He finished the hold, and buried his head because tears blurring eyes were never a good look on them, no matter how much that stupid song kept repeating it.
They stayed that way for a few minutes, starting to rock left and right slowly due to their combined weight. Neal allowed himself to pull away, knowing that Bryce was getting close to uncomfortable. He never was truly comfortable, the last time being three before their Dad was arrested and their Mother started pulling away. Bryce had heard the arguments between Mom and Aunt Ellen, and never told Neal about the supposed corruption, wanting him to keep Dad's image clean.
It's why when he answered the door to the dorm one day, Neal punched him before he could even greet him. It had been funny when Chuck ended up coming back after classes and saw him with a black eye.
“Why are you remembering that?” Neal asked.
He stopped thinking. “Oh, was I talking about that?”
“Yeah, you were,” he confirmed, sitting down and playing with his wine again.
He went back to his glass and the scotch. “Just remembering,” he shrugged, sipping the liquor slower than before.
“You should visit more often,” Neal said, “Ellen wouldn't have minded.”
“We both already have too many enemies; no need to lead them to Ellen.”
“Except Ellen had her own.”
“Yeah.” He finished off his glass and put it aside. “When you start finding out who did this, tell me. I'll deal with them.”
“Same as last time?”
“Yeah.”