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cavillsbitch · 2 years

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Are You Sure?

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner X BAU!Fem!Reader (use of y/n)

Summary: You find yourself in a very precarious situation with your freshly divorced boss…

Warnings: 18+, minors DNI!!! Smut ahead!!! p in v sex, protected sex, detailed descriptions of sex, let me know if i missed any

A/N: This is coming at y’all out of nowhere, I have been stewing on a series and in lieu of me not having time yet to get started on that, this was born. Also, sorry if there are any weird spaces below… mobile app post hehehehehehe. Enjoy!

Word Count: 2.3k

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Of all the places you thought you might be this Friday night, naked underneath your boss in his bed wasn’t one of them.

The only thing you could hear was your own panting breath and the soft sound of his hips connecting with yours as he buried himself into you over and over again. You could barely think straight, one hand gripping his sheets and the other holding onto him for dear life. A little while ago, the two of you were out with the team for drinks after a case, and Hotch could tell you weren’t really feeling it. He’d offered to give you a ride home, and somewhere along the way you’d rerouted to his for a nightcap. Neither of you were particularly drunk, but you were thankful for the liquid confidence (and his) when he made the first move. He’d asked repeatedly if it was okay and if you’d wanted him to stop, knowing that he was your boss and that you knew he’d just finalized his divorce from Haley. You seemed to notice his flirting (that Emily and Derek continually pointed out to you, no matter how many times you’d brushed them off and said they were seeing something that wasn’t there) a little bit when him and Haley were separating, but you’d never ever think he was actually attracted to you, let alone to the point where he’d want to sleep with you, and yet…

The feeling of him inside you was more than you could have ever fantasized about (and you did fantasize about it). Not only did he take his time devouring you first, making you come twice with his mouth and fingers, but he made sure you were well enough aroused to be in nothing but total ecstasy when he was ready to fuck you. Every single stroke felt so fucking good. He was perfect. Well… perfectly sized for pleasure. Great in bed. Not perfect. Not… whatever.

“H-Holy… shit, Hotch…” your eyes screwed shut and your jaw fell slack as you heard him chuckle and groan.

“I think… we’re at the point where you can… call me Aaron, darling… don’t you think?” his pace slowed a bit, truthfully because he was close and didn’t want to be finished just yet, but he wanted to give you a moment to respond to him.

You opened your eyes and found his. God, what a dangerous moment. The look is his eye as he lazily fucked into you wasnt anything you could have prepared yourself for. You tried avoiding eye contact this whole time, and you were almost successful. You knew what would happen if you held his gaze, and here you were. You knew you’d be confronted with thoughts that you’d been successfully suppressing for a long while now, thoughts you’d only let brew when you allowed yourself to think about your boss in a way that you knew you had no right to, especially because they began well before he was even separated from his now ex-wife. The desire to open up to him right now about how you feel was right on your tongue. You wanted to tell him how sexy he looked with his hair all messed up, especially from your fingers running through and pulling it as he ate you out. You wanted so badly to tell him that his face looks much better being flushed from sex rather than being flushed from your typical daily compliments. Dare you tell him that you think you love him? What a stupid, stupid idea. You decided that it’s definitely best not to say anything, maybe ever, and just respond to what he asked you.

“Are you…” you stopped to sigh, the pleasure was still too much and you wanted to last for him, “… are you sure?”

You watched his eyes half-lid as he brought your right leg to rest on his shoulder. He leaned down to you further, allowing himself a new angle to thrust into you. His pace picked up again, and this time, you saw fucking stars. You tried, but couldn’t help the loud sound of your pleasure escape from your throat. You’ve never been fucked like this, and you knew he could probably tell, which you decided you’d curse yourself for later.

You could feel the air from his lips as he spoke right next to your ear, “Does it feel like I’m sure, Y/N?”

You nodded quickly, your arms now coming around him under his arms to hold on to his back, surely leaving marks with your nails. “Y-Yes… God Aaron, yes.”

You couldn’t help but notice that he seemed to be affected by your use of his first name, responding with only a low and breathy moan. He drove you so close to your third orgasm, and you could tell he was close too. His name fell from your lips again as you tried to speak, “I’m… Aaron I-I think I’m gonna..”

He panted and kept his pace, “I’ve got you, sweetheart, g-give it to me.”

The moment that your orgasm hit you nearly blinded you for a few seconds. The brightness of the pleasure your body felt was something you were sure was once in a lifetime. It affected your entire body, legs now shaking and back arched against the mattress. The pleasure kept coming as Aaron thrust into you. You didn’t even hear yourself nearly weep as you came, your pussy contracting strongly around Aaron’s rigid cock.

“That’s it, that’s a good… good girl,” Aaron stuttered as he followed close behind you with his own peak. His thrusts became sloppy, still trying to ride you through your high, as he drove into you once more with a loud groan. You whimpered as you came down, still feeling yourself ebb through pleasure as Aaron stayed inside you. The two of you breathed heavily together, locked eyes as Aaron smiled lazily at you. Goddammit. You were so fucked. Fucked.

He gestured toward your leg on his shoulder, silently asking for permission to move you so he could adjust and start to clean himself up. You nodded, trying not to make a sound as his cock left you. You didn’t think you were quite ready to move yet, but you tried to at least scooch yourself up by your elbows to begin coming back to reality.

Aaron stood, taking off the condom while making his way toward the bathroom in his bedroom. You watched him, getting a more normal view of his naked body, and for some reason you felt guilty for looking.

You shook your head, pushing the feeling away as you looked for your clothes on the floor. As you sat up, Aaron came out of the bathroom and grabbed a pair of sweats to put on. You stood, “Do you mind if I…” you gestured toward the bathroom asking silently.

Aaron smiled again, “Of course not, whatever you need. I have extra toothbrushes in the bottom right drawer,” he began walking toward the door with you, showing you, “If you want to shower, I have extra towels here.”

You nodded, deciding that would probably be a good idea. Smiling at him, you thanked him. He held your gaze, brushing your hair behind your ear, and leaned down to kiss you. It was brief, but surprising. He pulled away from you with a goofy looking smirk on his face, leaving you in the bathroom.

After your shower, you left the bathroom in a towel, and found your clothes folded nicely on the armchair in the corner of the bedroom. Aaron was in bed, reading glasses on, looking at a file by the light of his bedside table lamp. He looked up to you as you emerged, but you’d already made your way to the pile of clothes and started to get dressed.

“You can borrow something of mine to sleep in, if you need,” he said. You could tell this was his way of asking the question, ‘are you staying?’ and you weren’t sure what your response should be. Obviously he wouldn’t have framed it that way if he didn’t want you to stay, but did he feel obligated to offer? You knew you didn’t really have time to think about it, so you decided not to.

“I think I’m going to call an uber back to my place, actually. I’ve got some things to take care of pretty early tomorrow.”

Aaron was very good at his job. Aaron could absolutely tell that you probably don’t have something to do tomorrow that early, and that you don’t want to stay over. You hope he can also tell that it’s not necessarily because you don’t want to, but because you aren’t 100% comfortable yet, even if you don’t get a chance to become comfortable.

He set down his file and stood, “Let me drive you, don’t pay for an uber.” He made his way to grab a t-shirt and slipped on comfortable slipper-like shoes to wear in the car.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind getting an uber, Aaron, I don’t want to make you leave just to drive me home.”

Grabbing a jacket from his closet, he shrugged it on and walked over toward you. Without warning, he leaned down to your ear, delicately pushing your hair on the opposite side over your shoulder and caging you in with his hand then on the wall behind you, “Does it feel like I’m sure… Y/N?” he smiled at you slyly as he pushed himself off of the wall and walked past you out of the bedroom. You felt heat rise in your tummy and cheeks as you sighed and shook your head. What the hell were you getting yourself into? Following him, you grabbed your bag, slipped on your coat and shoes, and followed him to the car.

The short drive to your apartment was overall quiet, but as you were turning the corner onto your street, you knew you had to start the conversation. “Sorry for not staying the night… to be completely honest I wasn’t expecting you to offer.”

Aaron shifted to lean on the center console and nodded, “It’s alright, I know that tonight’s events overall seemed a bit unexpected. Hopefully you’re not dissapointed, though.” You turned to him, noticing the cocky smirk on his lips. Asshole.

You rolled your eyes and he laughed. There was a beat of silence before you spoke again. “Are we… do you want to just act as if nothing happened tonight? At work, I mean… and outside of work if that’s what you want.”

You wanted to smack yourself in the face for letting your thoughts out so freely. Your anxiety surrounding this part of the situation definitely was getting the better of you, and you weren’t sure what he wanted, which made things so much worse. As the car slowed in front of your building, Aaron put the car in park as you waited for his response. You knew he was thinking about what he wanted to say, which obviously made you even more nervous.

“Y/N, I know you realize that… this is a slightly complicated situation.” You nodded, urging him to continue, “I need you to understand that since Haley and I separated… it’s taken a lot of my own will power to keep myself from you.”

Everyone on the team knew that one of its strongest members was its leader, Aaron Hotchner. Hearing him confess that he’s had a hard time keeping himself away from you was a statement you could never have expected. You knew he was flirtatious toward you, no matter how much you denied it to yourself. You knew he was soft for you, you knew he favored you in appropriate ways, and you knew that the team noticed. You just wished that you let yourself see it. Maybe you’d have to start, that is, if he wanted you to.

“I… I loved and still have love for Haley, she is the mother of my son and the woman that I thought I would love for my entire life. Coming to terms with that not being the case has been hard. I would do anything for Jack, you know that. I don’t mean to tell you things you already know, but while things are still being worked out custody wise, and while we work out a way to tell the team and… Strauss, I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to pursue you publicly. I need you, though, to understand that I want to when I can, if you’ll let me… and that I’d like to continue to see you privately, if that’s something you want.” Another beat of silence, “I like you… more than I should, more than I care to admit to myself. I think about you, I want to be around you when I can be. I… want you.”

You nodded, trying to hide a smile. “May I speak freely, sir?”

Something in his eyes seemed to darken at the formality, “You may, agent.”

“I want you, I have for a long time. I would really like to continue… whatever this is, whatever you want this to be, however you want to.”

The lustful look in Aaron’s eye turned briefly into fondness, you believe, if you caught it right. He reached for your hand and gave it a light squeeze, “I know this isn’t ideal for you, and I know it will be hard to keep this from the team. Are you sure?”

You adjusted yourself to lean into him and kiss him unexpectedly with fervor, a kiss that made him brace himself on the steering wheel and grasp the back of your head for reassurance. He grunted as you leaned him further back, returning the kiss so fiercely that you had half a mind to ask him inside with you.

You let yourself pull back just slightly to speak, lowly but clearly, “Does it feel like I’m sure, Aaron?”

#aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner x reader #criminal minds #hotch #aaron hotchner x fem!reader #aaron hotchner smut #hotch smut #criminal minds smut #criminal minds fanfic #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfic #aaron hotchner reader insert

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frozenjokes · 5 months

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A Matter Of Fairness Or Maybe Fear

the next part of the mumbomaid au is four separate mini stories that will be posted as one chapter on ao3, but I thought it might be cool to post them separately here (and since this one’s done, I thought I might post it earlier before the rest goes up on ao3 >:D)

This call marked Scar’s 129th over the course of two days, and quite frankly, his persistence was starting to wear at Etho’s resolve. Maybe ‘resolve’ wasn’t quite the right word actually- patience might be better. This marked the sixth day Etho had been stuck in a little outlet away from home, burying himself in the mud day in and day out, and he was really getting sick of it- sick of Joel, actually, and Scar calling him every free moment of the day was getting quite frustrating when he was waiting on messages from Joel.

Etho let it ring. It wouldn’t stop Scar. Yesterday while sending Joel a very long and very angry message, Etho had accidentally declined Call 4 before the first ring concluded, so Scar knew Etho had his phone. Since then, Etho had also accidentally declined Call 7, 68, 70, and 103.

Call 129 ended and Call 130 began. Call 130 did not end before Bdubs rang at the same time, and that hurt, so Etho submerged himself to avoid it. Soon enough, it too was over. Scar’s insistent calling replaced Bdub’s ringtone without pause.

131. 132. 133.

Finally, it stopped, Scar probably running out of time on his work break. Thank god. Etho had enough on his plate without Scar breathing down his neck, but if he was really being honest, being bitter about Scar’s knowledge on his and Joel’s split souls probably wouldn’t change his behavior today. Scar had a habit of spam calling, and Etho did not know him to give up.

Call 134 just a couple of minutes after the 133rd snapped the last remaining thread of Etho’s patience.

Etho pounced on his phone, picking up with a wrathful hiss, “Stop calling me,” before hanging up. After Call 173, Etho was pretty sure this would never end until he grew a pair and answered the phone. With great disdain, he accepted Scar’s call.

“Hello? Etho? Are you there?”

Etho didn’t respond for a while, too busy fuming to speak. “I’m here.”

“Are you in immediate peril? Do you have time to talk?”

“I have time.” Etho spoke every word through gritted teeth. Scar was quiet for a long moment.

“Then hang the fuck up and call Bdubs you fucking asshole. He’s one more anxiety attack away from filing a missing person’s report, and I’m honestly shocked he hasn’t already! He’s convinced you’re dead in a ditch somewhere or kidnapped or something, and I don’t blame him. If you have your phone and you’re not bleeding out on the fucking rocks, there is literally NO REASON you haven’t called him.”

The wind of Scar’s anger left a heavy silence in its wake. Etho wasn’t quite sure how to break it, but he had a feeling Scar wasn’t going to just let him hang up without another word.

“I can’t call him,” he said instead, all too aware that Scar’s assault of his ears would only continue.

“Give me one good reason why you can’t call your best friend and tell him you’re okay. It’s nearly been a week, Etho, come on. The longest you’ve ever been gone at a time is three days, and you told us beforehand. And I swear to god if you say-“

“Scar, I can’t just call him, I’m not human.”

“You don’t have to fucking video call him!”

“I sound different, Scar. I can’t,” Etho insisted, desperation spilling through in sick waves. Scar didn’t get it. How could he make Scar understand? “What if he asks where I am? What am I supposed to tell him? I can’t call him.”

“You do not sound different! At all!”

“I do.”

“I didn’t notice! It can’t be that bad. Over the phone it won’t even matter- I can not believe you’re fighting me on this. Come on.”

“I can’t, Scar,” a soft whistle broke through behind the words, making Etho feel all the more pathetic. He didn’t want to be here. He’d give anything to be home right now, not worried about being seen or overpowered or caught- he’d give anything to go home, eat normal food- He had work too, he had deadlines! He didn’t want to be in this position at all! Etho didn’t- he didn’t want to upset Bdubs either, of course not, but how was he supposed to explain?

“When are you going to be home then, Etho? Because I need to tell him something. I’m going to tell him- at least that you’re okay. Do you even understand what you’re putting him through right now? Would you really rather let him think you’re in trouble than have a difficult conversation with your best friend?”

“I don’t- I don’t know, Scar. This isn’t my fault- it’s not like I want to be away at all! Please don’t.”

“I’m not mad that you’re not home, Etho. I’m mad because you have a phone to call your roommate with and you’re not using it.”

“He’ll ask questions.” Voicing the thought sounded so much worse, so irredeemably meager. He was being selfish, wasn’t he. Scar was right. But Scar didn’t- Scar didn’t understand the fear- the anxiety- How easy it must be for Scar to stand by the sidelines and tell Etho what was right and wrong. He had no idea.

Scar interrupted his train of self righteous anger before it could build further, “Bdubs has every damn right to ask questions! And even then, he probably won’t. He’d do anything to keep from stepping on your toes on issues like this, even when you treat him like shit. I’m serious. This is fucked. This is cruel. Cleo’s worried sick as well- we’re all worried.” Scar stopped with a huff and Etho heard him mess with his hair over the line, “You know what, this is a waste of time. I’m just going to call him.” Scar hung up without another word, lighting a sharp panic in Etho’s chest. He didn’t want this. He didn’t want this. But he didn’t want an angry Scar telling Bdubs anything about his situation much more.

He fumbled over Bdubs’ contact, pressing several wrong buttons before finally dialing his number. The phone didn’t even pass the first ring.

“Etho? Hello?” Bdubs spoke, drying the words off Etho’s tongue. Not that he had anything to say in the first place. He wasn’t ready. He wasn’t ready for this. His mind seemed to dry up as well, leaving nothing but static in the wake of his panic. “Are you there? Etho?” Bdubs’ voice was faint. Terrified.

Sudden guilt wracked his body, physical in its pain like being caught in the middle of a head-on collision. “I’m here,” his voice shook, but he was hardly aware of it, “I’m sorry. I’m really sorry.”

Bdubs was quiet, the silence crushing, “Are you okay?”

“I’m okay.”

Neither of them spoke, tension thrumming through the air just as clear as audible sound. Etho didn’t think he’d ever be able to breathe again. This was so much worse than he’d ever imagined this conversation going, and he had imagined it.

…

Bdubs sobbed, and all at once Etho crumbled. Mermaids didn’t have the right anatomy to cry, but Bdubs didn’t question the strained noises of distress that bubbled out of Etho’s throat. Bdubs never did question anything, did he? Not to do with Etho’s disappearances. Not for years.

That wasn’t really fair at all, was it.

That wasn’t fair at all.

#hermitcraft #gtws #goodtimeswithscar #ethoslab #etho #bdubs #bdouble0 #the clockers #hermitfic

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forabeatofadrum · 2 years

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Here it is, fic rec friday! I said I was gonna do this! I don’t know if it’ll be a weekly thing, because it depends on whether or not I read fics in a week. Also, to prevent people from being overwhelmed by tags, I don’t think this is going to be a tag challenge, but of course feel free to also make your own post with recs!

Strap in Klainers and Snowbazzians, cause here we go. It’s another long one! Happy reading!

@cerriddwenluna wrote Swipe, a funny one-shot about Kurt and Blaine meeting through Tinder. Sort of. Look, it has a tiny plot twist. You have to read it for yourself 👈(ﾟヮﾟ👈).

I read more of Gwen’s stuff! I started Bem Vindo a Portugal, previously known as Klaine in the Netherlands which became Klaine in Portugal. I do not mind, Gwen, and if you ever need more help with Klaine in the Netherlands, please have this: klompen, windmolen, kaas, tulpen, kroketten! Jokes aside, though, I am excited to get to know Portugal. I’ve never been here, but my mum actually visited Lisbon for the first time a few weeks ago and she was very excited.

There are quite some Marta fics I still need to read (goblin!Baz is still somewhere buried in my Likes), but I am going through them! I read The Vampire and the Boy in the Tower and I am speechless. It is so good. Oh my God, Marta created a wonderful universe with a lot of angst, but also hope.

I still have Klaine Advent fics to catch up on, and I read @snarkyhag‘s WIP. I... don’t really know how to link it, since there isn’t a masterpost or a separate Tumblr tag or an AO3 entry yet, so for now, have the Klaine Advent 2022 tag! Yay, Klaine and Samcedes!

Another cute story is Tipsy Truths by @aroace-genderfluid-sheep. Simon confesses his feelings for Baz through a drunk text. Oh boy!

Apart from reading fic, I also love reading people’s thoughts about fic. @facewithoutheart had a nice extra about This Will All Go Down In Flames over here. (Also, Fuck The Mage, kinda). @cutestkilla also shared some Humdrum insider information here. It’s really cool to see what parts of canon have been expanded on for What’s Left. And @captain-aralias also has some behind the scenes stuff here on Four Funereal Weddings and an American Stag Do. I adore the fic (and the suits!).

I am also losing it over the “HELEN!!!!”s in The Wellbeloves by @ionlydrinkhotwater. This is a comic where Simon and Agatha are siblings. I am so emo about Simon having a lovely family and this is so fun.

Unfortunately, I also come with angst. A post on my dashboard led me to This Will End in Flames by @bloodiedpixie and uhhh yeah MCD warning. Simon dies in Wayward Son. I need... a moment... to lie down and weep. I see there is also another installment in this series where Baz dies, but I’m not strong enough for that now.

Now, for something no one asked for! This is another thing that I saw on my dashboard, but apparently a group of people started a project in 2016 called Sarah Jane Neverending, which is an extension of the Sarah Jane Adventures! (Kind of like Class: Ongoing, I guess.) (Whovians, man.). SJA got cancelled in 2011 and it was very unexpected, since Lis Sladen, the main actress, died. Back then, three more episodes were already planned and I know that over the years fans have asked for novalisations of those stories, so that they could at least be seen as canon. That never happened, so I guess some fans took matters into their own hands. I have only read their season 5B stories, aka their version of the 3 unproduced episodes. I will see if I will also read their completely fanmade season 6 and 7. But yeah, season 5B. Damn. The Thirteenth Floor fucked me up in particular.

And lastly, there might be some smaller ficlets or drabbles that I won’t mention in these posts, but I will redirect you to my fic tags on my main blog: Klaine fics (klfics), Brittana fics (bsfics), general Glee fics (glee fic), Whoniverse fics (dw fic), Check, Please! fics (omgcp fics), Simon Snow series fics (co fics), and the general fic tag (fics). And here’s the original writing tag, because why not. I do put a lot of stuff in a long queue, so the tags might now always be “up to date”.

Also, guys, I need you to know that I was going through the generic fic tag, retagging fics that needed to be retagged, and I found a Snowbaz fic from the Fangirl days and it was tagged as Bazon. BAZON.

AND OKAY, one more thing. When I was cleaning out that rusty tag, I also came across this fic called And In The End by @scrunchyharry (Klainers might remember the name fleurdelisse). It’s over ten years old, but I remembered it immediately. I might’ve even printed it out 10 years ago. Like, I am pretty sure I have a physical copy of it somewhere. Caroline, I see you’ve probably left the fandom, so I didn’t know if I should tag you, but if you read this, please know that even ten years later, this fic makes me so emotional.

#fic rec friday #technically speaking i have 4 more fic tags #i have a fic tag on my winx blog and on my avatar blog #and i have two topic fic tags #wait i have another one another fandom #but i kind of stopped reading fic for that one due to *cough* conflicted feelings #lol guess what fandom #also the 5b stories did become sort of canon in 2020 #long story #but yeah this week i am back on my bullshit huh #tagged in

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pizzapasta23045 · 2 years

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So I just rewatched the archon quest again and I'm just gonna put down what I think? If that's okay. To help me like, gather my thoughts now that I've rewatched it and could take it all in better. I'm just theorizing and Idk if I should make my own post but I get embarrassed when I make posts related to fan things I like ahsjdjd, or posts at all. Anywho. So I'm thinking carebert was somehow cured of the curse and turned human again based on how chlothar says "he will be able to weave his own destiny anew" (idk how the loom of fate fits into it tbh, and I forgot what it even IS, but maybe the loom of fate is a thing that doesn't have to be one single person) and he can grow up and live a normal life? Dunno if he could still be immortal or not in his human form but I'll just say no rn since I believe he grew up to have a family and eventually kaeya is his descendant. And I guess maybe generational trauma. And also regarding how chlothar dies. Someone had to have buried him and I assume it was caribert considering the sill scarf. Unless... (Unlikely theory incoming) That IS carebert and chlothar is still immortal somewhere and because carebert ages normally now he dies eventually when he gets old and chlothar buried his son next to his mother? And chlothar never actually found a way to cure himself. Hmm... also! I'm guessing that maybe only mixed blood khaenrians only turn into monsters and not like say carebert mother who was purely from mondstadt? Based on how he says "those whose ancestry belonged to the domains of other gods". Well no nevermind I guess that could be wrong since she would ofc have ancestry in mondstadt so she still counts. But wait would the skeleton buried not appear human then? If she died while she was a monster? Because clearly she dies before that memory. Seeing as he presumably used her body to make the fertilizer for the red mushrooms... And he was dodgey when asked what happened to her and how we weren't allowed to see how he made it due to him sending us to get the water. Think I've gone off rail lol. So, I wonder if the alberichs really inherited the title of abyss leader or if abyss sibling took over or was given the title when chlothar disappeared? And the alberichs were doing something else? Or helped in a different way besides directly leading? Also I have question regarding abyss sibling too but that can be separate since I've rambled on far enough as is haha. I might as well come off anon at this point hahssj hi I'm 🐝 anon lol

Well! There is a lot to speculate about the Alberich and I'm hoping they talk about it more in an interlude quest. (Manifesting 3.7/8 abyss order quest man, manifesting so hard)

I'm assuming the mother died like before the curse, or like, (suicide mention beware) ended up killing herself at the beginnings of it, since it seems non-fullblooded Khaenri'ahns don't get immortality on them.

Also yeah I guess he did use his wife as fertilizer, never thought of it tbh but it is... Probably what happened lmao... Oh god that just got a lot more messed up. (I did have an half formed hc of Khaenri'ahns using corpses for nefarious purposes or the 'first come First serve' rule as i likes to call it... And that's.... Fun)

And also I have a theory on what the Alberich did before the fall lmao. And it's base on this tidbit in Hilichurl culture.

And yeah. Hilichurls, which are Khaenri'ahns slowly going insane, call the Lawa their leaders despite them not actually leading anything. Now in Khaenri'ah the sages seem to rule, but also they work under a king and possibly the Alberich??? Which is weird and I want explained.

Especially with the whole thing with king Irmin, I'm not sure if you've come across on my post but it's this whole thing...

#textpost #alberich clan #abyss order #genshin impact #kaeya's bio dad #kaeya's father #inquiries to a pizza

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fiovske · 2 years

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Please babble your head canons about post campaign Beaujes some more.

The envelope looks sorely out of place on Beau's desk at the Cobalt Soul Archives.

Darion leaves it there untouched, without a word on top of an important stack of monotonous ledgers and somehow, just glancing at it, Beau knows.

Never mind that the last time they spoke was ten years ago. Or that even as they parted, Beau had known that all those “keep in touch, okay?” and “I will send you messages!” were just ceremonious formalities delaying the inevitable. Awkwardness had crept into their friendship like a sludge, unnoticed, and trickled ever so slowly into a steady steam, manifesting in avoidance and excuses. Before Beau knew it, it had grown into an ocean.

She cannot remember who initiated that drift, or what change broke the camel’s back, just that her once best friend had started looking uncomfortable around her and nothing made Beau feel quite as awful as knowing somewhere deep down, that she might be the source of that discomfort. She remembers now, how in a desperate attempt to fix things, she had declared her intentions to pursue Yasha, hoping it might ease things with Jester, assuage any of Jester's fears. That whatever Jester assumed she felt for her would…

Anyway.

Even today, that same ocean separates them still, ten years strong.

Beau had hoped it would repair their friendship at least. But it seems to have done just the opposite. The tide had grown too high and Jester had been well swept to the other side by then, unreachable to Beau; it didn’t take long for it to stretch into physical distance.

Beau purses her lips and picks up the envelope, determined to not let herself linger.

A strong waft of candies greets her and she gulps down a lungful. From the cursive handwriting to the glittering ink, the pink magical sparkles to the signature iridescent dick craftfully hidden in the border design— there is no mistaking who the letter is from. It is beautiful and the sight of it makes something in Beau's heart soar: and sink at the same time.

Beau seats herself back down into the chair she has spent the last nine hours in, well past work-hours and uneager to get back home. If she has been spending a lot of time at work these days, nobody complains.

Not that home is bad or home is good; ... it just is. And sometimes Beau feels like as if she — well, it's better to bury yourself in your work than to think about why being with someone you know you love can still feel so devastatingly lonely.

Beau opens the letter and sets the envelope aside quietly. The handwriting is familiar and the ink is radiant blue — and immediately, it's like Beau can hear her voice, the cadence of her once-best-friend's accent so affectionate and true as she reads the letter like she is right beside Beau, reading it aloud for her.

She can feel Jester presence so strongly through this letter alone that it aches.

She reads it in silence, a smile tugging at her lips at the old familiarity again, as she makes it past all the funny bits, the details and dick jokes and filler formalities, until she gets to the real part, the actual reason why this letter was sent in the first place. She can already tell the voice of her best friend is nervous, knows she has delayed this enough.

And she knows that Beau can tell.

"Fjord and I" the letter says, (okay here we go, Beau breathes out, preparing herself), "well, we have been thinking and it's only right! We don't think it's fair to delay it any further, so....!! are you ready we are very excited to announce this!...... We are getting married!"

And there it is.

"We are engaged like, right now!! We have fancy rings and everything it's so cool, we think you should see it! Soooooo..... we would love for you to come celebrate with us!! At our engagement party in Nicodranas!! It's this weekend and you already know the address Beau, so don't be late!! We will be expecting you. Love you! Miss you already!!"

Jester is getting married. Right. Jester is getting married and Beau should focus on that.

Beau tries not to think about how Jester hides in the "we", as if this letter was written by a Jester who has been robbed of her individuality, turned into a caricature of herself; this isn't the Jester she expected. Even in this letter where it’s just Jester writing to Beau, the image of Fjord lurks silently, always present.

She isn’t used to talking to Jester like this, like her best friend is but a shadow of the person she once knew, running lines she practiced in front of the mirror. Beau shakes her head, she is reading too much into this, too much into what it isn't — and if she doesn't stop, she is going to run into a wall just like last time and ruin everything.

It isn’t fair to her, Beau thinks, to hold Jester to this. It is her wedding, of course she wrote all of this. It isn’t fair and Beau knows this, but there’s no reasoning with the disappointment in her stomach. The heart breaks the way it breaks, even ten years and a hundred miles apart.

Jester is getting married.

So instead, Beau tries to be happy. For her. Fjord that lucky bastard, what made him wait so long anyway? At least he wised up and proposed, he’s luckier than he has any right being, to have his affections be returned like that. Jester must've been ecstatic the day he proposed, she always did love him very much, even back then. She must be over the moons about it. Beau tries to imagine Jester happy — truly happy — and tries to be happy for her. Fuck. Beau pulls her face into a smile and practices saying “that’s nice. This is great. I’m so happy for you.” several times but it never quite sounds genuine even though she really tries. When she stops, her shoulders slump and something heavy gets lodged in her throat.

Beau needs to fix her face and practice being happy for Jester by Friday night so she doesn't fuck it up in any way by wallowing in these weird feelings of old that, surely, surely must have washed away by now.

And if something somehow still remains, after all this — Beau opens the bottom drawer and pulls out a bottle of whiskey, pouring herself a shot that she drinks immediately— the burning liquid can wash it all down for her so she doesn't have to throw up.

#beaujester #beaujes #beaujes post canon: ivy grows #part 1 #starting from beau's pov bc i know her mind like the back of my hand #maybe the next part will be jester i like the idea of switching povs #beaujester post-canon au #beaujester 10 years later

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sylvanas-girlkisser · 3 years

Text

Arcane Background Lore/Easter Eggs (Episode 5)

A bit late today because I had to go to an evening work event and eat mediocre pizza. Call me a snob but there is absolutely such a thing as bad pizza.

Kay so remember how back with episode 1 I mentioned that hex crystals are actually the crystalized souls of creatures known as Brackern? Well Brackern have a sort of hive mind (it’s hard to explain) which they describe using musical metaphors (harmonies, songs, resonating hum etc.). I might be reaching here but doesn’t the music that play during Viktor’s vision inside the hex gate almost sound like a choir of ethereal voices? Maybe he was able to, for a short moment, hear the crystals’ song?

Up until Arcane came out and placed Piltover and Zaun next to each other instead of on top of each other, canon was that the way people got from one city to the other was using these elevators that actually do kinda look like bathyspheres (see below).

I will agree it’s a little confusing that Caitlyn mentions it while standing next to what is definitely a funicular.

There is obviously a Watsonian explanation for how Vi is able to effortlessly move around the undercity while Caitlyn is awkwardly climbing after her – But it could also serve as a reference to how they’re each commonly played in League. Vi is a jungler so she is expected to roam all around the map, while Caitlyn is an ADC, meaning she mostly just stays in one area until she absolutely has to go somewhere else.

Also I finally realized that “The Lanes” is a reference to how the main map in League of Legends (Summoner’s Rift) is separated into lanes which determine a character’s role on the team. I’m a fucking dumbass and im gonna have to go back and edit the Episode 1 post to reflect this.

The runes on the hex core references four of the five known world runes: Precision (inverse tear drop with 4 lines through it) Domination (trident looking thingy) Sorcery (diamond shape with one side broken off) and Resolve (the one that sorta looks like a house, or a roof held up by four pillars). “Correct” versions of the runes below.

Notably absent from the Hex core is the world rune Inspiration (the swirly circle thingy), this might mean something, or maybe they just thought it looked weird 🤷‍♀️

We don’t really know much about these amphibious people, not even what/if they have a name for themselves as a group – However a lot of them are apparently excellent cooks.

The violin performance is clearly meant to reference some sort of Freljordian legend (the longships and use of mixed shades of blue is very stereotypical of the Freljord aesthetic), but I can’t quite figure if its meant to be a specific legend or just like “generic Freljord stuff”.

If I had to pull an answer out of my ass, I’d say it references the battle of the Howling Abyss, where the sisters Avarosa and Serylda (the two dragon-headed ships in the foreground) marched their armies against their other sister Lissandra, who had allied herself with these Lovecraftian monsters called “The Watchers” (the dragon-headed ship on the left, and the one with a spiral head). The battle ended with Lissandra realizing she was being manipulated by the watchers and starting an avalanche that buried both her sisters and the watchers in ice – Hence why the performance ends with only a single longship still standing after the storm.

Two things: 1) I squealed the first time I watched this scene, 2) this scene becomes even more iconic when you know that Caitlyn is canonically a domme.

Okay so I know everyone and their mom has already pointed out the Artemis and nymph imagery here, but on the crack theory side of things: the Moriarty to Caitlyn’s Holmes is a Zaunite woman named Corina Veraza; with light brown skin and dark brown wavy hair, who wears a lot of pastels, and is really into gardening. You’ve heard of enemies to lovers, but how about lovers to enemies?

Using blood as a way to empower magic is kind of a Noxian specialty, it’ll be interesting to see if that comes up when Noxus shows up in act 3.

Caitlyn’s rifle in Arcane looks completely different from her rifle in League; the only real similarity is how both feature the barrel being pushed into the body of the gun to allow for easier carrying.

Listen I have a distinct memory of this being one of Caitlyn’s voice lines in-game, but I have spent the last 20 minutes trying and failing to find evidence of this being the case – Can someone please tell me if I accidentally gaslit myself?

Seeing as the lesbians are finally together, I think its only fair I end this post by introducing League’s other big sapphic ship: Leona (the Targonian avatar of the Sun) and Diana (the Targonian avatar of the moon). If you’re looking for a quick fix of fantasy gays to tide you over until the weekend I recommend looking up the short story “Rise With Me” which was when the two of them finally became canon.

If there’s anything I missed please let me know, I’m planning to do a breakdown like this for each episode.

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9

#Arcane #arcane spoilers #league of legends

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ghostbustermelanieking · 3 years

Note

7 or 11 jmart for the kiss prompts??

thank you so much for the prompt!! asdfgghjkll i swear i didn't mean to post a post 200 separation fic on the same day as you (i was actually working on this last night).

this is a version of the scenario i wrote in love letters where martin and jon are separated after 200. but there is absolutely no need to read love letters to understand this.

warning for discussion of the panopticon scene in 200, and for a moment of jon wishing for the Eye to return (limited to the first section).

7. “I’ve missed you” kiss & 11. “I almost lost you” kiss

Waking up without Martin almost feels like dying all over again. That horrible moment where Jon opens his eyes in the hospital, on the other side, and doesn't see Martin… he'd take being stabbed a dozen times over this.

When he wakes up and finds Martin gone, he thinks he's lost him. That Martin's died, that he's trapped on the other side buried in rubble, dead because of Jon, and Jon's survived somehow when he really doesn't deserve to… or that Martin's alive, maybe, just maybe, but he's somewhere else entirely. One of the other worlds Annabelle spoke of, or their original world—which maybe Jon should hope for; Martin would have the others, assuming they survived, and he'd be safe from the fears, safe from whatever horrible things they've unleashed on this world with one quick motion of a knife.

Jon should hope for this, that Martin is safe and that he has the others. But he's selfish, and they promised together, and he misses Martin with everything in him.

He's at a hospital in London, he figures out eventually. The hospital closest to where the Magnus Institute was, in another world. The nurse reports that they found him on the site where Millbank Prison used to be, and isn't that weird? And that they found him there alone. (Jon's throat closes up at that, his eyes stinging, and he pretends he's tired so the nurse will leave, so he can cry in peace.) Martin wasn't with him. Martin didn't come through.

But after a few days lying in the hospital with nothing but his thoughts, nothing else to do, Jon starts to question this. They have no idea how this all works, the tapes and the Web and the crack between the worlds… Surely he wasn't the only one to come through. Annabelle Cane thought she'd come through or die, and if Jon came through… and they didn't find her where they found Jon, either. (Of course, maybe Annabelle ran off before Jon was ever found, but somehow Jon suspects she wouldn’t. She strikes him as someone who likes to be at the center of things.)

If there's a possibility that Annabelle came through, and landed somewhere differently than Jon, then there is a possibility that Martin came through, too. That he is somewhere, here, and maybe he is alive.

It's a small possibility. But Jon clings to it with everything in him.

He can't Look for Martin ( or for Annabelle, really). The Eye is gone. If it is here in this world, it has left him. Jon tries to be grateful for this, and a part of him is—he's been reaching for humanity for so long, all while sinking further and further into something he never wanted, he should be beyond grateful that it's gone, that he is alive and can live, without fading, somewhere else. (Although a part of him insists it doesn't matter if Jon hasn't made it.) But after so long with the Eye as a captor, a safety net, a part of him he thought he couldn't cut away… trying to live without it is strange. It hovers like a phantom limb, something severed by the gaping scar in his chest. He keeps reaching for it, for the horrible comfort of Knowing, and he hates it, but he wants it back deeply. Wants it because he knows he could find Martin with it, just maybe. He keeps thinking, Give it back, just for a moment. Thinks, I'll use it to find Martin and then I'll let go, I won't ever again, I hate it but I need it, I NEED to find him…

It doesn't come back. If Jon is ever going to find Martin, he'll need to do it on his own.

He asks all the nurses and staff, anyone he comes in contact with, if they've ever met a Martin Blackwood. Asks if there's anyone in his files with that name, or a name like it, begs the nurses to please look around for anyone like that. No luck there. Jon asks for a phone book and gets an odd look; he guesses phone books are out of fashion in this 2018, too. He can't do much while he's in the hospital, and he's about to give up hope on making any progress until he's been discharged.

But then he manages to get a hold of a laptop. After days of asking, a nurse offers to lend him one, if he promises to keep it quiet, and not to exert himself.

Jon searches the Internet for hours. There are dozens of Martin Blackwoods, actually, more than he ever could've guessed, and none of them seem to be Martin. He has to consider the fact that Martin may not have existed here—just like Jon didn't exist here, or doesn't seem to have, before they woke up. Which will make it nearly impossible to find him using the Internet—using anything, until Martin has been here long enough to establish a paper trail—if Martin was ever even here in the first place…

Desperation. Panic. Jon's last resort is to write a letter. To write down every single thing he's wanted to say to Martin, the things in his head when he woke up, the things in his head when he realized Martin wasn't here. He writes it all, says the things he knows only Martin would know, so Martin will know it's him if he ever reads it. And then he spreads it across the Internet. Posts it every single place he can think of. Every social media site. A lot of forums that are frequently visited. Comments on blogs he thinks Martin might read. Anywhere he can think of. He even prints off copies and mails them to every address he can think of that Martin might be at: his Prentiss flat, his post-Prentiss flat, his mum's care home, Upton House, the safehouse. He puts his real name on it, at the very top, and Martin's, hoping that if Martin is searching on the Internet, it might come up…

Jon's desperate. He'll try anything, any desperate, silly scheme like spreading a love note all over the Internet. Anything to get Martin back.

By the time Jon leaves the hospital, his letter has gone viral. Plastered all over the place. There's people picking it apart, speculating about whether it's real, calling it an excellent work of fiction, speculating it's all a joke. There's even some commentary from other Jonathan Simses and Martin Blackwoods, swearing it's of no relation to them.

None of it is what Jon needs. He checks every iteration obsessively: every comment, repost, retweet. None of it is Martin. None of them are Martin.

He's still looking. Every single day, he looks, in places beside his letter and its hundred iterations. He searches as far as he can, in every record he can think of. He tries to find places in London that he and Martin frequented—the ones he can find. He even goes back to the Institute, or where it should be. It isn't there, of course. Probably never was. Jon can't decide whether to be relieved or disappointed.

It's all he can do, to look and to keep hoping. It's all he can do.

It's hard, being alone again, after so long always being at Martin's side… They'd craved space sometimes, and they'd had it, he supposes, but now… Weeks without Martin, one, two, three weeks, and it's excruciating. Jon had said together at the end, he'd promised , and he'd tried so hard to believe it, and now he's here, impossibly, alone.

He has nightmares almost every night. Nightmares of the Panopticon and the end of the world, the ritual, words forced up through his throat—being at the center of the Eye, at the center of the world with Jonah Magnus at his feet and Martin dying in his arms. Martin forcing the knife into his chest. Jon hasn't dreamed of anything but the statements of others for so long, and he'd thought he missed it, but now… He wakes up almost every night shaking and crying, reaching for Martin. Like clockwork. He thinks he'd do anything for a dream that isn't his, a dream that's not an endless reminder of what he's done.

He checks the forums. He searches in familiar places. He lies in bed and thinks of Martin, tries to look for Martin, silently begs for help from anyone who might be listening (the Web, the Eye, anyone). Nothing works. Nothing.

The reminders come like clockwork: Jon might be looking for no one, might be shouting out to someone who isn't there. Martin might be dead. It might be too late to get him back.

Three weeks in, Jon finds a comment on the original forum, the original place he posted the letter on that first day. A comment from an m.blackwood .

Jon reads it with his heart in his throat. Trembling with hope. Unable to hope completely. There's a dozen different things it could be besides him.

The comment says I thought you were dead. It says, I'm sorry. It says, I love you, says, I'm coming.

Jon's chin trembles, his eyes stinging. He fumbles at the keyboard with shaking fingers to instant-message m.blackwood, types out his address immediately, without thinking. (He has to type it out three times before he gets it right, his hands are shaking so hard.) And after that, I miss you. Even though he said it in the letter, even though it might not be Martin—it could be someone else fucking with him, a troll or whatever it's called; it could be the Web or the Stranger, luring him into a trap. But Jon doesn't care. He doesn't care. If there's any chance, any chance it's Martin…

The reply comes a few minutes later: I'm coming. I'm so sorry. I miss you too. I'm coming right now. And Jon wipes his eyes, presses his face into his hands, and allows himself to hope.

An hour and a half later, someone is buzzing for his flat. Jon runs so fast to the door that he almost slips and falls in the hall, hits the button with entirely too much force and breathes, " Martin? " into the intercom.

Silence for a moment, long enough that Jon starts to wonder if this is just some random person he's practically sobbing down the line at. And then a voice answers, tear-choked: "Jon?"

Jon nearly collapses with the weight of this voice, Martin's voice. He leans hard against the wall, his eyes burning, and says, "Martin, I-I'm buzzing you in," wiping his eyes frantically.

He doesn't move from the door, stays leaning against the wall like it is the only thing keeping him up, until he hears a tentative knock on the other end. And then he's yanking it open, as hard as he can, and on the other side is Martin. Not something pretending to be Martin, not another Martin Blackwood, but his Martin. His Martin, standing there with the faded marks of bruising, his left arm in a cast and a new scar across his forehead, tears pooling in his eyes. Martin. Jon can't breathe for a moment, can't move, can't go to Martin because it doesn't feel real, none of it.

And then Martin's saying, "Jon?" and bursting into harsh, frantic sobs. And Jon's rushing forward. He's rushing forward and letting Martin collapse in his arms, gripping Martin tightly, his fingernails digging into Martin's shoulders, his face pressed into Martin's neck. He's trying to hold on without squeezing or holding too tight, in case Martin's hurt worse than he knows—he's saying Martin's name over and over again, a senseless litany into Martin's skin: Martin, Martin. He's crying, too, hot tears dotting the fabric of Martin's shirt. He's burrowing as close as he can, pulling Martin into him, desperate to feel every part of him—it's him, he's here, it's Martin, they haven't lost each other.

Martin's holding on just as tightly, trembling in Jon's arms where they've sunk to the ground, right in Jon's doorway. He's crying so hard, it's difficult to understand what he's saying, but eventually Jon begins to make it out. He's saying I'm so sorry. Again and again, muffled into Jon's hair: I'm so sorry.

"No," Jon says, suddenly desperate. " Martin. No." He pulls back to look Martin in the eye, to try and wipe the tears off of Martin's face (even though he is crying, too). Leans up to press a kiss against Martin's forehead. "Martin, please, please… p-please don't apologize, please…"

"I killed you," Martin chokes out, his eyes shut, his dark lashes wet against his cheeks. "I killed you, Jon, I hurt you, a-and I… I thought you were dead, wh-when I woke up here, w-without you, I thought I'd never see you again, because of me… "

"I thought I'd lost you, " Jon says, quietly, through his own tears. He wipes the tears from Martin's face again and again. "A-and it really would've been my fault, because I lied to you, I-I was the reason you were up there… Martin, please. "

" Jon. " Martin tugs him a little closer, burrows closer still, his face pressed into the juncture between Jon's shoulder and his neck.

"It's okay." Jon kisses Martin's forehead again, his temple, his cheek, the top of his head. "Martin. Martin, it's—you're here, it can all be okay now…"

Martin leans up abruptly to catch Jon's mouth with his. It's salty and lingering and desperate, every single thing Jon has felt in these long horrible days without Martin, every single kiss he wanted to give Martin while he was gone. Jon sinks into it, gripping Martin as tightly as he can, gripping onto his shirt, kissing Martin fiercely, with the panicked relief of being alive, of finding each other again.

Even when the kiss finishes, they don't let go. They stay there, clinging to each other in the doorway, leaning against Jon's open door. Martin's still crying, still trembling in Jon's arms; he says, I missed you too, I missed you so much; Jon says, Martin, I missed you every single day. Every single moment.

Martin whispers I love you against Jon's hair. Saying it back is as easy as breathing.

#tma fic #mag 200 #jonmartin #the magnus archives #post 200 #i wrote this #i might write more fics in this specific 200 scenario. like especially if i wanna write something where they talk things out

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clairenatural · 4 years

Text

destiel, 1.9k, post-series human!cas. this isn’t fully angst but it is me addressing castiel’s trauma since the writers never will. hurt/comfort-esque. cw for the stuff he went through at the beginning of s9. also: stargazing.

Castiel’s grace burns up when they pull him out of the Empty, but he doesn’t care—he doesn’t even notice, really, not when Dean is clinging to him, and kissing him like he needs him to breathe, and filling the gap his grace left with a love that feels even more holy.

It hits him halfway back to the bunker, when he’s riding shotgun and Sam is asleep in the backset and a passing streetlight bathes Dean’s freckles in yellow-gold. He’s been in love with Dean Winchester as a human before, and it was overwhelming, all mixed up in guilt and panic and a bone-deep betrayal he’s been trying to forget. But this time—this time is different, right? This time…it’s okay. It has to be. He’s not quite sure what he’s allowed, just yet, but he takes the risk anyway and reaches out for Dean across the bench seat. Dean meets him half way, catching his hand with his own, and it calms Castiel’s newly-human heart.

He wakes up the next morning, in Dean’s bed, and he’s forgotten how nice sleep is. Real, human sleep, on an actual mattress—memory foam, he remembers Dean proclaiming, excited. It’ll remember you now, too. He tries not to remember the concrete floor of the gas station, and his cold, thin sleeping bag, because now—now, he’s warm. He reaches out for Dean, who is still asleep but moves on instinct, lifting an arm so Castiel can curl up against him. He lets his bones sink into the warmth of Dean, the comfort of the mattress. He tries to remind himself he’ll never sleep on a storage room floor again.

He stays in bed even longer than Dean, which Dean calls impressive when he returns to the bedroom with coffee. Castiel plays it off as being exhausted, which is true, but he’s also trying to commit the feeling of the mattress to memory.

When he drains his coffee and finally decides to go brush his teeth, he stares for a long time at the toothpaste tube. Long enough that Dean comes looking. He leans against the bathroom door with a smile, raising an eyebrow at the sight. “It’s not gonna bite you,” he starts, and pushes off the doorframe to walk closer. “You have done this before, right? You know—last time?”

Castiel blinks and then nods. It’s just toothpaste. “You know, the first time I did this, I—” he pauses to smile, attempting levity. “I squeezed the tube directly into my mouth,” he chuckles then, trying to joke at his helplessness, and he thinks Dean will too—and he does smile, eventually, but not before a look halfway between guilt and grief crosses his face. Castiel isn’t meant to catch it, but he does—he sees all of Dean. He knows every expression better than he knows his own.

Dean doesn’t respond to his toothpaste comment, but he does wrap his arms around Castiel’s middle from behind, more securely than the situation demands, and he hooks his chin over Castiel’s shoulder with a hum. Castiel stares at the whole picture in the mirror, himself and Dean and his toothbrush, and he can’t help but smile when Dean brings a hand up to brush his thumb across his cheek. “You’re already gettin’ peach fuzz,” he murmurs. “Remind me to teach you to shave sometime.”

The smile falls as something thick settles in the pit of Castiel’s stomach. He remembers stumbling his way through a razor. “Oh. I, um. I taught myself.” The last time is unsaid.

“Oh.” Dean’s arms loosen around his waist, and the stricken look is back. “That’s—awesome.” He smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

Castiel turns his head to try and look at him, but Dean is already stepping away. “I’ll let you get to it,” he mumbles, and claps Castiel on the shoulder as he leaves the bathroom.

He watches Dean leave, then stares at the empty doorway for a few long seconds before turning back to his toothbrush. His hands are shaking as he squeezes out the toothpaste.

When he wanders into the kitchen a few minutes later Dean is waiting for him, armed with more coffee and a plate of scrambled eggs and bacon, and he grabs Castiel by the shoulder and guides him into a seat at the table before sliding in across from him. He’s smiling—he’s eager—and it’s such a tone shift that Castiel briefly wonders if a witch snuck into the bunker while he was brushing his teeth.

But he knows this. He’s seen it before, with Sam—how Dean will set a meal down in front of him in the library and won’t leave until he takes a bite, waiting for approval. It’s love.

“Dean, you didn’t have to—”

“Yeah, I did,” he cuts him off in a tone that’s not unkind, but is final. “Wanna take care of you,” he shrugs and covers up the intimacy of that statement by reaching over to steal a slice of bacon, and Castiel hears the I love you buried under all the layers, so he smiles and eats. Predictably, it’s delicious.

“This is much better than molecules,” he commends, because he knows Dean’s waiting for it, and Dean grins and it’s beautiful and all the weirdness of the morning is forgotten.

They talk, and they eat, and they laugh, but when Dean clears the dishes he sits back at the table with a much more serious expression. “Alright, come on. What do you want to know?”

Castiel raises his eyebrows. “About…?”

“Being human.”

Oh.

He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He’s already stumbled through all the basic human functions, albeit clumsily, and he’s trying to figure out a way to explain to Dean that being homeless gives you a painful crash course on how to survive without putting that sad expression back on his face when he realizes Dean is still talking.

“Listen, Cas. I know I fucked up last time, alright? Big time. I should’ve been there to teach you to brush your teeth, and shave, and—and tie your freakin’ shoelaces, and I can’t take that back now, okay? But maybe I can—I don’t know. Do it better, this time. I know you already got most of it figured out, but I could—”

“Dean, it’s alright.” He reaches out to place his hand over one of Dean’s, which he’s been fidgeting on the table. “I forgive you.” Dean looks up, then, and they make eye contact, and Castiel does forgive him. Of course he does. There was never another option.

Dean breaks the eye contact but he moves his other hand on top of Castiel’s and squeezes. “Yeah, well. Doesn’t mean it’s okay,” he grumbles, and Castiel loves him for that.

“You can teach me to cook,” He offers, after a moment, and Dean looks up at him with a genuine smile. “I never got much further than PB&J.”

“Hell yeah,” Dean is already standing. “Come on, let’s go.”

Castiel blinks up at him. “Go?”

“To the store,” Dean rolls his eyes, as if this was obvious. “I ain’t gonna teach you to cook with whatever we have lying around.”

He’s already off before Castiel can clarify he just wants to start with grilled cheese. Dean buys the fanciest cheddar in the store anyway.

Castiel manages to burn it on both sides.

“I’m sorry,” he stares down at the mess, mournfully, and manages to look pitiful enough that Dean picks up the blackened sandwich to take a bite anyway. He grimaces when Dean chokes on it, but he’s trying so hard to not visibly react that it makes Castiel’s heart warm, and by the time Dean finally gets the lump washed down with beer, he’s staring at him with a wry smile.

“I've fed Sam worse,” is his only comment, and Castiel can’t help but huff out a laugh, and then Dean is grinning back, setting the plate down, and reaching out to pull him close. “Tomorrow we’ll tackle spaghetti.”

Castiel scoffs. “Do you enjoy burnt tomato sauce?”

“Sure do.” Dean tilts his head down, and Castiel meets him in the middle. He tastes like burnt toast, but Castiel smiles against his lips and grins into the space between them when they separate to lean their foreheads together. “What’s next, Cas?”

“Teach me how to drive.”

Dean pulls back farther, surprised. “You can drive.”

“Not well.”

Dean snorts, then sighs. “Yeah, sure. Tomorrow though, alright? It’s getting dark.”

Castiel considers him for a moment, then nods. “Then drive me somewhere. I want to see the stars like this. Human.”

Dean hums and presses a kiss to his forehead. “That we can do.”

He misses the contact as soon as Dean steps back, but then Dean takes his hand and leads him into the garage, only letting go long enough to climb into the car. They drive through the sunset until the stars are peeking out, and Dean pulls onto the shoulder by a field far enough outside town to avoid all light pollution. He climbs onto the hood and Castiel follows, sitting close enough that their shoulders brush.

Castiel can feel Dean staring at him but doesn’t look back, not yet—he’s staring straight up, at the stars. He misses them, aches for them like he aches for his wings, but he also feels warm in their presence. The stars are solid. They are unyielding. They are trustworthy.

“How you feeling, Cas?” Dean asks after a moment, quietly, not loud enough to disturb the silence. Castiel hums before responding.

“Small.” He feels Dean shift, leaning into his shoulder.

“Small?” He questions, and he can hear that Dean’s worried. He shouldn’t be.

“Small,” Castiel confirms, tearing his gaze from the night sky to smile warmly back at Dean. “Back then—” last time “—it was terrifying, being this small. I thought I was going to drown. The stars were out of reach. I longed for them.”

“And now?” Dean has shifted, angling himself so he’s facing Castiel.

“The stars are out of reach, but they’re still there. And you are also still here,” this time, “and you are not out of reach.” Anymore. Ever again. He reaches out for Dean’s face, stroking his thumb along his cheekbone. “I’m small. But we’re small together. And that makes it alright.”

Dean stares at him like he does sometimes, like if he blinks Castiel might disappear, and then he leans forward and kisses him like that first time, like if he stops he’ll forget how to breathe. He pushes Castiel down onto the hood of the car and doesn’t break for air until the metal groans under the pressure. When he backs off, then, it’s still not far—not out of reach.

“What’s next, Cas?” he asks, and Castiel knows what he’s asking. And that’s the thing—the biggest thing—he wants to forget about last time.

He looks up at Dean, who looks like he’s holding his breath. He thinks maybe he can still let Dean teach him that, too, if he wants him to. He thinks he does want him to.

“Let’s go home,” he replies, finally, and Dean breaks into a grin before the words are fully out of his mouth, “and you can show me.”

#destiel fic #deancas fic #human!cas #destiel #deancas #my words #9x03 #i still haven't forgiven dean for how he treated cas at the beginning of s9 #so im gonna write him making up for it to make myself feel better #someday I will once again post smth not at 2am #over 1k words

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seasonofthewicth · 3 years

Text

nobody does it like you do - act 3

Here is act 3!!! Thank you so much for all of your enthusiasm so far! Hope you enjoy :)

8.6k - masterlist - ao3

Aelin has never really thought of herself as someone with a lot of friends. She’s always had Elide, Aedion and Lysandra, but they almost fall into a separate category. Like what they’ve been through surpasses friendship, and she thinks at this point Elide and Lysandra are as much her family as Aedion.

Throughout her years in the industry she hasn’t made many friends, Chaol and Dorian are probably the only two, but she's learned how things work. It didn't take her long to realise that all the girls she met at auditions, and bonded with over all of the things they had in common, would have stabbed her right in the back at the earliest opportunity.

It's cutthroat, but she can't say she's never succumbed to the temptations.

She’d be lying if she said she’d never pretended she was there to audition for another character just to get the other actress to spill her analysis of the character. She can’t say it was unintentional when she’d leave the audition room and then pretend to take a phone call where she’d discuss how pleased the casting director had been with her take and had promised to call, watching the faces fall of the other hopefuls she waltzed past.

She can’t say she’d never do it again.

That said, she feels like she has a good thing going with Fenrys, Manon and Rowan. They've hung out a couple of times and she likes them admittedly more than she thought she would at first. The dynamic is fast and snappy, funny and sarcastic, and she can feel herself getting back into the old motions.

Aelin knows they’re friends now, and it feels really fucking good, but she has one concern. She’s not entirely sure that what she feels for Rowan can be described as friendship and she’s kicking herself for letting it happen. The physical attraction she can excuse, he looks how he looks and she’s defenseless against that, but the rest? The rest is where she’s really let herself go.

He’s opened up to them a lot more now, and they spend a lot more time together than they did at the start. Just last week she had thrown herself into her seat at the end of a long day of shooting and plunked her feet in his lap. She had expected him to throw them off and growl something at her, but he had simply rested his left hand on her ankle and continued to scroll through his phone with his right.

It had felt far too easy to settle into his touch, and far too enjoyable to have the heat of his skin against her own.

Even so, there’s a level of detachment to his interaction with them. He falls somewhere between bemused dad and despairing lecturer tasked with herding a group of unruly children through a life or death venture. He curses actors all day long but he’s just as dramatic. There are moments when she catches him beginning to smile at a comment from Fenrys or the bickering she and Manon do before he halts himself and seems to rein it back in.

She wants to see him grin.

It’s kind of weird to think back to the first week of shooting and how unsure she felt around them, how insecure she was of her own ability compared to theirs, but by now she’s pretty sure she’s past the worst of that and she doesn’t want to waste any more time doubting herself, at least in comparison to them. It helps when Rowan makes little comments like nice job, Aelin or when she catches the nod he does after she nails a scene, especially when he tries to hide it.

She posted a picture on Instagram of the four of them from set last week, her and Manon crouched at the front wrapped up again in the massive coats they give them on set, their faces almost completely covered by the puffed up collars, and Rowan and Fenrys stood behind them, their arms crossed across their chests and faces twisted into overly dramatic imitations of anger. It had taken some pleading and possible bribery from Fenrys to get Rowan to agree to the pose, but they had succeeded in the end.

She had captioned it so we stole their coats… and tagged each of them, watching as the likes came flooding in. Only seconds later the comments had begun to run a bit wild.

This is going to be so good I can already tell.

fenrys looks so hot fuck me up

ARMS!ARMS!ARMS!ARMS!

Are they dating?

She stopped reading the comments pretty quickly after that.

They’re about a third of the way into shooting, and Aelin knows what she’s accomplished so far is some of her best work. It hasn’t been easy, but she’s put hours and hours of her time into understanding her character and she feels like she truly knows Feyre, and almost sees some of herself in her. There are differences of course, Aelin isn’t quite as naive as Feyre or as forgiving, but they’ve both been dealt a shitty hand, and Aelin likes to think she’s working just as hard as Feyre to pick herself back up.

She finishes the take, and slaps her usual high-five against Fenrys’ palm and sends her regular nod over to Rowan. Good? Her nod asks. Good, his own gesture returns. She tucks her smile away as she begins to wander over to where he’s stood chatting with a producer.

She’s built a habit of going over to him once they finish shooting, she wants to seek him out constantly, and she feels drawn to him in a way that she’s beginning to lose the fight against. She’s about halfway towards him when she spots a tall head of brown hair making its way towards her.

She barely has time to process before there are a pair of strong arms around her waist and she’s being lifted up and swung around, her feet dangling inches above the ground.

“Hello, superstar.” His voice is deep in her ear and she can feel the vibrations where she buries her face into his neck.

“Gods! I thought you weren’t coming for another two weeks.”

She gasps as he places her back down on the ground and she can finally smile up at Chaol. Taking in the chestnut-brown of his hair and the faint creases beginning at the corners of his rich brown eyes. Gods, she’s missed him.

She’s known he’d be visiting the set at some point. The Crescent City is his baby, a script he’s been working on for years, and she knows he couldn’t stomach leaving it all to Rowan without any supervision.

He had first mentioned it to her a few years ago, but back then it was nothing more than an idea. Aelin knew he had been chipping away at it in the background for a while and it wasn’t a surprise when he first sent it to her. It’s different now though, now that there’s a budget and a set and actual progress made in getting it on screen.

It feels like a big deal to her; she can’t imagine how Chaol feels.

She had never dreamed though, through all of their midnight conversations about it and their half-dreaming out loud discussions, that she would be the one to star in it.

Chaol just grins at her, a twinkle in his eyes that she knows means he’s happy, and says “thought I’d surprise you.”

“It’s definitely a surprise.” She leans up to wrap her arms around his neck for a second time. She squeezes him tight and breathes him in, his smell is comforting and it makes her feel young again. “How long are you here for?”

He gives her waist a short squeeze, reminding her that his hands are still resting there with hers still up on his shoulders. It’s not the closest she’s ever been to him, and it doesn’t cross her mind for her touching him so freely to be an issue.

“A couple of days.” He smiles down at her again. “Lunch?”

“Of course, let me change first?” She asks, releasing his shoulders and turning to walk back to her trailer. He holds a hand out, as if to say lead the way.

She sets off as he follows, and she can feel the lightness of the wide smile across her face. It’s a kind of comfort now that Chaol is here, he’s taken care of her for so many years and his presence grounds her in a way she hasn’t really found with many other people.

Rowan still stands with the producer behind where some of the team are tinkering with the filming equipment. His brow is drawn into a frown and the producer standing with him has begun to look profoundly uncomfortable.

The take was good, she knows that, and when he runs a jagged hand over his face a jolt of concern strikes her. He looks anguished, or frustrated, and she wonders how he’s soured so quickly after the silent exchange they shared mere moments ago.

His gaze snaps to hers and it’s a powerful thing. His stare weighs heavily into her, so much so she wants to look away and her steps falter. The stumble is barely perceptible, but she sees it and thinks maybe he does too. There’s something thorny in the pull of his brows and the twist of his mouth and she wants to go over, ease his troubles, but that’s not her place. And Chaol is inches behind her following her lead.

Rowan’s eyes flick to Chaol and his mouth twists further. And not to get ahead of herself yet again, but surely not, right? His gaze switches back to rest on her, only for a second longer before he mouths something short and sharp to the producer and disappears.

Aelin shakes it off. She might think they’re friends, but as has become her mantra, he’s her boss. What she needs is something gentle and simple and uncomplicated. In the real world, everything she wants from Rowan is decidedly complicated.

Sitting opposite Chaol is a place she’s been many times before. More often than not, Dorian would have taken up the mantle at Chaol’s side, the pair of them closer than brothers. They have the kind of relationship she thinks truly cannot exist for people other than the two of them.

The level of understanding they share, the lengths they would go to for each other, it’s unparalleled and she longs to find a bond like that one day.

When she was younger being sat in a position like this, opposite Chaol, so close they could whisper to converse, would have been a dream. She had a bit of an infatuation with him when she first met him; he was a few years older than her, charming, handsome and calming. He had been her entrance to the world she lives in now and he had kept her safe and taken care of her.

She had thought he was everything she wanted.

She had realised pretty quickly, after going in for an ill advised kiss that he had swerved, that that would never be an option for them. He had let her down kindly and gently, which she appreciates now, even if it felt like a blow at the time.

He hadn’t let her pull back from him though, he had kept her close until she eventually got over the embarrassment and was able to look at him without blushing. It’s not something she dwells on now, she was young and naive and she could have done a lot worse than Chaol.

He was who she had gone to when she had met Sam. She had waxed poetic to him about the boy with the curly brown hair and the shy smile. She smiles lightly to herself at the thought of him, what he would make of where she’s at now.

He’d kiss her cheek with his arms around her waist, boasting how his girl, his baby, was a star in the making. She swallows the thought, struck by both the image and the lingering pain it brings, but also by the knowledge that she’s gone a couple of days without thinking of him.

She hasn’t thought of the boy with the brown eyes in a few days, hasn’t woken up screaming in even more. She breathes past the panic that threatens in her throat, both at the idea that she hasn’t thought of Sam for a while and the reasons there could be for that.

“How is the love of my life?” She focuses back on Chaol and watches him try very hard not to choke on his mouthful of his drink.

He had picked the cafe, even though she’s been in Rifthold for a while it is still far more his space than hers, and he knows the hidden gems like this that she isn’t privy to yet. It’s rustic and cosy, the brick walls have colourful bunting draped between them and none of the chairs inside match. She’ll have to come back if the food is good, the atmosphere inside is relaxed and busy enough that she can feel completely anonymous. She doesn’t want to leave, maybe next time she can bring a book.

“My beautiful wife is well,” he manages once he swallows, and she smirks at how he knows exactly what she’s asking. “Almost past the second trimester now, and still refusing to slow down.”

That sounds exactly like Yrene. She says as much and Chaol nods wearing the expression of a man who, if he didn’t love his wife so much, would be tired of chasing after her.

Yrene is a whirlwind of energy and efficiency and it’s why she’s one of Aelin’s favourite people. She’s full of exciting tales and inspiration, that is, when she can get Yrene to slow for a second enough to catch up. She probably doesn’t need her high paced job as a doctor in Rifthold General Hospital, like, Chaol’s scripts are successful, he’s won a number of awards that sit in a special cabinet in their house, but that’s just how Yrene is.

Caring and kind and so, so smart. If Aelin didn’t do what she does, she’d love to be like Yrene.

“Second trimester?” She cries. “He’s almost here!”

Chaol is again at risk of choking. “Aelin, please. I still have a few months left to get ready.”

He looks almost panicked and she scoffs. “Chaol, please.” She mocks his tone perfectly and ignores the eye roll he gives her. “You were born ready. You’ve basically raised me for the past few years and look how well I’m doing.”

He laughs, and she smiles, it’s exactly the reaction she wanted.

“I’m not sure that’s the glowing compliment you think it is,” He says dryly and she just pokes her tongue out at him.

“Chaol,” she begins, seriously this time. “You are already the best dad I know, you’ll be fine. And if not, the baby has Yrene, so he’ll definitely be fine.”

He doesn’t bite on any of it, just looks bashfully to the table cloth and nods. She can’t resist one last comment.

“And even then, he’ll have me and Dorian.”

“Gods, Aelin. The thought will send me to an early grave.”

She tilts her head to the side and sketches a flip of her hair over her shoulder. The combination of her and Dorian and a baby probably would give Chaol a heart attack but she’ll embody her role as the cool aunt, and Dorian can more than handle the cool uncle.

“Do you not want your child to be cool?” She knows he’s barely finding her funny at this point but she’s missed him and she loves winding him up.

He’s saved from having to respond by the arrival of their food. She stares longingly at his burger and greasy side of fries and forces herself to take a mouthful of her wilted salad.

After a few bites she notices his expression, something pinched around the corners of his mouth, and she knows there's something he wants to say.

To say that Chaol is less invested in her sobriety than Aedion and Lysandra would be a lie, but he doesn’t question it as openly as they do, so she doubts what he wants to say is anything to do with that. She’s ordered an orange juice to spice it up, and he has a tap water that he ordered without question so she thinks he mustn’t be concerned.

“What?” She says slowly, whatever it is she wants to know, and the pain of waiting for him to spit it out was almost too much.

He shakes his head and pops another fry into his mouth. She can’t resist stealing one and a swipe of ketchup off his plate.

He begins carefully, after using his napkin to dab at the corner of his mouth. “How is it going? You read the script pretty early on, do you think…”

He trails off, and seems to pause while he considers his words, but she doesn’t need him to finish.

“Chaol, I think it’s going really well,” she says and it’s sincere. “And it’s not just because I’m in it.”

It’s far easier to crack jokes and reassure others than it is to be the one being reassured.

He shoots her an unimpressed look, but she knows her words have done their job. Even through her faults she knows he trusts her judgement.

“I feel like you asked that in a way that meant you thought it wasn’t going well.”

She’s fishing a little, but Chaol is a gossip at heart, even worse than Dorian despite how he’d deny it.

He sees right through her, but relents as he takes another bite of his burger. She stabs another bundle of lettuce, dipping it in a pool of dressing resting in the bottom of her bowl as he swallows and speaks.

“I didn’t think it would go badly, but Fenrys Moonbeam has a bit of a reputation, and I just hope he’s taking it seriously. I put a lot of work into it.” He pauses and Aelin just waits. It doesn’t seem like he’s quite done. “Rowan Whitethorn too. But I think his reputation is a bit different.”

It puts her in a bit of a weird position with a sharp taste in her mouth, wanting to defend her new friends to one of her oldest, but Chaol has to understand that how he sees them isn’t right.

“I don’t think either of them is quite how you think.” She says it gently because she doesn’t want to risk irritating Chaol with this. “Fenrys works really hard, you know. He’s putting a lot of work into understanding Rhys, Rowan too. He puts a lot of thought into what he does, he’s really smart.”

He’s watching her silently, his eyes shining with a question she doesn’t want to answer.

“You’ve written an incredible story Chaol, we all want to do it justice.”

The quirk of his eyebrow is somewhat impressed as he takes her in, but maybe there’s something more in there. Something that catches the difference between the way she talks about Fenrys compared to the way she talks about Rowan.

“I’m glad,” is all he says.

“It’s going well,” she says and truly believes it. “I’ve said it before, but it really is a work of art, Chaol.”

She pauses, her next words thick in her throat. “Thank you… for writing it, I mean. It means a lot to me, and I am honoured to play this part.”

He nods thankfully, and she knows he appreciates the compliment but his response is typical Chaol. Quiet and understated but shining with sincerity.

There’s a moment before the corner of his mouth pulls upwards and she knows he’s just about to turn the game around and tease her now.

“A part of me wishes I hadn’t written so many intimate scenes between them, the thought of you and Fenrys Moonbeam…” He trails off.

She tugs her lips inwards between her teeth, pleading with the blush on her neck not to rise. They haven’t got to those scenes yet, and she’s been avoiding the idea of them. She doesn’t want to think about what she’ll have to do with Fenrys in a couple of weeks.

Fenrys isn’t the problem though, she knows he’ll be professional and respectful. The problem is that Rowan will be there, watching them, watching her, and the idea plays with her in a dangerous way. Everything about Rowan feels dangerous to her, and gods if that isn’t half the draw.

“I know we joked before, but you do know you’re not my father? You’re worse than Aedion,” she laughs.

Chaol just shakes his head, “I’m allowed to look out for you.”

“I didn’t say you weren’t, but you’re only, what? Five years older than me?”

“Six. And Rowan Whitethorn is older than me.” The way he says it is noticeable, like he has a point to make.

“He is?”

So she didn’t know that, but it worries her how it doesn’t change things even a little bit. It doesn’t change how attractive he is, or the fact that she should be going nowhere near the idea of the two of them. She needs to call Elide, or her actual therapist.

“Yes, I think he was in the year above me at the Royal.”

She really doesn’t know all that much about him, hadn’t even known he went to the stage school in Adarlan.

What she knows is the fleeting moments she sees of him behind the camera, the expressions he makes when he’s impressed and when he’s not. She knows things like his coffee order, his hatred for the little pastries the catering department provide and how he doesn’t seem to drink alcohol. She knows about Lyria, but it’s from the internet, not him.

She doesn’t know him.

“Oh,” is all she manages.

Chaol eats another fry, watching her the whole time, and she wants him to look away. She has nothing to feel guilty about; they haven’t done anything. She has one, probably inadvisable, crush on her boss that she’ll speak to Elide about and get over. Then the movie will be done and she won’t ever have to see him again.

The dropping sensation in her stomach at the thought is less than desirable.

Chaol stays for a few days. He hangs around on set and sits in her chair while she films. It’s a pleasant kind of relief, tinged with an element of nostalgia, to have him around. He makes her feel like a kid again, and she feels herself looking towards him for approval when she desperately avoids how she wants to do the same to Rowan.

He relents on the second day, after having met Fenrys and Rowan properly, and admits to her that he thinks his baby is probably in good hands. She just says “I told you so,” because she’s a child and annoying Chaol is fun.

She’s sitting in Manon’s chair next to him, and they’re talking about Aedion. He and Chaol have a friendship she likes to pretend doesn’t stem from a mutual concern for her. Chaol is saying something about how he doesn’t envy Aedion’s schedule, but she’s barely listening.

Aelin’s watching where Rowan stands a few feet away. He’s wearing a soft-looking black sweatshirt and jeans, and she can’t help but imagine how it would feel to slip the sweatshirt on herself. How it would still be warm from his body, how the sleeves would trail way past her fingertips, how the smell of him would surround her.

He’s directing Manon, gesturing jaggedly with his hands and she’s nodding along. The shades of their hair almost match, Aelin notices absently, but she prefers the silver shine to Rowan’s compared to the clean-white of Manon’s. Rowan makes a gesture with his right hand and his fingers flex in a rhythmic movement, the elegant lengths of his fingers flowing freely in motion.

She wants to take that hand and put it on herself, she wants to run it down her side and between her thighs. She wants to take his fingers into her mouth and suck.

And like, what the fuck Aelin?

Texting Rowan is, objectively, a bad idea. Not that it’s a bad idea to text a colleague and ask to hang out, it’s just that that isn’t exactly what she wants to get from texting him. So yes; it’s a bad idea, and Aelin knows this, but she’s been thinking of doing it for a couple of days and the desire to do so hasn’t faded. She’s thought about it for long enough that she’s rationalised it, it’s not rash.

Aelin wants to know Rowan.

She taps away at her screen, hi rowan… No. That's not right. Aelin deletes it.

Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to… Nope. Not right either. She bites her lip while she backspaces the string of letters.

She wants to seem casual, so if he’s not into it it’s not awkward. Aelin’s a feminist, but she still doesn’t want to outright ask him out until she’s tested the waters a little more, got a bit of a better read on him and whether he could be into it or not.

She thinks he is, at least a little bit. She knows his eyes linger on her sometimes, sometimes her face, sometimes her arse. She likes it, but whether all he feels is attraction, or whether he feels the same as her is a mystery.

She still hasn’t spoken to Elide about it, but there’s a devil on her shoulder whispering that she’s probably past the point of no return already.

i’m sick of takeout, she types. want to go and grab a bite somewhere???

Aelin taps send before she can overthink it. She can always invite Fenrys to come along too if Rowan doesn’t seem keen on doing something just the two of us.

It’s not long before her phone buzzes with a response. You’re sick of takeout, so you want to go and eat out?

She chews the inside of her cheek, his response doesn’t really give her much. And while it’s not a rejection, it’s not a yes. Maybe her text was stupid, gods, why didn’t she think-

Her phone buzzes again. How about I cook something instead?

Much better. She smiles as she writes her response.

i don’t really want food poisoning :/// my boss might be a bit pissed if i can’t work

The bubble with the three dots pops up immediately, and her thumbs hover over the screen as she waits.

Ha. Ha. He sends, and she can’t fight the little laugh that escapes her as she imagines him rolling his eyes at her. His next text comes through pretty quickly. I’m on board with going out if you want, just thought something more private could be better.

And shit. There are a number of ways she could interpret that. Aelin’s trying not to read into things, things like Rowan saying he wants to go somewhere private with her, he could just be talking about paparazzi. Damn, he probably is just talking about paparazzi.

oh yeah sounds good actually but pls don’t poison me

He just sends a straight faced emoji.

Aelin leans back into her couch as he sends another follow up text.

Do you want to come here?

She could, but he hosted last time. And while she liked the atmosphere at Rowan’s house, she can’t deny that she likes the idea of him here. She likes the idea of seeing Rowan making his way around her kitchen, likes the idea of Rowan sitting opposite her at the end of this couch.

or you could come here????

She bites the corner of her nail as she stares at her screen, waiting for his response to come through.

Sure. I’ll swing by the store to grab some ingredients. How many people am I cooking for?

Aelin pauses, her thumbs hovering above the keyboard.

was thinking 2 but i can invite others if you want

She thinks that’s pretty clear, but it also puts the ball in his court. She’s the most nervous she’s been so far as she waits for his reply, and the three dots pop up before disappearing again. They pop up again, before finally his message comes through.

Don’t. His text reads. I’ll pick up enough for two.

His response is pretty clear too, and she smiles as she sends three thumbs up emojis.

Her apartment isn’t dirty, or even messy, but once she’s locked her phone she’s up and full of nervous energy. It’s probably presumptuous to make sure her bed is made, but she does it anyway. She leaves the leggings and oversized sweater she wears on, it’s casual, she’s chilled out. Or she can at least pretend to be.

She’s doing her last round of the apartment, keeping her eyes peeled for any stray socks or underwear that she could have left anywhere. A blush threatens her cheeks at the thought of Rowan and her underwear, but she forces it down when there’s a sharp knock at the door.

She swings the door open and there he is.

He looks good, as always, but today it’s highlighted by the deep green military-style jacket he has thrown on over his plain white t-shirt. The tan of his skin always looks good against bright white, and the green of his jacket draws out the depths of his green eyes.

“Hey,” she breathes as their eyes meet.

He smiles, a slightly crooked thing, and he just looks even more attractive. “Hey.”

He’s carrying a brown paper bag pressed against his side in his left hand, and she reaches out to take it from him as she steps aside to let him in. He steps in, but resists her grab for the bag, instead wrapping his right arm around her waist to pull her into a brief hug. “Thanks for having me.”

His words take her back to the first time she visited his house. The time with Fenrys and Manon and the football game. The visit with her and Rowan in his kitchen.

She’s nowhere near as stiff with him as she was then and she lets herself relax into the hug.

“I only let you in on the promise of food,” she says into his chest and feels more than hears his reluctant snort of laughter.

Every time they touch she’s struck by how much she likes it. How much she wants more. But then he pulls back, twisting to push her door shut.

“I feel like I should let you know now before we go any further that I can’t cook.”

Rowan only raises a brow.

“Seriously, when I was in college I set off the fire alarm in my residence at least three times.”

“Three times?” His eyes widen in playful disbelief. “What were you making?”

“Well,” she laughs. “The first time I was trying to make Lysandra a birthday cake but then I got distracted and left it in the oven for three hours. The fire department got called but it was not that big of a deal, there wasn’t a fire.”

There’s laughter dancing in his clear green eyes as she regales her tale of youth. She practically beams at the knowledge that she has put it there.

“But our kitchen did smell like smoke for the rest of the year.”

“That doesn’t sound like you’re bad at cooking.” Rowan tilts his head down at her and she realises they’re still standing in her entryway. “That sounds like you don’t pay attention.”

Aelin shrugs at his teasing. “The third time was the worst. I was trying to do that thing where you put vodka in pasta sauce.”

“Gods,” Rowan’s laughing now and she loves the low rumble of the sounds. It pricks the hairs on her arm as the sound washes over her skin.

“There were some flames,” she confesses and he winces.

She didn’t have a completely normal college experience, she was acting part time in very minor roles during her time there but she managed to make some memories in her short time there. After Sam she dropped out and the memories always leave a bittersweet taste in her mouth.

Talking about this with Rowan and laughing at her silly little anecdotes is one of the first times it hasn’t hurt.

“Sucks to be an actor,” he says mockingly with a nod into her apartment as she finally leads him into the kitchen. The apartment she’s staying in is fine, more than fine, it’s actually a really great apartment and she tries to fake a frown through her smile.

Aelin shrugs. “We can’t all be big, household-name directors, living in glamorous mansions, too famous to go out to eat.”

She shoots him an amused look, and Rowan just smirks, tilting his head to the side in a way that exposes the length of his throat.

So maybe this was a fucking dangerous idea.

Inviting Rowan to her apartment had seemed like a good idea at the time, but now he’s here, now he’s in her space, looking all… damn him, he looks so fucking good she feels flushed.

She used to think brunettes were her type, Chaol and Sam were both brunette, with tanned skin and brown eyes. Recently though, as much as she wants to resist it, her type has pretty much become Rowan.

Rowan with his silver hair, and green eyes. His low voice with it’s lilting accent from across the sea. His skin is tanned too, but she knows it comes from spending hours outside rather than genetics.

She hasn’t thought seriously about another man since they started filming, or more likely since the moment they met in the hallway.

And if she allows herself to admit it, probably a lot earlier than that.

She shakes herself as he watches her.

Rowan smirks at her as he places the bag on the counter. “We’ll have to try not to set this kitchen on fire.”

She’s perched atop her counter, with one knee crossed over the other, as she watches Rowan unpack the items from the bag. He’s shucked off the jacket by now, and the t-shirt he wears gives her uninterrupted access to the image of his toned arms and the tattoo that swirls down his left side.

She realises a moment too late that he’s asked her a question.

“What?”

She can tell Rowan knows why she didn’t respond, she just hopes it’s not too much for him. From the smirk he wears she thinks maybe not.

“I’m trying to teach you a valuable skill, it may help to pay attention.” She flips him off and revels in the dark flash of a smile he offers. “I asked if you have a frying pan.”

Aelin pulls a face, she hasn’t done a lot of cooking here past the basics like pasta and soup. Her microwave has been a trusty companion.

“I don’t know.” She waves a hand to the cupboards that line the side of the room. “Have a look in there.”

He gives her a look that tells her he’s deciding whether or not he likes her giving him orders, but then he turns to rummage through her cupboards before returning triumphant and waving the silver frying pan in her face.

“So, what are you making for me?” she asks as he finds a chopping board and unloads the hoard of vegetables he brought with himself.

“Veggie burgers,” he states simply, and she knows she pulls a face because he laughs. “Before you complain, they’re good for you. And they’re tasty.”

She still wrinkles her nose at him, unconvinced.

He cocks his head as he pauses his rhythmic chopping of the leafy green vegetable he has on the board. She’s trying desperately hard to make eye contact and not just stare at the motion of his hands, and his arms, and the ink swirling down his skin.

“Didn’t I promise not to poison you? Do you not trust me to take care of you?” Aelin doesn’t think she’s reading into things to hear the flirty tone to his voice.

“I’ll let you know after I’ve tried the burger.”

Rowan shakes his head at her, the ghost of a smile floating across his face as he resumes his chopping. “Ye of little faith.”

Aelin just shrugs, making a show of being sceptical by turning her nose.

“You could always help,” Rowan comments. “Or do you regularly invite guests around expecting them to make you a meal?”

“Tell me what to do, chef.” Aelin holds her hands out, ready for instruction. “I am yours to instruct.”

Rowan nods and reaches back into the bag and pulls out a can, he turns to find a bowl and a fork and places them in front of her. She’s impressed that in under half an hour he knows his way around her kitchen far better than she does.

“Mash these,” he says.

Her disgust isn’t pretend this time and her lip curls. “Mash these beans?”

Rowan nods.

“Mash them?”

“Yes, you do know what that means don’t you?”

Aelin hits him with the fork on the bicep and he laughs again, the sound smooth and rich in her stomach. “Shut up. You’re not convincing me this is going to taste good.”

Even so, she opens the can and is about to tip them into the bowl when Rowan grabs her hand. His fingers are warm and solid where they wrap around her own, and she snaps her eyes to his face at the contact.

“Rinse them first. You warned me and yet I still overestimated your ability in the kitchen.”

He’s smiling slightly, exposing the whites of his teeth, and he’s so close to her face. They’re almost level where she sits on the counter and Aelin swallows. His eyes are bright as he looks at her and she feels her smile grow involuntarily. Something flickers across his face before he clears his throat and steps back letting go of her hand. She misses his touch immediately after it’s gone.

Aelin slides off the bench and turns towards the sink to compose herself, she rinses the beans under the tap and Rowan stays silent while she does.

She turns back and tips them into the bowl and begins to mash as Rowan grates a carrot. Aelin really didn’t know her flat even came with these things.

“This is actually fucking disgusting.”

She’s managed to turn the bean mixture into a grey-ish mush. There’s no way this can taste good, she’s going to struggle even putting it in her mouth without retching.

Rowan snorts. “It’s good for you.”

Aelin wrinkles her nose again, but keeps going. It speaks volumes that she’s willing to trust Rowan on this.

It feels weirdly domestic to be here with him in her kitchen, and they move with an easy kind of synchrony. He adds his chopped vegetables to the bowl and she mixes them together as he readies the pan.

“Up for getting your hands dirty?” Rowan asks her once he’s done, and hell if Aelin doesn’t read far too much into that. The answer is yes.

“Always.” Sue her if she makes sure to look up at him through her lashes, and to bend forwards towards him as she rests her forearms on the kitchen counter.

“Grab a handful of the mixture,” He points to the contents of the bowl. “And shape it into a round patty.”

Aelin goes to put her hand tentatively into the bowl, it’s now a grey-ish mush with flecks of orange and green and she’s dreading it getting under her nails.

“Wait,” Rowan says, and he reaches out to roll the sleeves of her sweater up. It’s such a sweet gesture that it kind of takes her by surprise. The gentleness with which he holds her wrist as he rolls the fabric is nice, and she finds herself watching his face as he does it.

His brows pull together, in an expression she assumes is concentration, as he makes the careful motions. He looks good, she notes, not for the first time.

His thumbs and index fingers move down to squeeze the junction where her wrists meet her hands as he finishes and says, “there you go.”

“Thanks,” she breathes.

Aelin turns back to the bowl, attempting to somehow calm her heart. Rowan really needs to stop touching her if she wants to get over whatever this is. But now that he’s here, and he’s looking at her the way he is, and specifying that he wants to spend time with her, just the two of them…

It’s the first time she allows herself to consider that maybe, just maybe, this isn’t something that’s only dangerous. She finally allows herself to consider the idea that this could be fun, this could be something she could really enjoy. And here, in her apartment just the two of them, he doesn’t have to be her boss. He’s just Rowan and she’s just Aelin.

She really likes that thought.

Rowan clicks the pan on, and the sound startles her out of her head. Aelin hesitates before finally plunging her fingers into the mush and gods, she has some faith in Rowan if she’s going to even consider eating this.

It’s gross, but she manages to shape it into two round patties, and she places them into the pan when Rowan instructs.

Aelin washes her hands as Rowan pays attention to the burgers, and she retakes her seat on the counter after sorting out their plates and condiments. She might not be a great cook, but she can be a good host.

She watches him flip them a couple of times, taking the opportunity to ogle without risk of being caught staring. He has strong arms, and the tattoo snaking down his left makes her mouth water with every flex of his muscles. He has wide hands with long, almost elegant fingers that she wants to link through her own. Aelin is reminded, as he lifts the pan, of the thought she had the other day when he was directing Manon.

It wasn’t the first time she had considered Rowan in a sexual way, but it was the most direct, and she’s not complaining, but sometimes it makes it a little difficult to concentrate in his presence.

Finally, he switches the heat off and turns to place the patties in their buns. Aelin has to admit they look a little better now that they’re cooked, but she’s still not convinced.

He presents her with the plate, wearing a bashful little smile, and she’s taken by how adorable she finds it. He’s actually nervous to hear what she thinks.

She slathers it in ketchup, hoping to make it somewhat palatable and lifts it to her lips, about to take a bite when he speaks.

“We’re eating here?”

Aelin pauses, putting the burger back on her plate. “Where else would we eat?”

Rowan shrugs, still holding his own plate. He doesn’t put any ketchup on his and she’s trying not to be disgusted. She taps the bench next to herself, and Rowan seems to deliberate for a moment before finally hopping up at her side. He towers over her again now that they’re on an even playing field and she likes it. She likes how much bigger he is than her, and likes it even more how she still feels safe with him.

“Okay, now go,” he says, still apprehensive of her reaction, and Aelin makes a big deal of taking a deep breath before her first bite.

She chews it all silently before swallowing, working to keep her expression neutral, and Rowan doesn’t look away from her face the whole time. She purses her lips afterwards, and waits for him to speak.

“So?”

“It’s not terrible,” she admits with a small smile creeping up the sides of her mouth.

Rowan quickly takes his own bite, and she watches the way his fingers dwarf the same bun that fills her hands. He hums his own pleasure.

“Not terrible,” he repeats. “Admit it, it’s good.”

She flips a strand of hair over her shoulder before she takes another bite. She was sceptical -- more than -- when it was still a mush, but she has to admit it’s tasty, and very Rowan. She doesn’t know for sure he’s a health nut, but based on the parts of his body that she’s seen and his distaste for all things sweet, she can guess.

“Maybe,” is all she says before taking another bite. He watches her with a smug smile, one she desperately wants to get rid of. It isn’t helpful that the way she wants to do so is by kissing him.

“Oh!” She jumps down from the counter, throwing her plate to the side, suddenly reminded. “You know what I have that would go perfectly with this?”

She grabs two glasses out of the cupboard and sets them down on the bench in between where she’s been sitting and Rowan. Aelin turns to the fridge before pulling out the small bottle.

Rowan groans, and she tucks the sound to the back of her mind. “Aelin,” he starts. “I don’t want any of that.”

“Come on,” she cries. “A milkshake is an essential with a burger and this is the best I have to offer. If I’d thought ahead I could have at least found a bottle of wine to go with the dinner you cooked for me.”

She’s not entirely sure why she said it, especially when she’s pretty sure she’s deduced that he doesn’t drink, and the reason for it, but it feels like an automatic apology that just slips off her tongue whenever she’s in a setting where alcohol could be a presumption.

Rowan’s expression locks down at her comment and she immediately regrets it.

“Um-” she starts but Rowan clears his throat.

“It’s okay,” he says slowly, avoiding her gaze, “I don’t drink.”

“Oh,” Aelin all but whispers, and it surprises her when Rowan lets out a dark huff of laughter. “I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m guessing you know why.”

His voice has a somewhat bitter edge to it that she hates.

“I wasn’t-”

She stops when he finally looks up at her and she sees his expression.

“I’m sorry,” she says again quickly and he only shakes his head and pats the counter at his side.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.”

There’s something in his eyes that makes her retake her seat at his side and pick her burger back up, taking a bite as he takes a breath.

“It’s not something that usually falls into casual dinner conversation.”

“You don’t have to share if you don’t want to.”

It’s something she isn’t sure she realised the importance of at first. The offer of whether to share or not. She fights a desperate war inside of herself every time conversations head down a lane like this. The desire to scream her story from the rooftops squaring off against the desperation to remain closed up where no one will ever know what bubbles just below the surface.

Usually privacy wins. Usually she swallows those words down and stays quiet, keeping this reel of pain and loss and tragedy buried deep within, but here with Rowan, tucked away in the kitchen of her temporary home, the words don’t feel so daunting.

“No.” He shakes his head. “It’s often something that makes other people feel uncomfortable. They pity the guy with the dead fiancée”—Aelin blinks past the way his voice wavers—“but they don’t want to actually hear about it. I’ll spare you the gorey details but after that I couldn’t bring a drink to my lips again. I’ve never so much as considered it — never wanted to.”

There’s an ache beginning in her chest, and she puts her burger back down on her plate. Rowan hasn’t touched his since his first few bites. She desperately wants to comfort him, wants to place a hand on his shoulder and take the pain away any way she can, but she knows from experience that it can’t be done.

This kind of pain, this grief, is something that can’t be taken away. She lives with her grief and her guilt after Sam every day of her life, and she thinks she will forever. No matter how many therapy sessions she goes to, no matter how many days and weeks and months pass, Sam will always be a part of her. Scrawled across her heart in his messy penmanship.

“I understand,” she says quietly. “More than you’d think.”

This is the moment where she could probably finish, where she could twist the conversation back to Rowan and pat his shoulder sympathetically, or where she could tug it to somewhere new and safe.

But she doesn’t often get opportunities like this, in the dim light and the quiet of her flat where the only other sound is the noise coming from the hood above her cooker. She doesn’t often get to talk about this with someone who truly understands.

All of her friends tried in the months after Sam, and gods bless them they still do, but none of them were as close to Sam as she was. They were upset for Aelin and her loss, not at the loss of Sam. And Rowan, who sits next to her staring at the floor, she thinks he could understand.

His gaze lifts from the floor to meet hers as she begins to speak.

“His name was Sam,” she says and Rowan nods.

“I know.”

Aelin feels her breath leave her chest in a whoosh.

“I saw some of the headlines at the time, Aelin I’m so sorry.”

Her jaw works as she tries to find the words, any words, to respond to that. But she’s shaken. She didn’t think anyone knew, or even noticed, outside of her immediate circle. But then she thinks back to the dinner they shared, the way his gaze had burned into her when the conversation had turned to her break. He knows — he has known — and he gets it.

She shakes her head, composing herself enough to speak. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

His lips twist as she repeats his words back to him.

She doesn’t mean to say, “I knew about Lyria too,” but Rowan just nods, breaking their gaze to stare down at where their hands lie beside each other with an expression she can’t read.

Aelin knows she shouldn’t, for any number of reasons, but she reaches out to twine their fingers together atop the marble of her countertop. His fingers are rough and calloused between her own but the thumb he rubs against the back of her hand is gentle and reassuring.

He doesn’t speak, but there isn’t anything Aelin feels the need to say. It’s a kindred kind of silence, one borne of more pain than either of them could bear to speak aloud, and there’s an awful feeling of comfort in it. She knows he’s thinking of Lyria the way she’s thinking of Sam. But there is a part of her mind, a part that’s like a rising sun creeping above the horizon to break the shadow of night, that’s thinking of Rowan too.

Eventually she picks her burger back up again, it’s cold now but she can reluctantly admit it doesn’t taste horrendous. Their fingers stay linked as they each eat single-handedly, building themselves back up to sharing short stories and playful quips.

She’s glad she invited him, her boss or not.

#rowaelin #throne of glass #rowaelin fic #rowan whitethorn #aelin galathynius #rowaelin au #ndilyd #nobody does it like you do

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momowho34 · 3 years

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Time for another naruto au post that so long and complicated it might aswell be a fic in and of itself. Why am I like this :,) Naruto au where Itachi runs away from the village with Sasuke in tow and doesn’t leave him behind. Also Itachi is a little older then a teenager because it makes more sense. Buckle up this is a long one.

Itachi refuses to kill his family and runs to warn them but when he gets there everybody’s dead except for Sasuke, (who witnessed the whole thiNG OOPSY-) so he takes him and runs for their lives.

Itachi joins the akatsuki but uhhhhh now there’s a four year old tagging along and Itachi’s too scary for anybody to mention it.

Imagine the fluff and angst potential with the akatsuki oooooof there’s so much omg

At first they all think it’s super annoying but within like two days they would all gladly die for this kid. Seriously they were pretty sure their hearts were made of stone at this point but apparently not.

Kisame is surprisingly really good with kids, partly because he appears fairly calm on the outside without being too standoffish so Sasuke likes him best. Also Kisame could happily play peek-a-boo for the rest of his life he likes the small things

Kakazu is awful with kids but sasuke likes him anyway and he hates it (not really) Hidan.... really doesn’t know what to do. He’s never cared about another person in his life, okay? He kind of wants to kill the small child but he knows Itachi would steal his fucking knee caps and bury him at the bottom of the ocean so he doesn’t even mention it ever

Sasori is the mom when Itachi isn’t around. They would all feed him candy until he fucking died if Sasori didn’t stop that. Sasori is also the one to go “oh my GOD Deidara you can’t dare him to climb that mountain he could fall and hit his head no I don’t care about that deidaRA HE IS SEVEN YEARS OLD ITACHI IS GOING TO KILL YOU WHEN HE GETS HOME MARK MY WORDS—“

Tobi likes to blame all of his mistakes on Sasuke as a joke. Also they all teach Sasuke bits of their fighting styles so he becomes even more formidable and all of them are kind of freaked out by how quickly he masters their techniques

When he’s too young to tag along on missions he has to stay with Konan and Pain. He really values Konan because she’s really the only one of them who treats him like a person instead of a stupid child that needs protection.

“He costs too much,” Kakazu says. “He shouldn’t be here, what about how much it costs for him to stay with us” all while consistently finding room in the budget to get the kid anything and everything even though he’s fairly low maintenance to take care of

When Itachi arrives, everybody tries to disregard the rumors paired with Sasuke being there. Because of Itachi’s overall demeanor and Sasuke’s refusal to talk about it, they assume that he killed his family but didn’t kill his little brother for some reason

...And then Sasuke starts having nightmares. Like loud, screaming and crying in the middle of the night nightmares. Every time it happens, Itachi wakes up, calm and collected, and holds him until he falls asleep again. They all start having doubts about Itachi really killing his family.

Itachi doesn’t really hold a grudge against Konoha, but he didn’t see the whole family die like Sasuke did. Sasuke wants revenge, and he’s dead set on it.

Okay yeah but what abt the actual plot and stuff??? Don’t worry I’m there.

So a while later after that during Naruto’s three year journey (which he still takes with Jiraiya because he needs training to fight Orochimaru who is still a big threat btw) he meets this weird black haired kid staying at the same hotel he is.

Turns out they’ve both got caretakers who are absent (Jiraiya’s at a brothel somewhere and Kisame and Itachi are off killing some guy) which sucks so they bond over that and compare abilities and beat the shit out of eachother a little and develop a mini rival complex all of that but then

“Wow you’re so cool! You fight just like a ninja! You should come back with me!” Naruto laughs one day. Sasuke asks “Back to where?” And Naruto’s like “back to the leaf village of course! I’m a leaf village ninja, I’m out here training with my sensei! I forgot that I left my headband in the room, I can show it to you.” But Sasuke just gets really pale and runs off and Naruto doesn’t see him for the rest of the trip.

He thought he’d never see him again but then Sasuke gets separated from the Akatsuki members reeeaaaallly far away from their base and Konoha. As he’s trying to figure out what to do, a certain ninja crew happens to be in town. Naruto is like “omfg I know this kid!!!!!!!! Hey Sasuke!!!!! Hey Sasukeeeee!!!!!”

Sasuke is like o-o but then he starts to consider his options. If anybody figures out about his sharingan, he’s straight up fucked. His eyes are gone, he probably gets murdered. Naruto is like “what r u doing here????” And sasuke spins a fairly convincing story

He’s like “oh yeah and I know my way around this place so I can help you out could I maybe seek asylum in your village maybe??? I could be helpful” just so he can head in the general direction of Konoha and hopefully get closer to his base along the way.

So Kakashi begrudgingly agrees and Sasuke tries not to burn alive because he’s in the general proximity of leaf soldiers that he fucking hates and he will not grow attached to any of them at all no siree, not at all, no way!

Sasuke begins to grow close to them, of course. Sai and Sasuke do goth shenanigans and he fights with Naruto and tries to get Sakura to leave him alone (what is up with her why is she being so weird?)

Oh bonus angst: Tobi used to talk in his sleep sometimes, and at some point Sasuke drops “those who break the rules are scum, but those who leave their friends behind are worse then scum” casually and Kakashi almost has a full blown panic attack.

This is when he first realizes something is seriously up with this kid; and his first name sounds... familiar. His suspicions are just suspicions until they run into Orochimaru. Now Orochimaru could just out Sasuke as akatsuki, instead he plays with his feelings a little bit. He keeps saying things like “how does it feel to fight on the same side as your enemies for once?” And “have you forgotten already?” They defeat him without Sasuke revealing his sharingan but the jig is up in Kakashi’s mind.

Kakashi doesn’t quite connect the dots; but he’s almost there. Whoever this kid is, they’re coming back to the village for sure. It’s the safest thing to do. Meanwhile the Akatsuki are freaking out. Itachi is unhinged and almost grieving, they have no idea where Sasuke could be. The team is out in full force; including Tobi

And you know, Obito doesn’t care. He shouldn’t care, nothing matters in this false reality. It just doesn’t. Tobi might have given a shit about Sasuke, but Tobi isn’t real. He’s just a front, Tobi doesn’t exist. So why is he looking so hard for this stupid kid that he shouldn’t give a shit about? Obito convinces himself it’s just a front, it’s just part of Tobi’s act, but it’s not. What’s happening to him? Why is starting to feel things now, so deep into the plan?

Annnnnndddd that’s as far as I got with it lmao. That’s still pretty fucking far tho

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whatifxwereyou · 3 years

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The Oncoming Storm Part 25: Home

Liu Kang x Reader and Kung Lao x Reader (gonna do both, two paths!)

Oh no. That's all I have to say. Also, Chen is a delight.

A/N: This chapter was so long that I actually cut it in half to post it over two separate days instead. It was 12 pages and I figured that was a bit much. Though, 8-12 is what I average when I'm writing fiction for publishing so... haha <3 love you guys! hope you are all doing wonderful!! Also please, please make dick jokes in the comments. PLEASE lol.

Part 24 Part 26 Chapter Index

It was a struggle to open your eyes even if you were awake. You had rolled onto your side and were facing the window. You could see the light of the morning peeking in from along the seams of the dark curtains of the hotel room. Somewhere throughout the night, you’d readjusted and now you were the little spoon. You could feel his soft, even breath on your shoulder, warm and comforting. His arm was tucked beneath you, the other wrapped tightly over yours that rested over your chest.

You didn’t want to get up, so you closed your eyes again and sunk into his arms, clearly not thinking. Your back was pressed against his chest, your hips pressed square against his too. He tightened his arm around you, and nuzzled into the side of your neck, a hot sigh tickling your sensitive bruised flesh. More importantly, you could feel him pressed right against your backside in all his glory. There he was. Liu Kang. You snapped your eyes open and were as stiff, well, as he was, afraid that you would make it worse if you moved even if you were incredibly curious.

Just what kind of good dreams was he having?

Then you had to try not to laugh. You carefully turned to bury your face in the pillows, and it was so hot that you swore you might be burning alive. Liu Kang and his inherent warmth against every single part of your body was killing you.

You were going to suffocate. Or catch fire.

Deep breaths. Breathe through his hand gently clutching yours. You could do this.

Okay.

No big deal.

Liu Kang was wrapped around you, pressed against you, and you were trapped in his arms and trying desperately to think about anything other than that. The impure thoughts were rampant.

Chen would have been screaming your victory throughout the temple. She also would have told you to just go for it. Make that complicated ride that much more complicated. Poor choice of words, brain. Chen had gotten into your head. And all the tension you’d built up with Kung Lao and Liu Kang had no release to speak of.

“Liu?” You decided the best thing to do would be to wake him up. Sneaking out of his arms would have made things both awkward and worse.

He stirred at the sound of your voice and pulled you tighter. It took everything inside of you not make a sound of surprised delight at the impressive mental picture he had very clearly painted. Oh, god there were so many jokes popping into your head. Sarcastic defense mechanism, go away! You had to keep it together. No laughing. No moaning. No jokes.

Your face had never been redder. He was waking up. Thank god. His lips brushed against your shoulder, and he nuzzled right against the side of your neck, nose pressing just behind your ear. This was hard. Ah, damnit brain. No jokes! With a soft moan just against your neck, he shifted.

Then, very suddenly, Liu pulled his arm out from beneath you, let you go and rolled onto his back, knees bent so that the blankets didn’t reveal any secrets. Yeah, the secret had more than been revealed already. You appreciated his modesty anyway. You carefully scooted onto your back, careful not to brush against him in any way and fanned your face. There was no talking down the redness in your cheeks, no hiding what had happened.

“Sorry,” he managed, his voice still gruff and sleepy. He stared at the ceiling and seemed to be coaching himself through his own deep breaths. You sat up and adjusted your shirt that had become unbelievably crooked. Some of the buttons had even come undone. Jeez, you’d certainly been busy while you’d slept. “You… sleep alright?” He pinched the bridge of his nose and the fact that he was trying to have a totally normal conversation like that hadn’t happened was hilarious.

No laughing.

“Yeah, it took a while to get to sleep but I basically blacked out when I did. Feels like I could sleep for another year though.” You somehow managed to act normal. As normal as you could with your face as red as it was and your eyes as wide as they were. You could barely have a conversation about where you were relationship-wise, so you were pretty sure that you weren’t ready to discuss his morning wood.

You needed Chen in that moment. You needed Chen to help you uncomplicate this yarn ball of chaos in your head. Then again, Chen would have just told you to go for it. To reach around and give it a go. You had to close your eyes and try not to laugh again. “What about you?”

You didn’t laugh. Kudos to you.

“Tired this morning.” It was the first time that you had ever seen Liu Kang looking like he could have slept longer than you did. In fact, he was a little pale. Not terribly so, but then again, all the blood in his body was busy somewhere else. It took every ounce of your strength not to ask him if he was okay. He would tell you if he wasn’t. “I need a shower. Will you be okay alone?”

“Yeah. Go ahead.” You purposely turned toward your own bed to offer him modesty, but you might never be your normal color again. Red forever. You waited for the sound of the bathroom door closing before you flopped back on his bed and stared at the ceiling. You’d changed your mind. “I can never ever tell Chen this happened.” The teasing would have gone on forever.

While he was in the shower, you changed into some of your new clothes and then cleaned yourself up. In the mirror your cheeks were finally turning back to a normal rosy color. You checked on the jade to make sure that nothing had changed during the night, and then you packed up, opened the curtains to the hotel room, and straightened up while you waited for Liu, doing anything in your power to stop your renegade thoughts.

“Do you need to stop anywhere before we go back to the temple?” Liu joined you moments after you were dressed, clothed in his familiar black and white gi, and back to his old self. Still a little pale though.

“Hmm?” You had just finished tucking the jade into your bag.

“You didn’t really get the chance to pack up your things to stay with us. I figured you might need to do some shopping.”

He was so damn thoughtful. “I actually went shopping before I met with you yesterday morning.” You patted the bag. “So, I’m okay. Thank you for offering though. I really did need a few things, especially since I keep destroying everything I wear with ink.” You patted his shoulder as you walked past him to sneak into the bathroom now that he was finished. You had to make yourself presentable and enjoy these modern amenities one last time before you returned to the temple.

Afterward, you stopped at a food stall on the road and grabbed breakfast. Then you hiked up the mountain just far enough so that Liu could summon Raiden to bring you back. You still weren’t quite sure how they did that. Was it a prayer? It looked like a prayer. He was a God, after all. Liu had used a flourish of fire, but Kung Lao had just closed his eyes and then boom. Lightning.

You were back in the temple in a flash. You pulled the bundle of jade out of your bag and offered it to Raiden while Liu Kang updated him on what you’d gone through. It felt weird to be back but not in a bad way, necessarily. This was your home now, you guessed. You hadn’t really talked about it. Everything had happened naturally and without question.

Raiden peered into the shirt and then allowed the jade to fall onto a second pedestal that had been placed a few feet away from the first one which was currently encased in glass. “Good.” Raiden seemed impressed, and you beamed. He really did have a fatherly presence about him. “I need time to examine these artifacts and attempt to unravel their purpose. The wickedness and power that has been infused within them continues to elude me.” You had expected him to need time, but you had also expected him to be able to figure it out. Again. He was a god. These things took time, you figured but you also had no idea how to process what you were up against. It was still way above your head. “From what I’ve devised from the dotaku, it was used in a dark ritual. It is tainted beyond my sight with dark energy. You two will check into the infirmary on and off for the next few days. Kung Lao has come down with a terrible fever since his return. I suspect it’s the curse on these objects causing it.”

Liu gave you an accusatory look as if to ask if you were hiding something from him. You shrugged and shook your head to his silent request. “I’m bruised all over but other than that? I feel fine. And that bell was all over me. We were much more careful about the jade. Trust me, if I had a high fever then you would know it. I’m a big baby about fevers.”

“Even if it turns out that you are immune to the impact of these objects, I would like you both to make certain that you keep a watchful eye on your health and report all symptoms to those in the infirmary.”

“Yes, of course Lord Raiden.” Liu Kang bowed respectfully before him.

“When I’ve uncovered anything of note then I will call upon you.” Raiden spoke more to you than to Liu and you bowed your head as you had learned to do. You were grateful to him for trying to help you at all. Raiden very well could have just let you die and had someone else take the mark from you. This was still beyond your understanding. Gods, curses, magic. You’d jumped into it all headfirst and had embraced the chaos, but there were moments where your logic-brain said ‘excuse me’ and you had to sort out the nonsense there.

You were trying your best, but it always came back to thought that you were very likely going to die because of this. Raiden turned away from you, dismissing you without a word. Liu nodded toward the doorway and you walked with him, dragging your bag behind you. Being out in the world for a few days had been nice. You weren’t sure how long it would take to acclimate to life in Raiden’s Temple. Right now, you were just hoping that you’d have the time to figure that out.

You made your way into the infirmary and Chen practically ran to you and gave you a hug. You were a little surprised by it but returned the affection. “Welcome back!” Chen smiled brightly and then bowed to Liu Kang respectfully. “Raiden has orders for us to keep an eye on the two of you. Please take a seat.” Chen led you to one of the empty benches, so you sat down there together.

Chen examined Liu first, taking his vitals and writing them down in a notebook she had nearby. You sat awkwardly, tapping your forefinger against your knee. Chen sat back up after she was done and then rested her hands on her knees.

“You have a fever, Liu Kang.” She tapped the paper and he blinked in surprise.

“I feel fine.” He insisted, looking to you as if he had to justify it after all his accusatory glances. He’d worried about you so much that he seemed to think that the tables were about to be turned.

“Just over 100. But if Kung Lao is anything to judge by then this isn’t the worst of it yet. I recommend rest and fluids.” Chen then frowned and narrowed her eyes. “Not that I can force you to rest, of course. I suggested the same to Kung Lao and he said, and I quote ‘I will take it into consideration’ except that his fever was spiking up to 104.”

“That sounds right.” Liu sighed but you felt suddenly on high alert. That was one hell of a fever! You’d have to check in on him. “I’ll rest and if I feel worse then I’ll check back in. If not, then I will be here in the morning just in case.”

“Thank you.” Chen slumped her shoulders as if this were a relief in comparison to having dealt with Kung Lao.

“Y/N?” Chen looked to you disapprovingly as if you were about to be just as stubborn.

“I feel fine! Why doesn’t anyone believe me?”

“You often say that you’re feeling fine when you are not, in fact, fine,” Liu whispered, and Chen snorted with laughter while taking your vitals.

“Well, I am legitimately fine right now. Honestly! And I don’t mean to lie about that stuff. The last few weeks have been weird so my definition of fine has kind of changed.” You pouted. You hadn’t meant to give anyone a false sense of how you’d been feeling but fine one day had meant that you could use your arms again and fine another meant that you’d had a vision but were still functioning. Chen glared at you, trying to discern if you were hiding something. Then she made a little note in her book. You craned your neck to try and read it and so did Liu. You gave him a look to silently scold him, and he returned it. You tightened your lips not to laugh but couldn’t hide your grin.

“She’s not lying. No fever. In fact, your temperature is even a little low. This is the most normal checkup you’ve had since you’ve been here, Y/N. I want you to come in for bloodwork later but for now… you’re okay.” Chen still seemed suspicious and Liu did too.

“Wow, you just can’t believe I’m the finest in the land right now.” You teased and Liu laughed and then shook his head as if embarrassed that he’d laughed at it. It had been a terrible joke, to be fair.

“Thank you.” Liu stood and bowed politely to Chen. You joined him and waved at Chen.

“Y/N? Could I talk to you for a second?” Chen called you back just as you’d made it outside the infirmary and back to your bag.

“I’ll be two seconds.” You told Liu who leaned against the wall of the doorway. Now that you knew he had a fever, his pale face made sense. Your hurried over to Chen. “What’s up?”

“So…?” Chen nodded toward Liu Kang and then gestured to you. You stared in disbelief.

“Are you kidding me? Right now?”

“Umm, yeah right now.”

“It’s complicated.” You rubbed your temples in annoyance. “And I obviously don’t have time to talk about it right now.”

“Oh, thank god that it’s finally complicated!”

“It has always been complicated, Chen. Get your mind out of the gutter.”

“I can’t. But this is disappointing news.” Chen sighed in obvious frustration. Why was she frustrated? You were the one surrounded by a sea of hormones all damn day! “Come chat with me when you get the chance. I want to know how it went and also what complicated means.”

“Can I please go now, Chen? Please? He’s just standing behind me waiting for me while you gossip.”

“Yeah, he is, isn’t he? He hasn’t taken his eyes off you once by the way.” Chen sighed dreamily but her expression quickly shifted. “On a more serious note… I’m worried that you aren’t having symptoms the way that they are. I have a bad feeling again. Keep checking in with me, okay?”

“You are a surprise every time I talk to you.” You gently grasped Chen’s shoulder. “I’m going now.”

“You better find me later!”

“You’re a terrible monk,” You whispered and then pointed at another monk who had been very obviously listening in, silently nodding your head as if to add in that he, too, was a terrible monk.

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randomrosewrites · 4 years

Text

Stay with me

Hawks x reader comfort for an anxiety/ panic attack.

a/n: My anxiety’s been really bad this week and so I wrote this to help calm myself down. It really helped me, and I figured I might as well post it.

Tags and Warnings: Depictions of Anxiety and Panic attacks, disassociation/ depersonalization, hurt/comfort, Keigo is a big softie

You feel like you're dying.

Your stomach hurts. Your heartbeat is abnormal. A cold sweat has broken out over your forehead and the room feels too bright.

You're not even aware of what's really going on. You're out. Somewhere for something. And after a bad series of events, you feel like your lungs are closing in on you.

You want to pace back and forth, wring out your hands. To scream, or bite into your skin. Because anything is better than just saying here.

You should have done something different. If you did, you could have prevented this. Your mind runs itself in circles as fear takes over. If you don’t get away soon - if you don’t get rid of this feeling - you feel like you’re going to die.

But where do you go? Home? The walls that shelter you won't do anything to comfort the spreading ball of anxiety welling in your stomach.

No, you don’t need a location, you need a person.

You excuse yourself and on shaky legs, exit into a quiet, deserted area.

With trembling fingers, you open your phone and press the button to call. The phone dials and begins ringing. You hold it to your ear with one hand and cross the other one over your chest.

Ring

You pace back and forth. It's a long shot, but you really need him to pick up.

Ring

You even feel bad about doing this - you know how busy he is with being a Hero - and surely you’ll feel guilty about it later. But he has to pick up, he has to.

Ring

You don't know what you're going to do if he doesn't pick up. You don't know what you're going to do-

“Hey, babe,” Hawks’ voice warmly crackles over the phone - he must be in the air. "How are you doing?"

You almost sob right there. He picked up. "Not good," you croak. "Really not good."

There's a pause. When he speaks again concern laces his voice. "What's wrong?”

"Can you come pick me up, please? I really need you, Hawks.

"Shit ok-" there's some interference. "I'll be right there. Are you hurt?"

"N-no. I'm fine." At least physically, you’re ok.

"Ok. Good. You just stay there, alright? I'll be there soon."

"W-wait," you blurt. "Please don't hang up."

"I'm not. I won't," He reassures you. "I'm not going anywhere."

He gets to where you are at record speed, only hanging up the phone once you're in his arms, face buried in the wool of his jacket.

You inhale deeply, pressing so tightly to him you want to mold with him. He smells fresh. Like the wind and fresh laundry.

He’s saying something to you, but you can’t hear him over the whine in your ears. You want to talk to him, but words die in your throat. Your mind is blank, tongue thick in your mouth and you don’t feel like you’re present.

"Hey, hey," Hawks gives you a small squeeze, pulling you back down to the present. "Deep breaths...I'm here with you..."

"Hawks," you beg, clenching the fabric of his coat between your fingers. Your head is spinning and you squeeze your eyes shut. "I'm scared."

He cradles your head in his chest, wings wrapping around the two of you protectively. They block out the sound and light from the world. "I know it's alright, just breathe for me. Here - inhale when I do, ok?"

You breathe with him, feeling up the soft fluff of his coat. It's both comforting and grounding, tethering your hands when the rest of you feels like it could float away like a balloon.

"I feel sick. I feel like I'm dying. I don't want to die. I can't die." You ramble.

"You're not." He promises.

"But what if-"

"If's, love." He kisses the top of your head, and the pressure helps to settle the storm brewing inside of you. "That's not the rational part of your brain talking."

Rational. Yes, you remember. Anxiety in small amounts isn't bad. It's a great survival trait, actually, but in too large amounts it becomes a hindrance.

Determine what's rational. Determine what's irrational. Separate the false from fact. Take away the fear from the thought and situation.

...it’s easier said than done.

"Why can't I do anything fucking right. Why can't I be normal-" you choke on your own words, tears springing from your eyes. Your stomach churns and the threat of being pushed into the inky black pit of terror re-appears.

"Easy," Hawks coos, rubbing your back. "I've got you."

You cling to his front, sometimes crying, other times just resting your forehead against his shoulder. Hawks holds you like that, reminding you to breathe and to let it go.

Slowly, the whine in your ear leaves, your pulse returns to normal, and

When you're done you feel gross, exhausted, and your eyes hurt. There's still a small amount of anxiety bubbling in your stomach, but it's only a small trickle as opposed to the overwhelming ocean wave earlier.

"Tell me how I can help." He murmurs, into the top of your head.

"Stay with me. Please. Just a bit longer."

And he does.

#bnha #hawks #keigo takami #hawks x reader #hawks x you #hawks x y/n #hawks x self insert #takami keigo x reader #keigo takami x you #keigo takami x reader #hawks imagine #hawks fic #x reader #bnha x reader #what is it with me and always posting my writing at midnight

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collecting-stories · 4 years

Text

F.W.B. - Rafe Cameron

Request: Can you do 93 and 118 from your prompt list with Rafe or JJ please, you can decide who. That's if your taking requests, if not then just ignore this.

A/N: Sorry I’m the worst and this took so long to post! Also I wrote it for Rafe...trying out something a little different with my writing.

Outer Banks Masterlist

✰ ✰ ✰ ✰

The first time you slept with Rafe it happened at a party. You weren’t drunk but you definitely weren’t sober either and he looked good, even if boys in polos weren’t your thing. Neither of you were in a place where you wanted a relationship, you weren’t ready to carve out space in your life for someone who might not be permanent and Rafe wasn’t feeling that itch to commit either. So it seemed reasonable, that a hazy sort of friends with benefits would form, a made-up contract between the two of you. 

The first and most obvious rule was that you weren’t exclusive. Rafe was happy to put it on the list that you buried in notes on your phone, exclusivity was not required. You guys were free to hook up with other people. 

“That’s fine with me, there was a guy at Topper’s party last week that was kinda hot,” you replied. Sprawled across his bed, head hanging over one side and feet dangling off the other, as you listened to him rattling off supposed ‘rules’. 

That rule was nice in theory but it was no secret that from the moment you and Rafe started sleeping together you stopped hooking up with anyone else. At first it was just subtle signals to each other at parties or texts when you were bored. 

-are you busy?-

-I’ll come to yours-

At first it was all you texted about. But somewhere along the way it changed. You didn’t play cat and mouse at parties or pretend you were thinking about going home with someone else. You started showing up together and hanging close to each other and so help anyone who tried to win either yours or Rafe’s attention. He’d send you texts in the morning and the conversation would last well into the night, various FaceTime calls peppered in throughout the day. 

“I read the directions, I know what I’m doing.”

“You say that but I’m telling you right now I’m not eating those...they look like lumps of coal.” Rafe laughed, leaning in close to the camera as if he’d be able to see the cookies you were in the process of baking. 

“They do not-“ you turned away from your phone as the door opened behind you, “Mom! Come here!” 

“What?”

“Tell Rafe these cookies don’t look like lumps of coal!” You said, a weak glare as you met his eyes through the screen. 

“Are these the cookies?” Your mom asked. Rafe didn’t miss the skeptical Look she gave as she inspected the double chocolate chip cookies you’d spent the last hour making.

“Told you!”

“You guys suck!” You whined, “I’m never baking again.” 

Rafe chalked all these little moments up to the actual ‘friends’ part of friends with benefits but you both knew differently. You were wading out into deep water, tempting feelings by getting closer to each other 

The second rule was yours and you broke it pretty regularly. Don’t bring your ‘friend with benefits’ around your family. It was a rule for obvious reasons. The moment the two of you started spending time with each other’s families was the moment you were in too deep. But that didn’t stop you from going to his house to brave Rose’s implemented Sunday Night Dinners or stop him from showing up at your grandmother’s 80th birthday with you, present in hand as if he was a member of the family already.

You both knew that bringing the other around was playing with fire. Because suddenly you were helping Wheezie with her homework and shopping on the mainland with Sarah. It didn’t end at his house either, every time he came around your mom was asking him to stay for dinner, getting him to replace the water on the water cooler because she claimed she “couldn’t do it”.

“My family thinks we’re dating.” You mentioned once, towards the end of your deal, though at the time you didn’t realize that this statement would turn out to be the catalyst that ended one thing and started another.

“Why?”

You rolled your eyes and propped yourself up on your side so you could actually take a look at Rafe. Both of you were laying in his bed, naked, post sex, talking about whatever came to mind. It would be classified as cuddling if you really had to label it but neither of you wanted to because ‘no cuddling’ was rule number three. Rafe had been clear, after sex you both got dressed. You could hang out but the spending time together and the sex had to be separate events.

“Well let’s see there was last week when you showed up to my house even though I was out and ended up hanging out with my mom while she made dinner. Or the week before when Wheezie, Sarah, and I had a sleepover at my house. Or, you know, generally showing up at every holiday in the last year.” You pointed out. None of those things bothered you, honestly, you’d only mentioned it in hopes that his response would give you some sort of hint about where he stood with you.

Instead he seemed to be more interested in where the blanket had fallen away, his eyes straying from your face to your chest. When you noticed you his expression you took some advantage of it, shifting in bed so that you were straddling him. Rafe’s hands immediately going your hips, eyes closing as you rocked back against him just enough to elicit a moan. You’d been sleeping together, exclusively, for over a year, and in that time you had learned all his little quirks. He liked having some dominance over you in bed but you knew it was just a farce and you were always the one in control. A surprising trait, considering the type of person he seemed to be.

“So?” You asked, peppering kisses along his jaw and neck. Soft, tan skin that smelled like the slightest hint of a coconut because he’d showered earlier at your place.

“So?” He repeated the word and it sounded a little dazed, as if he was only half aware of the conversation. You were fairly certain you could get him to do anything you wanted just by posing a question to him when he was in this state.

“No input on my family thinking we’re dating?”

“Who cares.”

The fourth rule was one of convenience. It was also the most obvious of the rules: if one of you started to catch feelings the whole thing would be called off. That one was broken long before either of you realized it. Your ‘friends with benefits’ tryst with Rafe should’ve never begun in the first place if you were truly going to follow the most sacred rule of hooking up. It wasn’t supposed to be serious. Ever.

And maybe you both could’ve continued living in the bubble of ‘just friends who fuck on occasion’ if it wasn’t for some touron at a party asking you on a date. Rafe had skipped the party for a week in the bahamas with his family and you had been bored out of your mind, entertained only by Topper and Kelce, who both ditched you when they found people they were interested in.

Leaving you approachable and approached was what you got. By some touron. Cute enough, he asked you on a date. It wasn’t like he was expecting a relationship, he was heading home in three days, but a date wasn’t a relationship, it was just a date. To a nice resturant on the Eight and you agreed cause why not?

Rafe was why not and he was laying on your bed, watching you get dressed. He’d come over for the same reason he always did. Sex, to hang out, to get away from Ward. Only to discover that while he was gone you had agreed to a date.

“Don’t go.”

“I’m not shipping off to war Rafe, it’s one date.” You shrugged, walking out of your bathroom in a tight skirt/bralette co-ord. “What about this?” It was white and looked great on you and you never got the chance to wear it because you never went on dates.

“Can we just stay home so I can fuck your brains out?”

You rolled your eyes at him, laying horizontally across your bed on his back, head dangling off the side. He sounded and looked like a little kid who wasn’t getting their way and honestly, he was spoiled. Hell, he had gotten to have you for a year and a half with no one else ever winning your attention long enough for a date. Now all the sudden it was like someone was taking something of his, and Rafe was not the type who liked to share.

“Does the outfit look good or not?” You asked, frustrated.

“Yeah, you look gorgeous, now don’t go.”

“I haven’t been on a date in ages Rafe, I just wanna go to a nice restaurant and have dinner and look cute and walk around the beach-”

“So, we can do that.” Rafe said, sitting up. He’d come all the way over here last minute after you declined going to his for your date. His usually slicked back hair hung like fringe and he had to brush it out of his eyes when he sat up. You’d be lying if you said that just seeing him slightly unkempt wasn’t a turn on. Rafe, without all the rich boy necessities, was arguably your favorite.

“You’re going to take me on a date?” You asked, reappearing in the door frame of the bathroom, “we don’t do dates Rafe, remember?”

“Screw that.”

“What?”

“Screw friends with benefits. You want to go on a date? I’ll take you on a date. Wherever you wanna go. We can go to a fancy restaurant, take out Druthers, whatever.” He got off the bed, coming over to you.

“Don’t make me promises you don’t wanna keep,” you said, backing up. When you hit the counter he only grinned, trapping you in. Rafe could’ve sent a text telling you not to go and you probably wouldn’t have, all this was just an added bonus in your mind. And maybe some answers, finally.

“Oh trust me, I want to keep them.” He replied, reaching passed you and grabbing your phone off the counter.

“What’re you doing?” You asked, watching as he unlocked your phone and opened up your messages, finding the texts about the date.

“This him?”

“Yeah,” You nodded, “Rafe what’re you doing?”

He held the phone to his ear and when you started to question him again, he put his hand over your mouth. “I’m on the phone.” He waited a beat for your date to answer before telling him that you wouldn’t be showing up tonight, smiling as your eyes went wide. “Her boyfriend’s home and he gets a little territorial.”

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coconutstars · 4 years

Text

Walking Away Part III

Part I part II

Pairing: Stiles + reader Summary: After having ignored all his calls, reader finally decides to hear Stiles out. The inspiration for this fic came from Wilson1128

A/N: MERRY CHRISTMAS Y’ALL AND THANK YOU FOR THE WONDERFUL RESPONSE! I’m literally a living crying emoji right now <3. I’ve finally finished part 3. This part was supposed to involve smut but I’ve decided to post that separately incase there’s anybody out there that, you know, wants to end this story here. A little angsty, a little fluffy. Each to their own, am I right? So, to clarify, THE SMUTTY MAKE-UP SCENE WILL BE IN A SEPARATE NSFW PART.4. That is, if y’all are even interested in that?? Let me know.

_____________________________________________________

There was no escape. You needed your books and there was no way that was going to happen without Stiles seeing you. Partly because the hallway was practically empty but mainly because he was leaned up against your locker, head ducked down, anxiously clenching and unclenching his fists. You hadn’t properly looked at him since the night you walked away from him. You’d avoid his gaze in the hallway, advert your eyes whenever he walked into a room and looked in any direction but his during your shared classes. But you were looking at him now. Really looking and it struck you how vulnerable he seemed. Almost defeated. A part of you wanted to reach out and comfort him. Pull him close, bury your face in the familiar curve of his neck and whisper that everything was okay.

But everything wasn’t okay. And Stiles wasn’t yours to comfort anymore.

Reluctantly you made your way over to your locker. As soon as he saw you, Stiles straightened up.

“Y/N” He sounded shocked, almost like he was surprised to see you. “What are you doing here?” you asked flatly, folding your arms over your chest. For a moment your eyes met, and a wave of emotions started seeping into your system. Hurt, longing, anger, comfort. You quickly fixed your eyes on a random mark on the wall. “I’ve tried to call you” he said in a low but clear tone. You shifted your bag from one shoulder to the other. “I know” “yeah, course...” his voice trailed off as he started drumming his fingers against his pants. That was usually a sign that he was trying to restrain himself from doing something he may end up regretting.

“Yeah, it’s just...” he began, really trying to hold it in but ultimately failing “when someone calls like… a thousand times, they probably have something important to say, you know?” There was so much frustration, despair and anxiousness in his voice you were genuinely taken aback. “Perhaps.” you said after a moment of silence. “but they might not deserve to be heard out”. Your tone was a lot harsher than you’d intended. Stiles looked wounded but nodded his head, it was a fair shot, and he knew it. “All I’m asking for is a chance Y/N.”

You thought for a moment. He’d tried to contact you so many times through texts, calls and notes you’d lost count. Ignoring him was hard. A part of you really missed him and it hurt like hell every time you had to delete a message or ignore yet another call. Perhaps if you talked to him, he would stop. All contact would end, and you could both move on. It’d be good for you. You’d eventually heal and meet someone new. Someone who could love you as much as you loved them. At least that’s what you tried to tell yourself. In reality you knew getting over Stiles would be impossible. You’d given him a piece of your heart and it would always be his, regardless if he wanted it or not.

Stiles was waiting for you to reply. You let out a sigh, already convinced you were making a huge mistake. “Fine, come over at eight”

Stiles showed up at 7.54. Although, you had a feeling he’d arrived on your street even earlier. Most likely parked somewhere out of sight, tapping the steering wheel restlessly as he waited for the digits on his watch to change.

He was wearing the dark red flannel he knew you loved, and his hands were stuffed into the pockets of his dark jeans. “Hey” he said simply as you opened the door. You nodded in response and moved over to let him in before leading him up the stairs and into your room. You were standing across from each other, you with folded arms by the window and Stiles with his hands still stuck in his pockets by the door.

“What do you want Stiles?” He took a step forward. “I want to apologize”. His honey-colored eyes were looking right at you, his gaze so intense you had to shift yours. “Okay” you replied shortly with a shrug, you were trying your best to sound unaffected but, on the inside, you were dying. It had just hit you that this could be the last time the two of you spoke to each other. You needed to wrap this up quickly or you’d start bawling your eyes out in front of him and that was not an option. “Anything else? If not, I really have some homework to do” You snapped, feeling the familiar ache in your chest. He took another step closer. “I know you heard about what happened with Lydia at the party and-” You heart rate skyrocketed. There was no way in hell you were about to listen to him talking about hooking up with Lydia. You’d quite frankly rather stuff your ears with gravel and superglue them shut. “Yupp, Awesome. Good for you.” You interrupted, already on your way to usher him out of your room. “I wish you a both lifetime of happiness, thanks for stopping by” you rambled in distress, grabbing ahold of the handle. He placed his hands on your arms and spun you around. “Y/N shut up!” he said loudly in your face.

You silenced in sheer surprise. “Nothing happened between Lydia and me! Nothing!” Like a deflated balloon, you let out a breath and looked up at Stiles, the panic now turning into confusion. “She kissed me and for a moment, yeah, I kissed her back-” You opened your mouth to say something but closed it again just as quickly. You weren’t sure what was happening right now. Your state of emotion had shifted way to quickly for your thoughts and mind to adjust. “-But nothing happened” Your brows knitted in confusion. How could he say nothing happened if he clearly just admitted to kissing her back? You wondered if this was some kind of poorly thought up method to soften the blow of being dumped. “That doesn’t make sense” you said with a headshake. “Stiles, you don’t have to have explain. I get it. You want to be with Lydia.” It really killed you to admit the last part. You couldn’t believe you’d actually managed to get the words out. You’d barely been able to think it, so to actually say it? You had a feeling you’d pay for it later though. You’d probably end up under the covers ugly crying until your head hurt and your skin burned from all the salty tears spilling from your eyes. “Can you please just go now?” your voice was barely a whisper.

Stiles ignored your request and shook his head in frustration. “I don’t want her Y/N. I don’t want Lydia.” This time when you looked up at him your eyes were narrowed in skepticism. What was this? What was he trying to do? “I don’t want Lydia because I want you” he clarified. Your mind still refused to understand what was going on. “No, Stiles. You chose her, you chose Lydia” His face twisted in frustration, his hands gesturing to emphasize his words. “Uh. No. You might not remember this, but you left me. I didn’t choose because there was no choice to make!” He practically yelled the last sentence. “you literally just told me I loved Lydia and broke up with me” You broke out into a laugh that lacked even the slightest trace of humor. Your emotional range now consisted solely of annoyed and angry. “So, you’re honestly going to tell me that you didn’t want to reply to that text?” Stiles practically exploded. “No! I didn’t and if you hadn’t been ignoring me for the past 100 years you would’ve known that” “I’ve been ignoring you” you hissed through clenched teeth. “because you CHOSE LYDIA”

Stiles shook his head in annoyance and turned around as if to talk to an invisible audience. “Nice, awesome. I see we’re really getting somewhere in this conversation” He took a deep breath before turning back to you. “No” he said, his tone and gestures slow and clear as if he were talking to a child. “I do not want Lydia because I want you. I love you Y/N Y/L/N” This time it was your turn to look away. You were literally screaming inside. This was all you’d wanted to hear since the two of you broke up. A part of you wanted to throw yourself into his arms and kiss him until your lips hurt. But a part of you was scared. The pain you’d felt lately was something you never ever wanted to feel again. Despite if he’d meant it or not, Stiles had hurt you. He’d hidden the text from you. He kissed Lydia, and even if he insisted it’d meant nothing it still happened. And it could happen again You thought about what he just said. I love you. You knew you loved him without a shadow of a doubt, but did he really feel the same? “Are you so sure about that?” you whispered, your anger being replaced with insecurity.

Stiles closed the distance between you, his gaze practically boring into you. Letting out a breath through your nose, you reluctantly lifted your eyes to meet his. His gaze flickered down to your lips before turning back to your eyes. “yeah, I’d say so” His voice was soft and raspy, like honey spiced scotch. You loved his voice. Always had. But there was something special about this particular tone. It was so smooth it automatically sent a warm tingle down your spine. His brow lifted slightly, his face only inches from yours.

“So, are we done fighting?”

Grabbing a handful of his shirt you pulled him to you, your lips grazing his.

“You tell me Stilinski”

His arms wrapped around your waist, a grin curling his lips before hungrily crashing against yours.

“Hell yeah”

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