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neoculturetravesty · 3 years

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We met in online class - Part 9

Image adapted from here.

Pairing: Renjun x Reader Genre: College AU, romance, angst, fluff Warnings: Strong language, fist fight, a character has Covid-19 Word Count: 5.2k

A/N: So proud of the boys for breaking records with Hot Sauce 🥺💛 Also, Eid Mubarak to all who celebrate!

Renjun is ashamed to be surprised, but his friends remain true to their word.

That night, Renjun slept for what he’s sure was a good fourteen hours. Because by the time he woke, it was way in the afternoon. Jaemin was already back from his shift and Jeno was almost halfway through his. Jisung had insisted that Renjun get some more rest before he had to take over. It was a tiny bit disconcerting to have Jisung hovering over him the entire day to make sure he was eating and feeling okay, but Renjun had to admit--this was exactly what he needed. He didn’t like who he was when he was alone.

The boys had apparently even created a dedicated group chat where they would post updates and a list of things that were required at the hospital. Not that there was much required, anyway. But the boys would make sure that at the very least, Renjun’s mom had fresh clothes and home cooked food everyday while she couldn’t get out herself. Jaemin had even taken Renjun’s phone and gotten it fixed so he at least had a proper screen instead of a cracked one.

Even when Renjun was sure that he could take over on his own, the boys wouldn’t allow it. On many occasions, he had just stayed by them during their turns, thankful for their company and their friendship. Because who else in this world would spend their semester break in this fashion? He’s pretty sure they had plans; but they had forsaken them all to be there for him.

Renjun has no idea how it happens, but slowly and surely, things start to get better. He’s pretty certain it has to be some sort of a miracle. Like a little break of sunshine had finally decided to shine on him through the dark clouds. Like somehow, his guardian angel had decided that it had slacked off for long enough and now it should give Renjun a break. Because one day, the doctors tell them that Renjun’s grandmother will be a lot weaker for the next few days to come… but with a lot of care and attention, she should be ready to go home. They echo Renjun’s thoughts and tell them that it is nothing short of a miracle, but also that he should be thankful that his grandmother is still young and has a fighting spirit.

The day she is taken off of life support and brought into another room with a window through which he can see her, Renjun can’t hold himself back. He hugs onto Jaemin so tight and cries happy tears, and Jaemin holds him back just as strong, though he’s sure that he’s so overwhelmed by relief that he’s putting all of his weight onto the boy. But Jaemin doesn’t relent and holds onto him and lets him cry tears of joy into his shoulder.

The boys head home that night and laugh till they cry and celebrate Renjun’s grandma’s life and health. They eat like they had been hungry for days and slump their shoulders in ease like they had been keeping them tense for too long. They laugh and they sit together and keep letting out long sighs of relief, as if each breath was undoing a knot in their chest. It’s a sweet, victorious sort of a happy moment, and it is Jeno who has to remind them they need to focus now more than ever so that Renjun’s grandma can get her strength back and finally test negative. And it is an important reminder because the new semester is about to begin soon and given classes, they will have to redo their hospital visit schedules.

At the very least, they learn that the new semester would begin online, because the sudden surge in Covid cases had led them to another lockdown. Renjun’s not sure whether he should be happy or upset about it. On the one hand, he thinks this lockdown should’ve happened earlier so his grandma would’ve never gotten sick in the first place. On the other hand, he is happy that his grandma would now be safe and recover comfortably.

When classes begin and Renjun finds all his housemates at home, his heart drops a little and he wonders if he should just skip today. But an amused Jeno mutes himself during his online class and stops him.

“You have other friends, too, you know?” Jeno cocks an eyebrow at him.

“Yeah, but I’m sure they have classes, too. Plus, the four of us have been doing this from the beginning, so… I don’t know…” Renjun says, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling a bit nervous about leaving his mother and grandma on their own without help. But Jeno looks at him like he’s talking gibberish.

“Dude. Not the four of us. All seven of us have been doing this from the very beginning.” Jeno says, eyebrow still cocked, looking at Renjun like he’s sure he’s lost his mind.

Renjun looks up and for a moment, he is sure his face looks dumb. Because if the buffering wheel was a human expression, Renjun’s certain he’s wearing it now. “All… seven?”

“Do you even check the group chat? Chenle and Mark and Donghyuck. They’ve all been doing their duty from Day 1, you idiot. How else would the rest of us come home so early?” Jeno scoffs and laughs a bit, knotting his eyebrows at his clueless friend.

For a moment, Renjun is silenced. Because he doesn’t know how to process this information. He feels a swell in his chest. A sort of happiness that only true friendship brings. But at the same time, he feels an incredible pang of guilt, because for one, he is an asshole that keeps underestimating the said friendship. And for the other, he had done absolutely nothing to be deserving of such love.

“Dong… Donghyuck, too?” Renjun asks and he feels his heart breaking, though even in this surreal moment of realization, he recognizes how strange it is to feel heartbreak over something like this.

“Of course, you idiot. Donghyuck was the one that stayed at the hospital the entire first night when you were asleep.” Jeno tells him and smacks him lightly on the head.

And for the first time in his life, Renjun actually feels what it is like to have his head physically hang in shame. “I don’t deserve it.” he sighs.

“I really don’t understand you sometimes, Huang Renjun.” Jeno says and turns his attention back to his class.

“What do you mean?” Renjun retorts.

“Just because friends have a dumb fight, doesn’t mean they abandon each other in times of need.” Jeno states like it is the most obvious thing in the world.

It should be simple and obvious, everything Jeno has said. But to Renjun, it is groundbreaking. Because Renjun wasn’t used to being loved and cared for without condition. In his dark and convoluted view of the world, everything was give and take. You scratch my back, I scratch yours. But here they were--his friends that were shattering all of those dumbass beliefs. Telling him that although he had been a grade A asshole and punched them in the face, they understood that he was going through some shit, and that taking care of his sick grandmother trumped all other childish grudges. Renjun realizes that perhaps, he was the most childish out of all his friends. Somewhere in his turbulent childhood, he might have skipped a lot of emotional development. Because why else would the kindness and love of his friends shock him so?

Jeno peeks over the top of his laptop and watches Renjun deep in thought, paying no attention to his own class. “He’s at the hospital right now.” Jeno says knowingly.

And that’s all Renjun needs to hear before he slams his laptop shut and makes his way out.

The fact that Renjun is probably a few steps behind in his emotional development is solidified when he sits next to Donghyuck on a park bench and suddenly finds himself at a loss for what to say.

The rush of blood and adrenaline he had felt in his veins leaving his house for his apology tour seemed to have faded when he saw his friend’s face. Donghyuck had been sitting next to Renjun’s father, but that hadn’t been the bothersome part. It was the fact that his friend was sitting there for him, but with a black eye that Renjun had given him.

In the grand scheme of healing black eyes, Donghyuck definitely looked less hurt than the last time Renjun had seen him. The purples were mostly gone, leaving behind hues of yellow and a speck of blue here and there. Though he may have been healing, there were more colors on him than before and that’s what made him look worse. That’s also the part that makes Renjun feel most ashamed. His friend was here for him even though he looked like shit thanks to him.

Renjun is sure that on the list of top ten assholes of the world, he would find his own name on top.

But sitting next to Donghyuck outside in the fresh air, he has no idea what to say. He thinks real hard and decides to start in the safe zone.

“Did the guys tell you? About my grandma?” he asks.

“Um, no. It was Jimin.” Donghyuck replies awkwardly.

Renjun nods. “I, uh… I told the guys like a day later, though. Did you tell them before I did?”

“No, um… I was at a party with the 127s… I didn’t see her text till like the next day either, so…” Donghyuck trails off.

Renjun nods again, then swallows. It’s so strange, how awkward this all is. It is unsettling because Donghyuck is the least awkward person he knows, and he hates that this weird zone is where their relationship seems to be heading.

Not if he can help it.

In another rush of dumbass adrenaline, Renjun gets up abruptly and stands before Donghyuck.

“Go on. Do it.” Renjun says and takes a deep breath.

“Huh?” Donghyuck looks at his friend quizzically.

“Do it. Just make it quick.” Renjun nods with determination and points at his face.

“You’re crazy.” Donghyuck states and slides further away on the bench, eyebrows raised, and a grimace on his mouth.

“Just do it, man. Do it so we can move on.” Renjun says, placing both hands on his waist and squeezing his eyes shut.

“I’m not going to punch you so you can move on, you psycho.” Donghyuck’s face is contorted, like he’s scandalized and perhaps even slightly scared of his friend.

“Come on, Donghyuckie. Just punch me and get it over with.” Renjun waves his hand impatiently, not relenting.

“Are you not hearing me, you crazy? I’m not punching you just to make you feel better!” Donghyuck almost yells.

And because Renjun is pretty sure this would work, he grabs at Donghyuck’s collar just to provoke him.

“What the fuck?!” Donghyuck tries to push Renjun off of him.

“Hit me!” Renjun shouts.

“No, are you fucking crazy! Get off me!” Donghyuck grabs at the sleeves of Renjun’s jacket and tries to pry him off.

“Not till you hit me!” Renjun insists, clinging onto the boy, grabbing and pulling at him to annoy him best he can to get a reaction.

“I’m not going to hit you!” Donghyuck yells. The two boys spin in inelegant, rough circles on the grass, trying to push and pull at one another.

“Punch me or you got no balls!” Renjun yowls and then finally feels the blow to his face that sends him flying to the ground.

He pauses for a bit because his head spins for a solid ten seconds. He shakes it vigorously to get it to focus and it helps because then he looks up to find a very startled and distressed Donghyuck looking down at him, fist still raised in the air.

“That had more throw than power.” Renjun comments, massaging his jaw.

“Yeah, that’s what I was going for.” Donghyuck agrees.

For a moment both boys nod and look at each other, acknowledging the technique and form of the punch. And then, they burst into laughter because fuck, all of this was so stupid. Renjun rolls on the grass and Donghyuck doubles over as he stands. Then he offers Renjun his hand to help him get up, which he takes eagerly, using it to lift up and fling himself into his friend’s arms. They hold each other strongly, thumping one another on the back. And just like that, the awkwardness is gone. All that was meant to be said has been said and now Renjun is no longer struggling to find his words. They come easily, because all of this is so natural. He was with his best friend, after all.

“You are a crazy motherfucker, you know that, right?” Donghyuck comments, shaking his head as they sit back down on the bench.

Renjun chuckles, then looks at the grass, because his head hangs in shame again. “I’m a sorry motherfucker.”

Donghyuck puts an arm around Renjun and thumps his back again. “You should be sorry, you dumb fuck. But also, you’ve got a pretty toxic coping mechanism, you know that, right?”

Renjun sighs long “I know. The longer I think about it, the dumber I feel.”

He expects his friend to make a joke in return but he feels his hesitation. So he looks up and finds Donghyuck trying to think of what to say. “Have you ever thought about… like sorting that out, maybe?” he finally asks.

“Sorting it out?” Renjun asks, confused.

“Like... you know this isn’t normal, right?” Donghyuck asks, and he doesn’t sound like he’s mocking. His tone doesn’t have the slightest hint of a joke and that’s what makes Renjun realize what he’s talking about.

“No… no, I haven’t…” Renjun admits. He doesn’t know why he’s never thought about ‘sorting it out’. Perhaps because he’s always thought he was smarter than anyone who could offer him help.

“You could give it a try. Talking to someone really helps sometimes, you know? Getting help can help.” Donghyuck says carefully.

Renjun bites his lip. He knows his friend is right, but he’s never really, truly given it a thought. Donghyuck senses his discomfort and changes the subject.

“Your grandma is finally getting tested again tomorrow.” he says as he stretches.

Renjun smiles “Yeah. I honestly can’t believe it…” he looks at his best friend “... but I also don’t know if I’ll ever be able to thank you…”

Donghyuck frowns and shakes Renjun by the shoulder “Stop it before I throw up.”

“I mean it.”

“I’ll throw up even if you mean it.”

“Donghyuck…”

“Okay, really, stop. Also, I’m not even the one you should be thanking. Or apologizing to.” Donghyuck sits back after he’s had his fill of shaking Renjun.

“Of course, you’re the one I should be thanking and apologizing to, you stupid. You did all of this for me even when I was an absolute asshole to you.” Renjun presses.

“You are an asshole, but you’re also a dumb asshole.” Donghyuck declares.

“Hey, I’m trying to apologize nicely, here.” Renjun pouts and his friend lets out a long, exasperated sigh.

“I thought you were just being obtuse but you seriously don’t know…” Donghyuck shakes his head.

“Know what?” Renjun asks and Donghyuck shrugs and acts like a little shit which annoys Renjun, but at the same time fills him with relief. Because Donghyuck being a little shit to him means their friendship has been restored to its original state. But he asks again “Know what?!”

“Dude, no offense or anything, but did you really think your parents can put your grandma in a private room all on their own?” Donghyuck asks.

Renjun stops a bit. He’d been so worried about the fact that his grandma’s life was hanging by a thread that he hadn’t even thought about the expenses part. He knows his grandma had a little bit in savings, but his parents for sure didn’t earn that much. Come to think of it, he hadn’t even realized that this was one of the nicer hospitals around.

“Fuck it, I’m really going to have to spell it out for you. Since your brain doesn’t seem to be working.” Donghyuck sighs dramatically.

“What?”

“Dude. This is Y/N’s parents’ hospital. Your mother couldn’t possibly keep taking care of your grandma all on her own, now could she? When Y/N found out, she went crazy. She made her parents direct all their best resources into taking care of your grandma.”

For a while, the information hangs in the air.

Renjun had thought that he would never get to feel things that were new and unexplainable ever again. He thought he had experienced every single feeling his body had to offer. The past month alone had put him through more emotions than he had experienced in his whole life. He had seen it all, felt it all.

But what he’s experiencing right now doesn’t feel like gratitude or shame or longing or anything one should expect to feel in a situation like this. It just feels like a soft light has filled his chest and is lifting him in the air. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s having an out of body experience.

“Oh,” is the only thing he can manage to say.

And then he remembers your face. He hadn’t realized it then, but he sees now how badly he had wanted to see you that night. He had wanted no one but you to hold him and kiss him and tell him that he wasn’t alone. And he remembers how he couldn’t tell you any of that. He remembers how you had walked away with another man.

And that makes him come back to earth. He feels a resigned sort of sadness.

“Y/N is… she would do that for anybody, wouldn’t she?” Renjun smiles sadly.

“She probably would. But you should’ve seen how worried she was. Even now, she is on the phone everyday with her parents, making sure they’re doing everything they can. She didn’t want what happened to her grandmother to happen to yours.” Donghyuck tells him.

Renjun looks up “What happened to her grandmother?”

Donghyuck raises his eyebrows. “She passed away from Covid last year?” His eyebrows go higher still “She says she’s told you about this?”

Renjun thinks, and then it’s as if a veil on his memory is slowly but poorly being lifted. He remembers laying his head on your shoulder. He remembers feeling your shirt dampen from his tears. He remembers your fingers drawing relaxing patterns in his hair. He remembers your soothing voice, speaking to him with such tenderness that Renjun had barely heard your words and had focused instead on it’s sweet tones. But now, when Renjun is forcing himself to think, he very foggily recalls what you had been saying. You had been telling him about your own grandmother. Why hadn’t Renjun listened? Why did Renjun never listen when you spoke? He was such a selfish, arrogant fool. He wishes he could go back and change it all.

Donghyuck shakes his head. “Are you really….” he sighs again, “Nevermind. But yeah, she basically went nuts because she couldn’t be here with you.”

Renjun’s heart is aching and he’s pretty sure his face reflects it. “I wish I could take it all back. Everything I did to her.”

“You can take it back.” Donghyuck says.

“How?”

“Apologize to her, you dummy.” Donghyuck smacks the back of his head.

“How? I tried calling her once but she didn’t pick up.” Renjun admits.

“Then you should call her again and again and again till it sticks.” Donghyuck says plainly and it makes so much fucking sense that Renjun is embarrassed that he hadn’t thought it.

“Yeah, but…” Renjun swallows, “... it doesn’t really matter now, does it?”

“What do you mean?” Donghyuck asks.

“She’s with Wong Hendery now. So…” Renjun can’t even complete the thought.

“What do you mean she’s with Wong Hendery?” Donghyuck scrunches his brows deep in his forehead in confusion.

“She left with him for the semester break. I went to see her… but she left with him…” Renjun presses his lips together.

“Wait…” Donghyuck says and Renjun looks up and nods at him as if to confirm the fact. But he sees something entirely different on his friend’s face. It’s an expression of deep dumbfoundedness. “... are you some sort of an idiot?” He asks like Renjun is the dimmest person he has ever come across.

And Renjun doesn’t help his cause because he only blinks in return.

“Dude! She’s not ‘with Wong Hendery,’” Donghyuck gets up and smacks Renjun across the head once again. “They’re partners on the SMK Trainee Drive. She’s literally been preparing for this for months? Shouldn’t you know this?”

Renjun blinks some more. SMK Trainee Drive? Renjun had heard and personally seen you preparing for interviews and these drives. But somehow a lot of it hadn’t registered in his brain. Once again, probably because he never listened to you well. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck, he was an idiot. He was the biggest idiot on the planet.

Yet right now, he was a smiling idiot whose heart was suddenly filling with hope. “She’s not… with… she’s not with Hendery?” Renjun is embarrassed. He feels so fucking stupid asking this, but he absolutely can’t help the smile spreading across his face.

“She’s literally at the tower right now. She’s been stuck because we went into lockdown whilst she was there. It’s why she couldn’t come and see you. But the highway doesn’t open for another week, so she’ll be stuck till then.” Donghyuck explains, and Renjun feels his heart exploding with joy at every word. He’s pretty sure he’s grinning shamelessly.

“Why do I know more about your girlfriend than you do? Oh wait. It's because 'she's not your girlfriend.’” Donghyuck does a perfectly exaggerated mimicry of Renjun that reminds him of that one SpongeBob meme. On a normal day, he would’ve wanted to smack his friend for doing this. But in this moment, he is all too happy to be the one being smacked and mocked.

Renjun laughs with relief, then finds his laugh fading a bit. “Do you think she’ll forgive me? For everything I did?”

“I don’t know, man. But you wouldn’t know unless you try.” Donghyuck once again states something that should be obvious.

“How do I try if she’s not picking up my calls? And when she won’t even be here for another week?” Renjun sulks a bit but gets smacked in the head again.

“Dude! She literally did everything in the world to help your grandma, and she was in a wholeass different city! She did that all for you! I’m sure you can figure out a simple apology.” Donghyuck has his arms crossed and is now seriously looking agitated with him and it makes Renjun smile.

“She really did that for me?” Renjun asks and he doesn’t even care if he sounds like a cheesy motherfucker. He doesn’t even care he’s being this way in front of Lee Donghyuck who probably won’t let him live it down for the rest of his life.

“Of course she did that for you, you idiot.” Renjun earns another smack at the end of that.

“Does she like me?” Renjun asks like a stupid, hopeful teenage boy.

Donghyuck pretends to gag and moves away in disgust. But then he sees Renjun’s expression and lets out a long, irritated exhale. “Of course she likes you, you dumb fuck.” Renjun gets hit in the head, “Why would she do all of this if she didn’t like you?” Renjun gets another smack, “Oh Lord, please give me the strength to not commit murder. I am not your strongest soldier…” Donghyuck looks up at the sky and Renjun laughs openly, freely and lightly. He feels as if all the knots in his chest are slowly being undone one by one. So he jumps up and tries to tackle and cuddle Donghyuck but he keeps moving away. The two boys run around in the ground, Renjun chasing Donghyuck, trying to attack him with his love while he complains that his hair smells.

And Renjun accepts all his insults with a newly healed heart. You liked him. Despite everything that he’d done to you, you liked him. You had worried about him and done everything in your power to help his grandma. You had kept tabs on her and made sure she was healing even though you were miles away. You liked him, and you weren’t with a new guy and you liked him.

As he walks back towards the hospital with his arm around his best friend’s shoulders, he decides that if it came to it that he had to beg and grovel for your forgiveness, he would happily spend the rest of his life on his knees. Because you liked him and Renjun was never going to let you go ever again.

True to his word (for maybe the first time in your relationship), Renjun spends the rest of the week trying to reach you. Because his apology tour wouldn’t be complete without his most important stop--you.

He calls you so many times; but each time, he only gets to hear the dial tone and the mechanical voice telling him that the user is unreachable at the moment. You never pick up.

But his mind and his spirit is fueled by Donghyuck’s advice, and this time, the advice is a lot more sound and a lot less exploitative. So, Renjun doesn’t give up because he has to make it stick. You had never given up on him. He wasn’t going to give up on you. When he’s sure you won’t pick up his calls, he leaves you a string of messages.

‘Hey, Y/N. I’m trying to call you. Please pick up?’

‘I know you have every right to be mad at me, but I just need a chance to apologize.’

‘I’m seriously the biggest idiot in the world, but I need to tell you that in person.’

‘Okay, I’m coming to you.’

‘Turns out I can’t just negotiate with the police to let me cross the city lines to get to the girl I like.’

‘Y/N, please…’

‘I’m the world’s sorriest and the most embarrassed motherfucker and I need to hear your voice to tell you that.’

‘I am Berry-Berry sorry, and I’m just asking for one chance to get to talk to you.

‘I’m not going to stop, you know?’

He has to admit that his patience is wearing thin. Because he’s trying every method and none of it is working; and also because his pride had never allowed him to beg and grovel to anyone before. It’s a humbling experience, but at the same time, he doesn’t feel burdened by it. This was for you. The girl who had done everything in her power to make him fall. The girl who had given him more love and kindness than anyone else in the world had. The girl who had taken his troubles and worries as her own. So, of course, he had to do everything in his power to earn your forgiveness.

But as he’s sitting in his room, trying to call you for what he’s sure is the twentieth time that day, he hears that your phone has been powered off. For a moment, Renjun feels immensely dispirited. Maybe he had lost you for good. Maybe you never wanted to hear from him ever again. Maybe this is what he deserved.

But in the next moment, Renjun stops himself. No. He wasn’t going to let his mind spiral that way again. He had to think with a good, clear mind. He couldn’t sit around and sulk without knowing he had explored all possible options. He needed to get creative and for that, he needed to think.

He could certainly wait it out till the week was over and when you’d be back. But he wanted to spend each passing minute letting you know that he was trying. So, that wasn’t an option.

Maybe he could look at the map and find some loopholes and secret passageways across the city. Surely, some of them had to be unmanned so he could break the lockdown law and get to you? That would certainly be impactful, being locked up in jail as a grand gesture of an apology. But Renjun was no action hero.

Renjun sits and thinks and thinks and thinks till a light bulb finally goes off. Of course. A grand gesture. He yells into his pillow out of excitement and frustration that he hadn’t thought of this before. If one thing had been established during this time, it was the fact that Renjun was a dumb fuck with a penchant for being blind to the obvious.

He gets up bright and early the next morning and rushes to see your friend at her apartment. He sits beside her as her online class starts, away from the camera view and finds his heart filling with the utmost warmth as he sees your window finally appear on the screen. Even in the tiny box, you looked so freaking beautiful that for a minute, Renjun stops and stares as butterflies take over his belly. But he taps his cheek to get himself to focus. He was here on a mission.

He waits for the class to begin before he slides himself into view next to your friend and types out a message on the chat that had taken him all night to prepare. He hits ‘Send to Everyone’ and waits.

And thankfully, the professor--miraculously the same professor who had done this the very first time all that time ago--stops to read it out,

“This might be a long shot, but Y/N L/N, do you think you can find it in your heart to give me another chance?” he begins, squinting his eyes slightly in confusion as he reads on, then smiling as realization hits. “Well, that’s certainly not a question from Ms. Kim Minjeong, I can tell you that.” he jokes and waits because as it had before, this has piqued the students’ interest.

Renjun watches as your pretty eyes widen. He watches them skirt across your screen, seemingly looking for the cause of the commotion. He watches the moment of realization hitting your pretty face. And he waits.

“Well, Ms. Y/N L/N, are you going to put the young man out of his misery?” the professor jokes kindly and Renjun thinks he might die from the anticipation.

And then, he watches as you move to unmute yourself.

“Yeah, I guess I could give him another chance,” you say nonchalantly which earns you a round of applause and hoots from all other windows. Because college students will always love dramatic antics.

The professor calls the class back to attention and Renjun sits back in his chair, grinning like an idiot because the girl he had fallen for had given him another chance.

#renjun fic #renjun angst #renjun fluff #kpopscape #ficscafe #neowritingsnet #dreamwritersnet #huang renjun #renjun #nct dream #nct fic #nct dream fic #nct fluff #nct angst #nct college au #renjun x reader #we met in online class

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cryptiql · 3 years

Text

untitled god song

pairing: bakugou/m!reader (trans reader in mind you can see it if you squint but can also be read as cis)

words: 2k

warnings: themes of religious trauma, homophobia, mentions of blood, the author projecting their mommy issues

a/n: this is purely self indulgent, don't mind me 😩✋ (written in first person)

i wish i had known him before the pain started. perhaps it is a fools dream to think that his presence would have solved anything, and it is likely that he might blown me sky high at the time, if given the chance, but i often ponder his place in my narrative. he is nothing less than a king—nay, a god—and what else am i to be except his humble servant, adoring him in the only way i've been taught?

i would bruise my knees as i kneel for him, and should he turn me away, i shall be lost and without purpose. but he does not, and instead, he snorts out a laugh and pulls me to my feet, roughly squeezing my cheeks together with a shit-eating grin. he'll tell me a joke i've heard a thousand times, and yet i laugh with him anyways, the pads of my fingers idly tapping the pulse on his wrists.

"dumbass, at least take me out to dinner first."

i never thought i'd ache to hear such a demeaning nickname, but it's like birdsong to my ears, and i long for the myriad of butterflies it provokes.

i would heed his every word like a faithful disciple, and—if i knew he would not use this power for the wrong reasons—carry it out without question. he'll roll his eyes at the notion, far too prideful at the idea of being praised, and card hands through my hair, gripping softly. "right. and if i told you to go to bed before five in the morning, would you listen?"

my smiles are genuine, as they all are with him.

"no." i wish my mother had been more open-minded; more loving to those she claimed were goners. maybe then, i could still call her my mother, and not a snarled version of her first name steeped in vinegar. maybe she could have met him, and maybe she would have keeled over in the process, but that is how we put it "killing two birds with one stone".

he was a fallen angel if ever i saw one—emblazoned in smog and ravenous inferno, the pieces of child-like innocence turning to ash. something happened to him when he was a kid, just as all gifted children, and oh, what a fool i was to let my gaze dawdle on his gorgeous form. but i will never regret it—no, not ever—for there is no such feeling that can compare to his eyes on mine, burning with a mind-fogging intensity.

it was instantaneous, the moment my thoughts turned on me with malicious intent, her voice ringing out like a gunshot.

you'll never be him.

his hand slots with mine perfectly; deliciously warm and comforting in a way i haven't felt in years; and hauls me up, the flecks of dirt and rubble from the road clinging to my jeans.

"watch it, pretty boy. i won't always be here to save you, y'know."

my heart batters against my ribs like a caged bird, screeching and wailing to be set free, and i wonder in a haze if i've died. judgement day must have come early, i think, not realizing that it was spoken aloud until the blonde quirks a brow inquisitively. he does not speak on the matter, but continues on his merry way, leaving my helpless; hopelessly enamored; and praying that we will meet again.

no, i could never be him. but i am like him. he has a sureness in his walk and fervor in the way he talks that is only recognizable when i look in the mirror. and we do meet again. it is a shame, however, that i must burden him with the weight of my past. i remember too often the troubles of my youth, even when all has passed into fleeting memories that haunt me as ghosts do to an abandoned house. yet, i still live in this house, and the ghosts are here to keep me company.

i remember the church, first and foremost; nestled between the barren country road and the outback; a beacon of hope to all those who stood in its doors. the luster of freshly polished wood still sits in my mind, accompanied by the echoing remnants of dulcet tones and multicolored bands of light, glaring from the stained glass windows and dancing across the musty carpet floor. the doddering pews were just as uncomfortable as the poorly padded chairs squatting in the front row, but every sunday, they were filled to the brim with hungry worshippers. they sang praise as though they were starved, but i was too young to understand for what. i am older now, and i still don't understand. all i know is that despite its reputation, the church was a cursed place, and i should never set foot in it again lest i go mad. i remember the creaking stairs which lead downstairs, and the winding halls that reeked of torment where shadows loomed. the paint was corroding and foul, and my conscious always loitered too long on the merlot stain on the ceiling; its origin unknown, but nevertheless urging my stomach to twist with nausea.

i remember the feeling of tall grass grazing my ankles; itching horribly from the old moth-eaten socks i was forced to wear. it had become second nature—running and hiding from my problems, from the church, from her. i shall never know a greater animosity than the likes that my mother encouraged, although unintentionally, with her pressuring views and sickeningly sweet smile. it's fake, and i would know, because ours are the same.

we are too similar, and i am sickened by the fact. will i become the wretched woman she is? will i fail to be the father i've dreamt of being? it is an easy thing to fall prey to haunting questions, and it serves as brain rot for every moment of silence that leaves me clawing at my skin, trying to reap the memory of her touch. then i began to think—about nothing and everything—and it does not stop. i will be kind; unforgivingly so, and without biased judgement; like my mother never was, and i'll make her hate me for it. i will grow in leaps and bounds, not for her sake or for god's, but for mine, as it always should have been. i will drink and curse with reckless abandon and kiss who i damn well please, because in no life does she have have the power to make me something i'm not. why should i feel sorry when the tears she wept were forged by my own blood; by the childhood memories locked away to rot in my subconscious? yes, she has suffered too, but it is through clenched teeth and raw-bitten lips that i must confess this, for her suffering was born in me and grew from a seedling into a thorned flower, nourished by her hatred and mine. she'll tell me the lie of all mothers before her: that she knows best, and i'll never know joy that is not from my savior's gracious hands.

one day, when she lies not with words but in silence, under worm-filled earth and withering pastures, i'll tell her that she was right. i'll tell her, with his hand in mine, that my savior arrived with hellfire in his eyes and fury unrelenting. his tongue holds venom that would make the devil blush, but he tastes of a sinful sweetness that i've drowned in more times than i care to count.

mother you should know, my god is like no other. he has a broad chest and muscles, i attest, that are sculpted like fine marble and smooth to the test.

my god is a man who loves other men, unashamedly; in all that is true; and kisses me like real people do. and i know it sounds silly, and a bit cliché, and he'd surely make a mockery of me if ever he heard, but i love him. i love him as passionately as you she does lord above, and it is a crime in itself how much i crave him, so yes, i will burn for this—not because my mother said so or by the ancient script that foretells it, but because i promise it. i promise to let neither hell or high water deter me from that which gives me life, and i'll do so with a ring.

"you hear that mom?" i'll whisper in the dead of night, his body flushed against mine in the most delightful way; his fingers curled into my nightshirt, pulling me closer as listless mumbles fall from his parted lips. he is dead to the world amid his dream ridden stupor, but still leans into my touch when i smooth back the wild tufts of hair to kiss his forehead.

"i'm gonna marry him." part of me wishes she didn't live on the other side of the planet, just so i could rub it in her face, but i won't give her the satisfaction of seeing me again. i won't let her think she's won, because i know, and katsuki knows, that he and i are one in the same.

i do not know who i should thank for my stubbornness, be it my mother or my father, so i will thank the pain they both caused me, for it made me stronger than they ever could. no, i did not become a better person, because the scars have yet to heal from how deep they cut, and the smell of blood still lingers, and i am angrier than i once was, but i cherish my wounds. the stench of my agony has long since been subdued, and i have learned to swallow the sickness it evokes. and yes, this anger is unhealthy and i've chosen not to purge it from my mind like the weed it is, but how lucky am i to have found one whose malice rivals my own?

the tales of his glory have littered my notebooks in smudged ink. you would hate him, is scrawled messily on the last page, but i only feel giddy with excitement. you would hate him for his spite and his unapologetic behavior, and that is why he's perfect. he's everything you hate about this world, but everything i love.

so when she gets to heaven and asks the angels "why?", they'll tell her it was him who made the devil cry. him, who held me like she should have—could have, if she hadn't terrified me—and who chased the nightmarish visions of her from my weary mind with his callous palms and soft-spoken reassurances. i wish i had known him when we were young; when things were not so simple and i needed a hand to hold; but i suppose we'll have to settle for faded photographs and stories told through the bitter aroma of alcohol. that's more than enough, i muse to myself, legs hooked over his as i rest my head on his shoulder, keening softly at the gentle scrape of his nails on my scalp. his arms wind around my waist as he mutters something along the lines of "i love you", his lips curling into a smile, illuminated by the televisions glow.

so when they ask of my religion, i will think of only him. i will recall the way he looks at me, the sound of my name on his tongue, the feeling of his lips trailing between the valley of my breast; featherlight, cautious and unfitting for a man of his nature. i've written songs of praise, all dedicated to him, and if only he knew, oh how smug he would be. but i love him, i love him, i love him. and when he spins me around like a marionette, it is with overwhelming pride and joy that i tell him this, and with rose hued cheeks and bashful grumbles, he tells me the same. so mother, wherever you are, i hope you know i've found my god.

#💥.katsuki #bakugou x trans reader #bakugou x trans male reader #bakugou x male reader #katsuki bakugou x male reader #male reader insert #mha x male reader #boku no hero x reader #bakugou x you #trans reader

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thehermitsaltar · 3 years

Note

Hey how are u? Can you do an angst prompt 2 with the mandalorian ?

A/N: im much better now ive received this ask!

“Why didn’t you tell me?!”

(credit to og prompt list maker!)

Mando let out a soft groan as he sat down in the pilots chair of the Razor Crest. He gently lowered himself and clutched at his bruised ribs. Once he was finally seated a sigh of relief escaped his lips. Unfortunately he didn’t have much time to wallow in pain before his newest crewmate came thudding towards the cockpit.

The doors opened to reveal Y/N, his on flight mechanic.

Usually Din wouldn’t travel with other people without a reason, but considering all the issues with the Crest lately, he thought maybe it would be okay for a bit. Plus Peli wouldn’t let him leave the shop unless he took the young apprentice with him.

“Howdy Boss.” Y/N’s voice was bright and full of pep. He walked over to lean against the control panel and face Mando.

“I told you, Y/N, I’m not your boss.” Din grunted out. Truthfully he enjoyed the endearing nickname but he wouldn’t let anyone know that.

“Whatever you say Boss. Anyway, I fixed up wires by the kids hammock and put a new panel over it.”

Din was truly amazed at how fast and well the man worked. However, he wasn’t amazed at how his Child kept pulling panels off the ship and messing up wires. But that’s why he got a mechanic.

“Thank you, Y/N.” Din huffed and felt a sharp pain shoot through his entire torso. The air from his lungs escaped with a harsh gasp.

The man beside Din immediately looked over with worry. “Are you okay?”

“Fine.” Was all Mando could say before another pain, one worse then before, went to his very core. All he could do was clutch at his beskar chest plate and lean forward on the control panel.

Y/N tried to talk to Mando but the other man couldn’t even hear him. The blood rushed to Din’s ears and everything sounded muffled and far away. Before he knew it everything went black.

Mando woke up in his bed in a daze. He looked around to find no one near.

Din gingerly sat up and looked down to find all the armor on his torso missing. Bandages and a thick healing salve were the only things covering his broad, tanned chest.

He stood up and supported his weight on the walls of the ship as he tried to make his way to the cockpit. There he found Y/N in his spot, with the Child in his lap. Din cleared his throat to get the mans attention.

Y/N jumped in his spot and had a blaster to Din’s chest before he could utter a word. Realization quickly flooded Y/N as he processed who was before him. He securely put the blaster in his holster all the while holding the Child in his other hand.

“What are you doing up?” Y/N’s voice was laced with anger. He handed the child to Mando as he approached him. “You need to lay back down.”

The Child cooed up at Din with a smile on his face.

“What happened?” Din’s voice was groggy with sleep. His words came out as a husky whisper.

Y/N ushered Mando to sit before he began talking. “You passed out due to pain and internal bleeding. My question is, why the hell didn’t you tell me?!” Y/N’s voice was strong and firm.

Din looked down in shame. He didn’t lie to people close to him but for some reason he felt he had to lie about this.

Y/N scoffed softly and looked at his own feet. He silently got up and left to some other part of the ship. He couldn’t stand to look at Mando any longer.

“I’ll be back in a few hours to put on new bandages.” Y/N muttered over his shoulder as he left.

Din was left with his thoughts and the Child in his lap.

A few hours had passed before Y/N saw Mando again. He had been sat in the cockpit just as Y/N had left him. Only when he came back the Child wasn’t with him, probably in bed, and Mando put on a thin tunic.

With the small medical kit in hand, Y/N spoke. “I need to change your bandages and add more salve.”

Din huffed and spun his seat around to face Y/N.

“You gotta take off your shirt.”

“This thing was hard enough to get on.” Din said in a low voice.

“I-I’m sorry but I cant put this stuff without access to the wound.” Y/N really did feel sorry for Mando, even if he did lie to him, he still hated seeing Mando in pain. “I can help you.”

Mando thought for a moment before he gave a small nod. He lifted his arms up as much as he could and let Y/N pull the shirt off.

Their skin briefly made contact and it sent chills up Din’s spine. It had been years since someone had touched his bare body.

Y/N made quick work on gently undoing Mando’s old bandages and began applying a new layer of salve. The physical contact was almost too much for Din to handle. He knew having these feelings were wrong but that still didn’t stop the blush rising up his chest.

Thank the maker for Y/N breaking the tension.

“I was worried about you, Boss.” He looked into where he thought Din’s eyes would be, and frowned.

The pain in Din’s chest that he felt was worse then the physical pain.

“That’s why I didn’t tell you.” He blurted it out before he could even think about it. “I didn’t want to hurt you.”

Y/N’s whole expression changed between an array of emotions. Until he finally settled on a snarky smirk.

“For such a smart guy, your an idiot.” Y/N chuckled and went back to work on Din’s chest. He was suddenly stopped by the hug Mando enveloped him in.

It was firm and comforting. The heat of Din’s skin contrasted with the cool beskar helmet pressed against Y/N’s face. This hug felt like something more but it could never been anything more with a Mandalorian.

#the mandalorian #din djarin #din djarin x male reader #male reader #x male reader #fluff #angst

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winter-soldier-vibes · 4 years

Text

Never free of myself

Never free of my mind

Bucky Barnes x reader

Word count: 3840

Warnings: self harm, depression

Summary: Reader struggles with self harm and one day while training with Bucky, she gets found out.

A/N: I know I’m writing slower lately, but I’ve been doing a lot of preparation for college.

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

“Just stop,” you mumbled to yourself.

You hated crying. You hated how weak it made you feel. You liked being in control, and you could control your emotions for the most part, but sometimes it would just be too much. And when that happened, you were always angry. Your parents always told you not to cry when you got down, and you quickly learned to hide the tears until you were out of sight.

You had been battling depression for a while now, and you had gotten no support from your family. They hadn’t been at all empathetic, just told you to get over it and appreciate the life you have. You never really had a reason to feel so low, so you couldn’t really argue with them. You just masked the shame and pain inside so nobody else could see.

Years later, and you had it down.

You worked and lived with the Avengers now. You had been recruited for your ability to become invisible. When you first discovered your power as a young teen, you were freaked out and it made you feel even more alone than you already did. Soon after you realized it was a great way to escape a situation or avoid people all together.

You trained with them, Steve and Bucky helping you learn to fight so you could join them on missions. You were an extremely shy person at first, using mostly facial expressions and body language to communicate. But after a few weeks you began to relax around everyone, being more yourself than you had felt in a really long time.

You bonded well with Bucky in particular. The two of you liked to keep to yourself and didn’t really want anyone too close. You were both used to being alone, and you loved that someone finally seemed to understand you. The two of you became really good friends, him trusting you to talk openly about his past while you listened. But you had never told him about yours. You didn’t trust anyone with that information.

You let nobody in on your secrets. You pushed them down for when you were alone in your room at night, where no one could see or hear you. Back in your teen years, you would resort to hurting yourself as a means of coping since no one would listen to you. You didn’t know how else to handle it. And no one noticed that either, so you didn’t think it was much of a problem. You felt like you deserved it, and it helped to numb the pain for when it became too much to control.

It helped you take back the reins on your own brain.

You were currently in your room, sitting on the floor against your bed. The sun was long gone and the streets were busy with lights, the only thing illuminating your room at the moment. Besides that it was dark, but you could see enough to be able to do what you were about to.

You had a blade that was given to you for self defense in your right hand, left arm extended in front of you. You had had enough of your tears and you just wanted them to stop before they got so out of control that someone heard you. You brought the blade to your upper arm and sliced, breathing in sharply at the sting that came when the air met the cut.

You felt a little relief, but it wasn’t enough quite yet to help you feel as calm as you needed to. Angry at yourself, you brought the knife back to your arm to make a new mark just below it.

“Stop.”

Slice

“Fucking.”

Slice.

“Crying.”

Slice.

You said this through gritted teeth, gripping the blade tighten and pressing a little harder each time. You kept repeating your motions until you entered a silent peace, tears giving way to feeling numb and you could breath easily. Sighing, you put the blade down and looked at your arm. There were plenty of scars covering your body from years of this kind of release, some deep and some thin, some healing and some just memories, and some purple and raised and others white and faded. Your newest cuts were bleeding steadily, dripping from your elbow to the floor, and there was blood on your shirt as well.

You leaned your head back against the mattress and closed your eyes. You didn’t feel the need to take care of your cuts, you usually just let them clot and clean the dried blood after. You didn’t think you deserved to take care of them. You didn’t really care if they got infected. Things always worked out in the end anyways. So you waited in the blissful silence, the only noise being your breathing and heart rate which was pounding still from earlier.

You don’t know how much time passed, but eventually you stood and made your way to the bathroom. You decided that a shower would be the best and quickest way to take care of the dried blood. You turned on the water and threw your clothes into a head on the floor. You’d deal with the blood stains later. You stepped in and winced as the water hit the fresh cuts, slightly enjoying the secondary pain you were receiving.

You took your time in the shower, enjoying the warm water as it was washing over your sore body. You didn’t know why you were sore really, it just felt like your body was constantly aching. Eventually you turned the water off and stepped out, wrapping a towel around yourself and stepping back into your room and walking to your dresser to find something light to wear to bed.

You always wore long sleeves and pants when you were anywhere other than your room. You didn’t have a choice in the matter; no one knew about your little secret and you had no intention of letting it out. They’d never understand, know the voices in your head pulling you to the darkness. But, in your room alone, you were fine in a tank top and shorts. No one to hide from, no reason to hide.

You pulled on your clothes and laid down on your bed, careful to not lay on your left side. You didn’t want to have to wash the sheets again like you had a few times before. You stared at the wall for a few minutes, still numb. Eventually you were able to drift off to sleep, despite the negative thoughts still plaguing your mind

No one saw or knew about what you were going through. You would always say that you were just fine even though you weren’t. You were secretly dying inside. And not one person had a clue. Well, almost no one.

Bucky had noticed a few things about you. You were naturally a reserved person, but you seemed to have built these walls up around you. He was only able to recognize it because he had done the same when he had joined the team, scared to hurt someone or be judged. He just wanted to lay low. You had always listened to him talking about his past and everything that he had gone through, yet you never did the same. But a few times it looked like you really wanted to say something, but your walls would go back up almost as if you had never let them down. He would notice how every now and then you would drop your smile, but once again it was back as if it was always there. It made him wonder, and he wanted to help but he didn’t know what to say.

You were so sick of holding everything down, pushing people away before they got too close. You didn’t want anyone to see what you saw. You were never free of yourself. Sometimes you did want to reach out, you did want help, but you weren’t sure what people would do if they knew the truth. And you weren’t ready to risk them running away from you. You were ashamed and afraid. But you sure as hell weren’t going to let anyone know that.

The morning came much too soon for your liking, and you groaned as you sat up. You knew that this was a morning you’d be training with Bucky, and you didn’t want him to come looking for you because you weren’t ready.

Reluctantly, you stood and put on a long sleeve athletic shirt and leggings and pulled your hair into a ponytail. Your arm was still sore, but it wasn’t anything you weren’t used to. You made your way down to the gym in the tower to see Bucky standing, waiting for you. He smiled at you as a good morning and you walked over to him, doing a few warm ups before the two of you got started.

The two of you were sparing today, and the two of you were a sweating mess. You were taking a break, bringing a towel to your face and reaching for your water bottle. Bucky looked at you and asked you, “Why are you wearing long sleeves? You must be dying.”

You nearly choked on your water but played it off and shrugged your shoulders. “I dunno. Sometimes I run cold.”

He looked you up and down. He personally was overheating in his tank top and shorts, he couldn’t imagine how you were feeling right now. “Yeah, okay. Seriously, what’s up with it?”

You tried to look as innocent as you could and shrugged again. “Personal preference I guess.” He opened his mouth to ask another question, but before he could you stood and said “We should get back to it.”

After a moment he reluctantly said “Alright.” He was still unconvinced and curious. But he’d have to wait until later to learn more. The two of you moved back to the mat and began sparring again, him throwing most of the punches and you blocking. You were distracted though, and Bucky took advantage of that and grabbed your arm and turned around, flipping you over his shoulder.

You landed on your left side, crushing your arm in the process and couldn’t help the cry of pain that escaped your mouth. Immediately Bucky came over to you, and you grabbed your arm in pain as your cuts were reopened. Thank God your shirt was black and it wouldn’t show.

“Hey, what's wrong? Shit I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

You tried to breathe through the pain and shook your head. “Not your fault. I just landed on my arm wrong, no big deal.”

Bucky bought it at first, but then he realized that you were rubbing your upper arm. If it had something to do with the fall it was much more likely to be your shoulder, elbow, or wrist. But you were rubbing your bicep.

Swallowing, he asked “Y/n what’s really wrong?”

You looked at him, panic growing inside you but you tried your best not to let it show. You let out a nervous laugh that you hoped he didn’t pick up on and asked “What do you mean?”

“I mean what’s going on with you? What happened to your arm?”

You shook your head. “I don’t know what you mean. I just landed on it wrong, it’s fine.”

“Y/n -”

“BUCK IT’S FINE.” you yelled, surprising both of you. You were never the type to get angry, and Bucky had never heard you so much as get frustrated before. You never allowed yourself to be around others. You began to panic more, and stood up, but what you didn’t realize was that blood had seeped through your shirt and onto your hand.

But Bucky did

His eyes widened and he stood up with you, grabbing your right wrist and inspecting your hand. Your eyes widened too and you tried to wrestle your hand from his grasp but it was no use. You wanted to make yourself invisible right now but that would do nothing about him having you in his grasp.

“Y/n, why didn’t you tell me you were hurt?”

You sighed. “It’s nothing, really -”

“When did this even happen? You haven’t been on a mission in almost a week and you didn’t get injured. What happened?”

Tears were pricking your eyes and you said quietly, “Please just drop it.”

He shook his head and said “I can’t do that. Come on, let’s go down to medical.” He moved to walk towards the door but you stopped him yelling “NO. Please, no it’s fine I’m fine… It’s not a big deal Buck.”

Confused and concerned, he stepped closer to you and looked you in the eyes. You shifted nervously and looked away. “Y/n look at me.” When you met his gaze again he could see the tears building in your eyes. Slowly, he asked “What happened?”

You shook your head, feeling trapped. You didn’t want him to know, but you didn’t know what to say. “Buck, I… I can’t…” you said looking away again. Swallowing, Bucky said “Let’s go back to your room, where it’s more private.”

You, knowing it was worthless to protest, nodded your head and started walking to the door. He had finally let go of your hand and you crossed your arms, hiding your hands in case anyone else was around the compound.

You and Buck made it back to your room and Bucky closed the door behind him, leaning up against it. You sat on your bed, arms still crossed and eyes downcast, not wanting to look him in the eyes.

Gently, Bucky asked “Please tell me what’s going on y/n.”

You shook your head, “I don’t know what I’m supposed to say. It won’t make any sense.”

He crossed his arms and said “Try me.”

“Why do you even care? No one else does.”

A bit taken aback, Bucky furrowed his eyebrows together. “What do you mean no one cares? Everyone Here loves you and cares about you. And I’m your friend, y/n. You listen to me whenever I need someone, I just want to do the same for you.”

You covered your face with your hands, resting your elbows on your knees. Tears began trailing down your face. “I don’t even know where to start,” you blurted out. You didn’t want to hold it down anymore, and even if you did, you didn’t think Bucky was going to let you. Sitting back up, you clasped your hands together, staring at the wall. You shook your head. “I’m a fucking train wreck. Always have been. No one cared so I learned to hide it away, I didn’t tell anyone. Something bout attention.” you let out a bitter laugh. “I learned how to deal with it on my own so I never tried to talk to anyone. I didn’t want to bother you guys.”

Bucky remained silent, listening attentively. He was getting a horrible feeling in his stomach as he realized why you were bleeding. Clearing his throat, he hesitantly asked, “And how do you deal with it?”, knowing the answer already.

Taking a deep breath, you stood up. Bucky was confused as to what you were doing, but then you pulled your shirt over your head and dropped it on the ground. Bucky couldn’t help the widening of his eyes or the sharp intake of breath at what he saw. Your entire torso and both arms were almost completely covered with scars. Old and new, deep and shallow. But the ones that concerned him the most were the ones from last night.

They were deep, and probably needed stitches. But it was too late for that. He stepped closer to you, trying to get a closer look. He was speechless, and the color was draining from his face as he looked closer. “Y/n…”

“I’m sorry.” you choked out, sobs beginning to overtake your body. “Fuck…” you muttered, trying to turn away to hide. You suddenly felt like the room was much too small, and you did not want to appear weaker than you already did right now.

Bucky pulled you into him, despite your resistance. You tensed up and tried to push away, but Bucky kept a tight hold on you though, and eventually you gave in, melting into his hold and crying harder. It was no use trying to stop it. You were overwhelmed, you felt out of control, and you wanted nothing more than to run away and get some control back.

You kept sputtering apologies but Bucky kept shushing you, not having any of it. In his eyes you had nothing to be sorry for, he was worried, but he had no idea it would be this bad. He wanted to help you but he felt like he was in way over his head. All he knew was that right now you needed someone to lean on.

You were trying to get a handle on your emotions, but the more you tried it seemed to just get worse. Your breathing was getting shallower and your heart rate was getting faster. You felt trapped and you just wanted him to leave so you could take care of it.

Bucky had picked up on this and held you a little tighter, as tightly as he could without hurting you. “Breath doll. I got you, you’re safe.” He deepened his own breathing and rubbed your back, trying to get you to match his. “Bucky please, just...fuck I… I just need to…” you brought one of your hands to your sides, digging your nails into your skin trying to get some relief.

He hushed you again, pulling away your hand despite your whimpering. “I know you feel like you do, but you don’t need it. Let me help you y/n. Just try to breathe with me.”

You buried your face in his chest, feeling helpless in the situation. You needed to feel better but the only way you knew how was through hurting yourself. Which Bucky wasn’t making an option. You closed your eyes and balled your hands into fists against his chest, trying to focus on your inhaling and exhaling. You tried to slow it down, dragging out each breath like Bucky was. It took a long time, but eventually your panic fell and only your tears remained.

Now that you felt a little more in control, shame and embarrassment at what had just happened began to overtake you. How could you be so pathetic as to crack like this? You suddenly felt extremely exposed and vulnerable, and you wanted to hide away. Go back to the way it was. You tried to wrestle yourself out of his tight hold, but it was no use.

Bucky still held you tightly, afraid you would start again if he let go. “I’m sorry y/n. That I didn’t notice, tht I didn’t say anything when I did, and that no one else did. Those people in your past were wrong. You deserve so much more than this. You’re not a mistake y/n. I may not fully understand y/n, but I want to.”

You shook your head. “I shouldn’t have pulled you into this. You don’t deserve this on top of everything you went through. I - there’s no escaping this, and I’ve accepted that.” You looked back up to meet his eyes. “You don’t deserve to watch me unravel. Just… try to forget this.”

Bucky’s heart broke a little bit more for you. That you didn’t want help because you didn’t want to hurt anyone. That you truly believed that you were a burden. The hopelessness and the casualty of how you said that there was no escaping this...it scared him. Still, he tried not to show this and shook his head. Pulling You back into his arms.

“You know I can’t do that y/n, even if I wanted to. You don;t have to do this alone. You don’t have to hide from me, you can’t taint me. You are not and never could be a burden to me or anyone on this team. I know this helps and you feel like it’s the only thing that will, but you can’t keep doing this to yourself.” He felt tears pricking his eyes. “I can’t stand the idea of you hurting yourself. You’ve been hurting for long enough. Let me help you, please.”

You sighed, closing your eyes and shaking your head slightly. “I want to, I want to so bad,” you whispered. “How can you help me?”

Bucky tried to piece together a few ideas that would help you while not invading your privacy either. “Well, I’m always here to talk to. You know I’m up at all hours of the day y/n. I’m just a few doors down. I would like to take what you’re using but I understand if it’s too soon for that. Just please, tell me before you do this. And if you can’t, just...find me after.”

You pondered for a few moments before you asked, “Are you going to tell anyone?”

Bukcy sighed a little. “I won’t tell anyone you don’t want me to. But…” he started, speaking gently so as not to freak you out with his request, “I think we need to tell Bruce.”

You tensed and shook your head, and Bucky continued “Y/n some of these are really bad. You should have gotten stitches. They could get infected and make things a whole lot worse than they are now.” You had started crying again, knowing he was right but not wanting to admit it.

After a few moments of silence, Bucky asked “Do you trust me?”

You nodded your head slowly.

Bucky let out a small breath of relief. “Can I bring you down to medical?”

You weighed your options a little, coming to the conclusion that maybe this was best. “Will you stay with me?”

“Whatever you need y/n”

You took a moment before nodding again. Bucky smiled a little before saying “We all care about you y/n. Always will.”

“Thank you,” you said softly.

“Anytime,” he said, giving you a small squeeze before releasing his grip on you. You immediately grabbed your shirt and pulled it back on, crossing your arms over your chest as you met his gaze again. He gave you a soft smile which you returned shyly. “Why are you being so nice to me?”

“Because I’m your friend. And you would do the same for me.” he replied.

You looked down and nodded a little. After a few moments Bucky asked “You ready to go?”

You bit your lip nervously. “Yeah. yeah I think so.”

780 notes · View notes

qvid-pro-qvo · 4 years

Text

a double shot for me (with a splash of you)

also known as a coffee shop au no one asked for, but i wanted. aaron hotchner x gender neutral reader.

word count: 8628

rating: teen, for lots and lots of coffee consumption, baked goods, and falling in love one cup at a time.

Penelope sees it first.

Ever since JJ left, cases fall on her more and more. Those pesky paper files that the FBI insists on keeping around. Dark manila folders embossed only to be thrown away. It’s a shame, but those are the ones she has to take up to Hotch’s office.

She makes the climb, moves to his door with purpose. Reaches out to knock, clutching one of her more muted pens in case Hotch needs one to sign. Not likely, but the last time she had one with a fuzzy pink thing on a spring, and the visual of Hotch signing one of their cases with that much... fluff made her eyes cross.

Anyway. She’s up and in, Hotch giving his permission, and the files in her arms get placed in his box.

“Just a couple of signatures,” she informs him.

“Are these finished consults?” he asks, and she fills him on what details she can. It’s while she’s filling him in, though, that he lifts a mug of coffee to his lips.

It’s a new mug. One that she’s never seen on his desk before. Definitely different, because the ones he usually chooses are the kind that the FBI keeps as standard issue, the ones that get stolen and restocked because they’re convenient and... just okay, as far as mugs goes. They hold coffee effectively enough, is what she’s saying.

But this is a mug. A kind of cute mug, with a logo on the front of some coffee shop. It’s white, too, almost a shock on the more somber mahogany of her boss’s desk.

“Garcia?”

She realizes then that she stopped talking. Hotch is staring up at her, mug still poised halfway up to his lips, and she blinks, mouth falling open a little.

“I’m - I’m sorry, sir. I was just admiring that mug you have. Is that place any good? It opened up pretty recently, right?”

He glances at it. Seems to notice it for the first time as well, and his face softens. That’s the only way Penelope can describe it, as if looking at the mug makes him think of something... good.

But when he talks, it’s like any other conversation. As if that little moment she spies doesn’t happen. Nods, face just on this side of neutral.

“Yeah, I like their coffee. Fair prices, too, even with the knowledge that a building full of FBI agents are here to overcharge.”

She chuckles, but it’s for more than the joke. It’s at the fact that Hotch seems that close to smiling himself, and she pulls back from his desk with a little grin. “All right, sir. Thank you.” Her head dips a little.

“Thank you,” he shoots back, and when she leaves, she thinks that maybe she’ll let that place be all his.

The first time Aaron-With-Two-A’s comes into your coffee shop (distinguishing him from Aron-With-One-A and Aahron-With-An-H), you’re pretty smitten with him. You can’t tell if it’s the fitted suit and tie, the jawline, or the small smile he gives you when he orders, but by the time you serve him with an extra bright smile that he kindly returns... well, you’re in love. He could be the love of your life. Especially when he drops a tip in the jar.

An exaggeration, of course. It’s not love.

Maybe.

Anyway, you see him walk out the door and at that point you know that you’ll never see him again. This isn’t the part of town that usually gets the suits, and there are shops closer to where they gather that he’ll probably use next. Your luck is shitty anyway, so anyone like that who brings you a little bit a joy would, of course, never return. You’re already a late bloomer, and known for your bad decisions, so while you’re very thankful for your job you know it’s not luck that landed you where you are.

But you suck it up, of course. You can’t afford to get distracted. You’re the only one working a shift in the afternoons, and that time is used for cleaning and second-guessing every decision you make, along with doing your best to make damn good coffee.

But he comes back. More than once. Get his same order, a very plain black coffee with a couple of sugars, and you hand it over across the bar each time, sometimes going out of your way to put it in his hands. Smiling, your handwriting the scrawl on the cup that spells out his name.

A-A-R-O-N.

He’s becomes a regular, and you feel comfortable calling him that. It isn’t every day he comes in, not even close. Sometimes he’s gone for three weeks at a time, but he always trails back in, bright and early for a hot cup. Soon, you’re adding smiley faces to the end of his name, and the first time you do it you can’t help but peek out behind the pastry case to watch him see it.

He smiles. You smile. It’s a win.

Slowly small talk develops. It’s weeks, pulling little tidbits from him each time you take his order. Basically, what happens is you ramble for too long, he smiles and responds, and the process repeats.

But he seems to enjoy himself, and you definitely are, and as long as the line isn’t held up, you don’t really mind.

Of course, the days aren’t all peaches and cream (though the peach galette you sell always tastes like it). One day, a slower Tuesday, you’re trying to hide the way your chest aches, after a particularly brutal phone call with your mother that brought tears to your eyes.

Why are you wasting your time on this – this coffee shop? she had asked. Mocked. You gave up a lot for that dream of yours, and you’re just scraping by –

And you’d tried to explain. You really had. What it meant to you, to start this on your own, to get away from your past, your bad decisions, your spouse. From what was holding you back. But she snapped, and she scolded, and as you closed your eyes and hung up there had been nothing you could do but gasp for air.

Her words overwhelm you behind the counter, and you close your eyes tight at the memory, not realizing that at the same time, the coffee cup you’re holding overflows.

The coffee scalds you. Because it’s fucking coffee. You let out a cry, dropping the cup all over the floor, grateful it’s only a cardboard one for to-go orders. It splashes your no-longer-clean jeans, and at that moment you’re done. You’re just done. Your hands are shaking, and burned, and you push to the sink in a gasped sob. Your hair falls in your eyes, gets shoved back, and once it falls forward again you reach up to pull at it overwhelmed.

Your name is called out, but you wave the hand that isn’t stinging, splashing water without meaning to when the faucet gets going. “I’m fine, just - just give a minute, I’ll get it right out.”

“Are you okay?”

It’s an innocent question. And you should be more put together, it’s a goddamn customer, but your already shitty day just peaks and you whirl around to snap before even processing who’s in front of you.

“Do I fucking look - oh. Oh, my god.”

It’s Aaron. With two As. The coffee you spilled? His. The voice. His? The look of concern, one that makes your cheeks flush with a red you haven’t felt in a long time? His.

Of course. The one time you yell at a customer, and it just happens to the one you have a raging crush on.

“I’m - I’m so s-sorry,” you stammer. “Like I said, it’ll be right out, I just...” You don’t even know how to recover, instead choosing to turn back to your hand, which luckily is not blistering. It’s just bright red, inflamed. The cold water over it helps, but you can still feel the undercurrent of the sting. However, you still have a job to do and you force yourself to pull way, moving to grab another to-go cup. “I’ll get you a fresh one, okay? Give me a minute.”

“Put your hand back under the faucet.” It’s not an order, but his voice carries the weight of one, and you blink a few times to stop the tears before moving back to the sink, whimpering as the cool once more rushes over your skin. “Do you need me to go get anything? Is there anyone in the back to help you?”

You can’t help your snort. It feels snotty with the tears that you’re just barely holding back. Why is he being so nice? You just make the coffee.

“No. It’s just me this morning. Just my luck, right?” The crushing loneliness of that statement floors you, and you find yourself staring at the running water to avoid his eyes.

The water is the only noise in the room, besides your occasional sniffle. After a moment, you force yourself to pull back from the water, eyes closing tightly as the pain ramps up again. And Aaron is still there, his eyes holding an intense kind of pity, and you realize his hand is reaching for yours.

He clears his throat as you raise a brow at the gesture. “I’m not a doctor, but I have a third-grader at home. Burns are nothing new to me.” You give him a weak smile (of course, he’s a father), and he takes your hand gently, looking over it with that classic intensity. He’s furrowing his brow at it for a while, and the whole time he’s just... holding your hand.

“Your professional opinion?” you ask in a shaky voice, and he hums, turning it over to look at your palm. He looks up at you again, and when he speaks it’s deadpan, brow furrowed.

“I don’t know. I think we’ll have to cut it off.”

There’s a beat, and then you’re sputtering out a laugh before you can stop yourself. He smirks before letting you pull your hand back. The pure shock of the statement brings you back from the edge, and the tears in your eyes seem to vanish as you realize you’re giggling, a hectic kind of sound. He doesn’t seem to mind the horrific noises coming from you, though, because he’s still watching you, one hand sliding into his pocket as his face relaxes.

“You’ll be okay. It’ll heal on its own – just make sure if any blisters appear you don’t pop them.”

He gets a playful glare for his efforts, and you reach for a clean washcloth, soaking it in cold water and wrapping it around the affected hand.

“Any other advice?” you ask him, and his eyes glance toward the coffee on the floor.

“No. Fresh out, but. Let me help you clean up.”

You huff out another laugh. Was he serious? “And ruin your suit?” You gesture to his whole outfit. Hell, he’s got a tie on that screams expensive, shoes that surely are the cost of a full day’s profit. “Trust me. Coffee smell stays with you. And once it’s bad, it’s bad. I’ll get it, after I make you another coffee, one you can actually take with you.”

He doesn’t seem too convinced. For a moment, he looks almost like he’s going to ignore you, take off his jacket, and grab the mop. But no matter how much you would love to see that, you shake your head, and emphasize it again. “No. I’ll do the cleaning.”

Your stern tone gets him to lift his hands, in surrender. You smile, then, a real one, without much snot, and he starts moving towards the door.

“You’ll have a good day, all right?” He says it so… so confidently, so assuredly. And smoothly pulls out his usual two-dollar tip from his wallet, dropping it in the jar.

“You don’t want your coffee?” you call out, but it’s like he doesn’t hear you. And then he’s leaving, and you’re trying to think of what to say. Something, anything, to thank him for his kindness.

“Wait!” you cry out. You must sound desperate, because he stops and when he turns back to you, you’re rummaging around behind the counter. You almost completely disappear for a moment before you’re popping back up, your prize in hand.

“Here.” The gift is thrust forward. “To say thank you. Really. You didn’t have to stay, and you did. And. I think my day will be better because of it.”

He takes it from you, turning it over in his hands.

“A coffee mug.”

Suddenly, the gesture feels stupid, and your face flushes as he keeps turning it over in his fingers. “Yeah, I - I would’ve given you a ticket or something, for a free coffee and pastry, but I only printed those for the week of the grand opening. I’m sorry, really, it’s dumb, I can take it back, and we can pretend this never happened -”

But when he looks up at you, you stop talking. The earth has stopped spinning, as far as you’re concerned. His eyes have wrinkles at the corners, because you suppose that’s what happens when he grins. You find yourself tracing them, unable to pull your gaze away. In this light, he looks brilliant. The shine of the early morning sun is dancing on his features, and you feel like an idiot for even thinking it but it’s all you can think.

“I can just… I owe you,” you finally say, and to that he shakes his head.

“No. This is – this is great.” And he means it, chuckling with it.

With a lift of the mug, he turns and goes out the door, leaving you a little agape as the world starts turning once again. And in that moment, the coffee smell is worth it, just so you can watch him disappear from view.

Rossi notices because he notices Aaron.

After all, the man’s life is… pretty routine. There are parts about the job that have him yanked all over the place, but the days that they’re at home, it’s methodical. A comfort in a way, knowing that some things never change.

At work before everyone else. Working the day away. Coming down for lunch (or not, depending what he (or Jess) managed to make at home for him and Jack in the evenings). Going back up, and working until everyone else leaves. He takes phone calls and meetings in his office, and every so often one of the team ventures up to interrupt, but. All in all, a pretty straightforward schedule most days of the week.

Dave doesn’t like to burn the midnight oil unless a book’s got him hooked, or get up too early unless there’s something in it for him, and so he’s always trailing in behind him, still before the others but at a time that’s sane.

Until one day. Aaron comes in a little later, later enough to catch the same elevator, and there’s a look on his face that’s a little… hurried.

There’s a cursory scan – no rumpled clothing, no identifying marks. And Aaron knows that he has eyes on him, because he ducks his head, not looking in his direction. Besides, Hotch isn’t exactly the type for one-night-stands, and so Dave rules it out with a nod and a press of the elevator button.

“Dave,” the unit chief acknowledges, and then steps off of the elevator once they arrive.

So. Something’s up.

Dave doesn’t confront him immediately, though. Just lingers, watches. Hotch knows that eyes are on him, but Rossi’s good enough that that doesn’t matter, especially when it happens again. Another elevator ride together,

“So,” he asks his friend, glancing at him out of the corner of his eye. “Who’s got you running late?”

There’s not an immediate answer. Hell, the guy almost looks chastened at it, like Rossi’s scolding him for coming in at 7:45 instead of 7:15. How dare he make it in only fifteen minutes before eight in the morning?

“There’s this… coffee shop I like to hit before work. Stumbled into it one morning, and…” Hotch murmurs. He pauses, and the numbers keep climbing.

“Yes?”

If anything, Hotch’s face seems to flame, working his jaw for a second as he considers telling Dave what he already figures. “The barista. Think they own it, too, and makes good coffee in the mornings.”

Rossi doesn’t say anything at first. Just chuckles, shaking his head a bit.

“Well. Have you gotten this owner’s number?”

The silence is very telling, and Rossi just laughs.

“Come on, Aaron. What’s the worst that could happen?”

“Well, a rejection, for one,” Hotch replies with a look shot Dave’s way, but the older man just shakes his head again.

“Rejecting a handsome FBI agent who frequently pays the bills? Nah, I think you’ve got it,” he says, with a hand reaching to smack Aaron on the back. It’s that he leaves him with, along with another call over his shoulder.

“Y’know, once you get the number, you probably won’t have to spend so much on coffee!”

The days continue to pass by. Slowly, and surely, your little place seems to get some attention. More customers, more regulars. You manage to remember the names of your people most of the time, too, when the late nights keeping books and thinking of new bakery ideas don’t run away from you. And with those days, Aaron remains.

He still comes in the morning, at the asscrack of dawn. Of course, you don’t call it the asscrack of dawn in front of him, but often you’re still yawning when he comes in and asks for his order. And with it, since he’s so early, he stays to chat more and more. Sometimes, you see him glance at his watch, and excuse himself in a rush, and you can’t help but feel a little thrill at the thought that he just… likes talking to you that much.

There’s worry with it, too. What if he just feels so obligated to stick around? Are you forcing him to stay back longer than he needs to? But those fears are squashed by the way he always looks back to wave at you, lifting the cup of coffee you made him.

Of course, right after that he’s gone.

It’s like he vanishes. No sign of him in the mornings, and you feel a little bit of sorrow over the loss. But of course, immediately there’s a bit of embarrassment with that sorrow. You barely knew the guy, was he really worth a bit of mourning? But he truly just disappears, and for a moment your head comes up with crazy explanations as a way to cope without your early morning conversations, deal with the continued exhaustion that weighs on you as your business grows.

All hope is not lost, however, because it’s another late night into early morning balancing books when you see Aaron next.

It’s been a couple of weeks. You don’t exactly know what he does, but you know it’s something that requires the suit and tie, so you figure it’s important. Maybe a business trip, or something else that kept him away from your shop, but either way, it doesn’t matter. Because he’s back, and he gives you a little smile when you take his order, even when you can only yawn your way through it. The conversations even flow, like they did before, another source of incredible joy.

“I’m so sorry,” you say, on the tail end of yet another jaw-popping yawn. “I don’t know what’s gotten into me.” Your hands lift above your head in a stretch, and his gaze drops to the tip jar where he deposits his normal amount: two dollar bills.

“We all have those mornings,” he says with a chuckle. “It’s not a problem.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you have a morning like this,” you tease. Your hands move easily, even in your exhaustion, making his usual order with a flourish. Two sugars, in a little to-go cup, coffee over the top to make sure it’s mixed in. “What’s your secret? Don’t tell me you’re an energy drink fanatic. I’d feel like you were going behind my back.”

“No, no. Just your coffee,” he returns, and it’s easy. Comes out of him without any thought. If you blush, you hope he doesn’t notice, because your face is turned to his cup to make sure it doesn’t overflow.

“You’re too kind.” Lid on top, secured tightly, and when you turn back to him and hand it over, he doesn’t turn away. His comment makes you feel bold, too, so the name you write on it has a winky-face instead of a smiley-face. “Don’t stay away too long, my good days always come when you’re my first customer,” you add, and something seems to… shift.

Because Aaron doesn’t turn away. Smiles at you, at the coffee cup, and then glances back behind him. There’s no one else in the shop, there never is this early – it becomes known around the city as a good place to get a quick bite later in the day, set up and do some studying for a while since the black cups of coffee can be bottomless. But he checks anyway and then passes his coffee cup from one to the other, reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a little card.

“I was… politely encouraged by a coworker to take the leap,” he admits, and your heart is pounding in your chest. You’re offered the little white cardstock, and when you look at it, you see his full name. It feels like a momentous occasion, Aaron-with-two-As shifting to Aaron Hotchner. “And if you’re willing, I would love to go on a date with you. Get to know you more.”

Then there’s a pause, and there’s a cloud of… something. You watch it come and go, and the whole time you just offer the same smile, a smile that seems to rouse him of whatever he’s thinking about.

“But, if you don’t want to, I understand. My work life is pretty hectic, as I’m sure you can guess, and I know you know I have a son –“

“I would love to.”

It’s the easiest thing to say, because you feel it with every fiber of your being. Because Aaron Hotchner seems like a really sweet guy, who works in Quantico and still comes by your coffee shop every morning he can.

“Really, Aaron. I would. As you can guess, my schedule’s pretty routine, but I do close as of right now, so, our dinners might have to be later rather than earlier –“

“Dinners?” he says it with a small smile, and you flush at the slip.

“I didn’t mean to… assume anything, but. Whatever we get a chance to do, or keep doing, I would love to. Just. Give me a second.”

You don’t wait any longer. Your fingers move to your phone, input his number, and immediately send him a text, with your name. When his phone buzzes, you smirk.

“Now you have mine, too. Easy as pie.”

When he leaves, that day, it feels like something special. You don’t know what, just yet, but it feels new, and bright, and good.

Yeah, you think to yourself, I hope we get to do at least a couple of dinners.

Emily notices next.

It’s a later night. The whole team has their nose buried in something, whether it be a consult or a report or, God forbid, something for Strauss. There’s work to be done, and unfortunately the jet life is only a small part of it.

She’s working on a report that particular evening. This case ended a few days ago, but since shots were fired it’s taken longer to sort through. Positioning, discharge time, how many shots, where, at who, with who. A nightmare, but incredibly necessary, and she’s done with it soon enough.

Her coat mocks her as she rises to her feet. So close to picking it up, dressing, and heading out the door. But she mentally promises to be right back, that home is just a little visit to Hotch’s office away.

She climbs the steps, and is glad to see the door is cracked open, that warm lamplight is filtering out from the open blinds. It means that when she knocks, he’ll let her in.

A couple taps of her knuckles. She waits a beat, two. No response.

Huh.

Another tap. Tries to peek in, but the door is just open enough that she can only glance in with one eye. She’s not usually one to snoop without the pushing from Derek or Penelope, but her eyes are tired and she’s ready for a night in with Sergio.

Is he... is he on his phone?

His cell phone?

And smiling?

Her eyes widen a bit, and she pulls back immediately. At this point in the night, Hotch is nothing but business. Tired, like all the rest, and if he’s bent over anything, it’s a file he needs to sign off on. Maybe Jack. Maybe he got a picture from Jess…

But he’s... distracted. And she knows Hotch’s smile when he’s looking at Jack, and what she had seen is not that.

She knocks again. A lot louder, and when he responds, it’s quick. But not quick enough. There’s a beat, and she narrows her eyes.

“Come in.”

She pushes into the room, file in both hands. Immediately her eyes drop to his desk, but his cell is gone. She looks up at him, and he’s looking at her, like nothing’s the matter, like he wasn’t just smiling at his phone –

“Prentiss?” he asks. Brows furrowed at her, their permanent state.

She’s brought back to reality. Because that’s what this is, reality. He was probably just... looking at a picture, or a video, or… something. “Right. Sorry. Just finished up my report for the Douglass case. Wanted to drop it off before I headed out.”

“I’ll sign off on it tonight,” he tells her, and he bends over an open file on his desk. Like nothing ever happened. “Thank you, agent.”

She thinks on that, jogging down to her desk. Glances behind her at the shine of the light from his office. Pulls her coat on, flicks her hair over the collar.

Huh.

Getting to know Aaron Hotchner is a joy.

It’s a little complicated, finding a date that works for the both of you. Not because of anything other than clashing schedules, and it’s a good learning experience to realize that Aaron Hotchner is always on call. But there are points when he’s home, and free, and you finally are churning enough profit for someone else to close in the evenings, so the nights are what work the best.

And dinner is… great. It’s fantastic, really, and you get to know Aaron Hotchner as that, not just Aaron with the great smile and lines at the corner of the eyes. Well, he definitely still has the great smile, but now you know the whole person.

He tells you about his job, what it means to him, and it feels like you’re truly getting to know him. You can tell he’s passionate about what he does, helping people, and you find yourself enthralled by the way he speaks about his position, his team.

“Sometimes it hurts, knowing what we’re leaving behind when we fly back,” he tells you. “But. I also know there isn’t any other group of people I could this with. None of us are perfect, but when we’re together I know we can get the job done.”

Aaron doesn’t get animated, exactly. His passion is a quiet one, simmering deep within him, right where his heart is. He doesn’t talk with his hands, gesticulate or raise his voice. No, he talks with his eyes. In the way he locks gazes with you, looks up at you from the meal, in the way they crinkle with his little smiles and get warm when he mentions his son.

You’re captivated.

And he gets to know you, too, a little. A lot, really, and you feel like you’re rambling, but you’ve got his full attention, a little smile behind his clasped hands as he listens to you wax poetic about the inherent romanticism of owning your own café.

Well. Not really, but it feels like it comes pretty close to that lecture (a different lecture, for a different time).

After all, it’s your place. It’s a place for the college kids in the mornings and the evenings who suck down your cold brew incessantly. It’s a place for the workers at after sunrise, who just want a quick treat before sitting down and doing real jobs. For the curious in the afternoons, who run their fingers over your bookshelves and sit down for a place to think. It’s a place for the nerdy, and the lazy, and the studious, and the dreamers. It’s yours, and it’s kind of romantic.

“I know it’s not a lot of people’s dreams, to open a café. It’s… childish, as my mother would say,” you tell him. “But it’s more than just a shop to me. It’s owning a business, running something on my own, creating new things for people to try. It’s perfecting my bakes, and now, teaching others to. Coming up with recipes is one of my favorite things, even more than the latte flavor of the month. Giving people a place to come and be comfortable, y’know?”

You’re rambling again, and you find yourself hiding behind a sip of your wine, but he’s nodding. Like he gets it.

“I don’t think it’s childish at all,” he tells you, in a tone that makes your heart swell. “A dream is a dream, isn’t it? We all have them.”

And maybe you’re putting a lot on Aaron Hotchner, but it’s nice to get to know someone who understands, even just a little.

One date turns into two, and then three. They’re spread out, over a couple of weeks, the two of you stealing a few hours when you can. It’s the dating life of two very busy people, but neither of you mind. Each pairing of dinner and drinks is full of life and laughter and a little bit of something else.

You feel so guilty when the next time you’re meant to spend time together, another late evening, has to get pushed back. Aaron had warned you that the first cancellation would probably come from him, but it’s you texting at 5:30, letting him know that your usual closer bailed because of the flu.

It’s not a problem for me to take over, but it means that I’m going to be here until 10:00 or 10:30 cleaning up and prepping the dough for tomorrow morning. :(, you say, and add the frowny face for effect. You prefer them over emojis, just because you can’t draw emojis on coffee cups.

Frowny faces are pretty serious, he quips, but your little chuckle is weak when you read it in between orders.

I’m so, so sorry, I know it’s last minute.

Don’t worry, he texts back, quick as can be. I promise I understand. We’ll just do next week.

You’re sure? I can try and find someone to cover for an hour, at 7:30 or so.

Don’t put that stress on yourself. Next week, and it’ll be extra special to make up for it.

So that’s that. Your heart breaks a little knowing you won’t see him, but his words make you feel a little less guilty. Only marginally, really, but you have other things to focus on, like the onslaught of cleaning that comes after the doors are locked.

At 9:30, you’re sending the last stragglers away, which gets you a late start to cleaning up. Your stomach is rumbling, too, because dinner at your home didn’t end up happening.

But at 10:00, when all seems lost, and you’re realizing that 10:30 is going to be more like 11:00, Aaron’s there.

At first you don’t even realize it’s him. You’re so focused on scrubbing and cleaning the espresso machine that the person standing outside isn’t even a thought. But then your phone buzzes, and when you look over, it’s him, with a bag of something that looks like food.

You going to leave me out in the cold?

You snort at the text, shaking your head, lifting your hands and showing the suds to him through the glass. “Two minutes,” you mouth over, and he smiles at that. At you.

You’re hurrying to wash and dry your hands on the towel at your waist, and when you make your way to the door he hasn’t stopped smiling at you. The door unlocks with a clank, and when you pull it open the cold air rushes in, along with Aaron Hotchner. Of course, it’s hard to acknowledge him, when you can smell what he brought you.

“Aren’t I the one who’s supposed to be making it up to you?” you remind him, but there’s something weak in your voice when you feel him pull you into a hug. With it, you feel his lips gently press against your hair.

It’s exactly what you needed. A break, some food, and him. And even though it’s only for a short moment, fifteen minutes while you scarf down what he’s brought you, knowing he was there is what pushes you through the end of the night.

And the fact that Aaron sticks around to stack the chairs, his jacket off and sleeves rolled up?

It helps a little bit, too.

Derek’s embarrassed, but he’s the last to catch on. And only because it’s right in his face.

To be fair, he wasn’t exactly looking. There were other things to worry about, bigger fish to fry, and Hotch’s love life wasn’t exactly top of the list. But Emily mentions the possibility, and then Garcia, and then even Rossi makes a comment that gets him a dirty look from the boss.

Coming together to gossip about Hotch’s love life is at the very least entertaining and watching the team watch their boss becomes Derek’s pastime. Emily swears that he’s always texting someone with a grin on his face, and Garcia informs them of Hotch’s newest mug and his eyes as he did so (yeah, his eyes). Rossi doesn’t play along as much as the others would prefer, but he has a glint in his gaze when they bring it up.

Derek even does his best to spy, peek around corners when he knows Hotch is close, but even with his best efforts, he comes up empty-handed. For a minute, he almost thinks the team is pulling a prank on him, but his girl insists that something’s up.

“Baby, the look on his face. I’ve never seen such a wistful look at an innocuous cup of coffee before.” The two of them are lingering in her office after a long day, his offer of a ride home keeping him behind while she finishes something on her screens.

His snort comes with a shake of his head. “I’d believe it was indigestion at this point, over… what? A fling?”

“It’s Hotch,” Garcia laughs. She reaches up, poking Derek in that arm. “You really think he’s the type of have a fling? No. Whoever it is, they matter, and matter enough that he has not let that mug come off of his desk. He uses it every day, Derek. Every. Day.”

Point taken, but Derek is still skeptical. It’s a coffee mug.

He takes the bait, though. He watches and waits. Observes. But Hotch is often a door that stays closed.

Until everything seems to go to shit one day and he has to open up.

It’s a really bad case, and the jet is a last-minute decision. The whole team thinks they’re going home, after just landing back, and end up with thirty minutes to pack for a plane back to Nashville. Sure, Derek understands, but he has plans he has to cancel, too (plans that Emily teases him relentlessly about once it all calms down). Overall, not the best way to end the week.

Everyone goes to make their respective phone calls, or at least, those that need to. But before Derek can put his phone up to his ear, moving to the conference room for some privacy, he hears him.

Hotch.

He’s just on the other side, and talking softly, but the sudden shift means not much else is happening besides last-minute packing. So Derek hears, and he eavesdrops.

And he listens.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you. I know that there wasn’t any warning –“ Hotch immediately starts, but whoever is on the other end must him off. He follows it up with the slightest hum and it��s… warm. It makes Derek’s eyebrow lift, but he keeps his distance, tries to glance around the corner.

Hotch is sitting, leaning on the edge of the round table. His legs are crossed, and his face is tilted downward. He looks pained, with the furrow in his brow, but the person on the other end seems to be talking sense. After all, Hotch lifts his hand and wipes, and the furrow is gone, and he’s smiling again.

“I know, but. Putting it into practice is still hard for me. Jack… he’s… he’s a strong kid, but I know days like these are the hardest.”

There’s some more words from the person on the other end of the line. Hotch smiles, a small private thing and Derek sees, in that moment, what Penelope means. About it being… different. And in that moment, Hotch is thrown back to Haley, and it looked like for his boss to get to talk to her.

There’s an echo of that here.

“I owe you, really. Jess will come and relieve you as soon as she can… Okay. Thank you, again, and I’ll call you when we land back in Nashville, okay? And if I could talk to Jack, then… Perfect. Okay. Have a good night, yeah?”

Derek’s gone, before Hotch finishes his conversation. His hand is holding his phone up to his ear, walking down towards the stairs. But there’s no one on the other end, and all he can think about is how Penelope is going to say how much she told him so.

Three dates turn into ten. There are dinners and lunches and time stolen when the two of you can. There’s coffee in the mornings and decaf in the evenings. He teases you for it, your downright addiction, but a couple of kisses that taste like French vanilla follow it.

It’s sweet. And you like the way he tastes even without the coffee on his lips.

However, you know it’s more than just sweet dates. There’s layers to Aaron Hotchner, ones that get peeled back alongside yours. It’s opening up to each other, on walks after dinner. Those are good, the two of you, side-by-side, because it’s an even playing field. No bar between the two of you, no coffee shop, no badge. Just. You both.

You tell him about home, and what it meant to leave. He’s seen the impact of your mother, the way she winds you up and leave you hanging, but you tell him about the tan line on your ring finger. The way you were left broken and nowhere to go but away to follow a dream, because the dream was the only lifeline you had left. What else could you do, with a hobby and a throwaway degree in business admin?

He tells you about Haley. About her laugh, about her smile. About the way they would poke and prod and teach each other until the two of them were rolling on the floor. You see how much he loved her, how much he loves her still. And when he talks about Jack, well, there’s nothing that can stop him from absolutely gushing, and you don’t want him to. Seeing this just affirms that Jack’s the luckiest kid in the world to have a father that cares about him so much.

There are layers, to each of you. But like a good chocolate-filled croissant, the insides are worth it.

And you get to meet Jack, and Jess. Finally, it feels like, after hearing so much about each of them. The four of you end up going to the zoo, on a weekend, an outing with Aunt Jess and Dad’s new friend, and by the end of it you’re smitten with all of them. Because Jack gets a lot from his father. A fierce protectiveness, a kind heart, incredible perception, and a love of chocolate ice cream.

“Do you like chocolate?” he asks you, suddenly, as the four of you eat your scoops from the vendor. Hotch and Jess are chatting, so they don’t hear the question.

“I like chocolate a lot,” you tell him. “What about you?”

He seems to ponder it a second, before shrugging, taking a long lick of his cone. “It’s all right. Second favorite to mint chip, but above cookie dough.”

You laugh a little, seeing the logic. “I see. I think if you switch cookie dough and mint chip, we’re on the same page there, buddy.”

He nods. “What about my dad? Where does he go?”

It’s a jump you can’t connect, and you raise a brow at him, stopping in your tracks and Jack doing the same.

“On the list. Of things you like. Where’s Dad go?”

“Oh.” Your cheeks are flushing, and you realize that Jess and Aaron have stopped their conversation, are watching the two of you. But there’s only one true answer, and you smile at him. “Well, he’s at the top of the list, Jack. I really like your dad, and… I hope I can keep spending time with the two of you. And Aunt Jess, of course.”

There’s a beat. Jack takes a long lick of his cone, getting some on his nose, and then shrugs again, a little bashful as he looks at you again.

“Yeah, that’d be cool. I like talking to you. And Aunt Jess doesn’t like chocolate, so I like that you’re on my team.”

You try to ignore the warmth that immediately floods you, especially when you look back behind you and Aaron is watching, his head ducked behind his cone so you can only see the edges of his smile. “I like being on your team, too,” you agree, leaning forward to offer a napkin, and Jess just chuckles, the four of you continuing on your merry way.

Things push forward. And some days are harder than others.

It’s complicated, after all. The more you learn about Aaron’s job, the more you realize how much he gives to it. And some of those days leave him worn down. You do your best to support him, to support all of them. And in return, they do the same for you.

The call comes in the middle of the day, and when you see it’s from Aaron you immediately smile. Your hands are elbow deep in a yeasted dough you’re kneading for fresh cinnamon rolls, but you’re able to lean down and answer it with your nose.

“Just a second, sweetheart.” You pull your hands from the mess, move to lift your phone to your shoulder and trap it with your ear. You feel a crick in your neck immediately, but it’s worth it. “Hey, sorry. I’m at the shop. Didn’t want to put you on speaker.”

“It’s okay,” he returns, and he sounds tired. Even in two words, it seems like he has to take a breath, to steady himself. “How’s the day going?”

You shrug, humming as you continue to work the ball of dough under your knuckles. “It’s all right. Ashley is running the register and Ben’s helping her work the front. They’re doing a good job. Makes it easy to focus on the good stuff.”

Aaron chuckles, just a little. It’s reserved. “You should bring some samples home to Jack, then. He loves taste-testing for you.”

There’s a pause, both in your hands and your response.

“Just Jack, then.”

His breath comes out again. Long and low. “Yeah. The case… we thought we had it solved, and then. Something came up. We’re flying back again, waiting for the jet to refuel.”

You know what that means. Even if he doesn’t often tell you, directly, outright, you know that it means another body. Another life lost. “Oh, sweetheart.”

“I had already called Jess, told her I’d be picking up Jack. Would you mind going to get him? I don’t want to jerk her around.”

“Of course.” It’s immediate, and you glance at your watch, blowing off remnants of flour. “He gets out at 4:00?”

“Yeah. I’m so sorry to do this to you, I know there wasn’t any warning –“

You click your tongue. “It’s not a problem. You know that. Besides, this dough rests overnight, and I can do some experimenting using your incredible oven, hmm?”

Aaron just lets out a little chuckle. There seems to be some relief there, but you can’t tell right away. “I know, but. Putting it into practice is still hard for me. Jack… he’s… he’s a strong kid, but I know days like these are the hardest.”

You nod, giving your neck a little stretch as you lift your shoulder to carry the load of the phone. “I know. It’s hard for him, and for you. But it’ll work out, okay? Just promise me you’ll be safe, for all of us.”

“I owe you, really,” he tells you. “Jess will come and relieve you as soon as she can…”

“She doesn’t need to rush. We’ve got it.”

And with that, you know it’s a load off of his mind. One you can take from him. “Okay. Thank you, again, and I’ll call you when we land back in Nashville, okay? And if I could talk to Jack, then…”

“I’ll make sure he’s available,” you reassure him, and his little sigh is… just what you needed to hear. To know that his head will be where it needs to be when he flies.

“Perfect. Okay. Have a good day, yeah?”

“I will. I love you.”

It comes out. Automatically. Your hands stop working again, and you feel color on your cheeks. Aaron doesn’t say anything either, and the two of you seem to sit in a kind of dangerous limbo.

But then he just chuckles. A sound on the receiver, like he’s standing to his feet. “I love you, too.”

“Be safe.”

It’s a gentle farewell, and you can’t help but stare at your phone as it resumes its place on the countertop, staring at the screensaver you have. The two of you, and Jack, looking up at the camera.

It works. It’s complicated, and comes from nowhere, but it works. The three of you, working together to build something special. You’ll never replace Haley, but you don’t to. It’s new, and brilliant, and happy, and you find that you have another dream taking shape, one that has the Hotchners front and center.

(And Reid? Well.

Spencer’s not unaware. Spencer actually puts all of the pieces together before almost anyone else, including your identity.

“I think you’ll find that I’m what you would call perceptive. Very perceptive.”

That’s what he says to Derek, at least, when he asks him how he already knew who the mystery date was. Dave offers Hotch a plus-one to a night over at the Rossi mansion for the team and their significant others, and Hotch actually takes him up on it. That’s when they meet you, for the first time, but Reid’s the only one who doesn’t seem to be surprised who walks through the door.

But no one else has been to the coffee shop that’s on the mug, or has seen the person that Hotch has been texting and calling, and… well.

Spencer has had the pleasure of doing both all in one morning. Because next to the coffee shop you work at is a bookstore specializing in rare editions, and one day Spencer decides to go before work.

He adds a little eyebrow wiggle to his words for Derek’s sake, too, which gets him punched in the shoulder.

It’s worth it.)

“You didn’t have to bring me breakfast,” you tell him, crossing your arms over your chest.

It’s a little firm, especially since you now know that Aaron’s drives have been fifteen minutes longer to stop at your place. The direct route to the FBI Headquarters breezes right by you, and getting off and stopping is definitely out of the way.

But he doesn’t care. And truly you don’t, when it’s him and you realize that the bag he has contains one warm sausage roll, and a glazed donut, fresh from the shop by his place. that melts when you bite into it. “I know you didn’t eat anything, and you hate trying to snack on the stuff you have yet to sell in the morning,” he says. Shrugging, as if it’s that simple, because to him, it is. “And I wanted to.”

“Did you get something for yourself, too?” you ask him.

“I wasn’t the one who had to leave in a hurry, was I?” he teases. His eyes are deep and dark, and you get caught in them when you catch his meaning.

Your face turns a crimson that he smirks at, leans forward to make it brighter with a kiss on your cheek. “Well, I wasn’t the one who was insisting on some last minute… affection,” you shoot back, but all that elicits is a low chuckle from him, all bass and gravel. “Besides, Mr. Profiler – question with a question. You didn’t eat, did you?”

He doesn’t answer, choosing instead to lean against the countertop you’re sitting on, watching as you pull out the two treats and placing them on some napkins you have right at the front. But his non-answer is definitely a ‘no,’ and you give him a look.

“One day I’m going to teach you to take care of yourself as well as you take care of others, okay? Here. We’ll split ‘em.”

You snag a plastic knife, and get to work, and soon there are two perfectly portioned plates of pastry in front of the two of you. It’s early enough that customers aren’t exactly a problem, and so you don’t feel guilty sitting on the counter when you know you’ll wipe it down, or leaning down to kiss some glaze off of his lips since there’s no one to see or an order to distract you from.

Of course, neither of you notice the eyes that happen to glance in the window. Not when Hotch is standing between your legs, facing away from the glass, and not when you pull back just to look into his eyes, and in the end it doesn’t matter that a tall and lanky fellow profiler managed to sneak a peek.

Because that’s when you start to feel that your luck has really changed. The early morning before the workday, when the world just starts to come alive. There, in your shop, before the sign has even been flipped to open.

And there, in your coffee shop, as you sit on the counter, you realize that Aaron-with-two-As, standing between your legs, could possibly be the love of your life after all.

tag list: @emilyxprentiss // @genevievedarcygranger // @quillvine // @falcon-arrows // @afuckingshituniverse // @sercyan // @sparklingkeylimepie // @kianagilder-blog // @alexxcorona113 // @mandyandy22 // @thedeaddrop // @angelsbabey // @lolychu // @icyprincess // @gabbygabbie // @cevanswhre // @roses-and-grasses // @mayaaaa // @baadmaxx // @ssaic-jareau // @mooneylupinblack // @rachelxwayne // @greenie128 // @dilaudidwinchester // @stylesboy // @grandpascurtains // @softbibxtch // @winterscaptain // @hurricanejjareau

#aaron hotchner x reader #hotch x reader #aaron hotchner #hotch #gender neutral reader #penelope garcia #emily prentiss #david rossi #derek morgan #spencer reid #fluff #coffee shop au

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aerinsfables · 3 years

Note

How many goats must I sacrifice for part 5? (p.s., may I suggest “Blooming Friendship” or some sappy ,punny line for the title?)

No goats necessary, but I will accept a donation of cookies! 😁

Also your title suggestion is hilarious and much appreciated (I love puns). I was thinking “love amongst the flowers” or something, but haven’t been able to bring myself to be quite that corny yet 😂 (can you tell I’ve been watching ATLA lately?). Will give it some more thought. Whyyyy is naming things so freaking hard sometimes?!?

——

Flower Shop AU Part 5 below. Read part 4 here!

——

Bracken didn’t hear back from Kendra until Friday, when she sent a short email.

Long story short, he was my fiancée. Gavin. I caught him cheating. Among other things.

Seth tells me you’ll be coming over for tomorrow’s barbeque. I’m sorry if he harassed you. He can be such a busybody sometimes, but he means well.

He replied with a short message of his own.

I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but I believe you’ve truly dodged a bullet with regard to Gavin. That’s a very, very good thing. You deserve someone who will treat you with kindness and respect, and who will mirror your loyalty.

Seth was fine. My father liked him. He was nice, and I appreciated the invitation. To be honest, I’m more apprehensive about potentially forced conversation with people I don’t know. I’m good at small talk with prospective vendors and with customers, but it’s been a while since I’ve socialized with people in a friend setting. Most of the friends I’ve had historically have either moved out of town or have their own busy lives and fell out of touch. Many are married, some have children, and I fit into neither of those categories.

Anyway. Enough about me. You’ll be there tomorrow, right? Would you care to help rescue me from awkward socialization if I need it? Who else will be attending?

He typed his personal email address into the CC field and wrote another bit:

I’m copying my personal email address here, as well, in order to move this conversation to a more private setting. I hope you don’t mind. My mother, father, youngest sister and I all have access to the company email. I run it primarily, but still.

The “send” button was clicked before he could rethink his words too much. He returned to his tasks for the day and paused a few minutes later when he heard his phone ding with a new notification. Kendra had already replied to his email, this time to his personal address.

You’re right; I dodged a bullet. It’s just not so easy to recover from it all. I’ll get there.

You have siblings? How many? Are they always up in your business like my brother is?

Attendees for tomorrow’s BBQ are largely family members of mine. My parents, grandparents, Warren and his girlfriend, Dale, Seth. Maybe a few family friends. This had been planned for a while, and Warren and Seth both wanted to invite you. I’ll help protect you from the masses, but my family is honestly pretty great. I doubt you’ll need any rescuing.

He smiled as he finished the corsage he’d been working on, then replied back to her.

Healing is a process. It’s okay to take time for that. If he was your fiancée, then that means you felt strongly for him; you probably still feel strongly for him. There’s no shame in that. Take your time to heal.

I have four sisters, and they are all constantly ‘up in my business,’ as you put it. I’m number four in the lineup of children; my oldest sister lives about five hours away with her husband and my only nieces - no nephews yet. Sister Number Two is quite introverted and lives at home with our parents. She runs a small sewing business from there. Sister 3 is only a couple years older than me; she is a lawyer in the city and lives downtown near the courthouse with a couple of roommates. Sister 4 works at the shop with me part-time while she’s going to school. She’s working toward becoming a nurse, and just got engaged this week. She’s the bubbly, outgoing type.

What about you? Have you any siblings aside from Seth? What is your family like?

He started in on another corsage - he had to have 25 of them ready to go before he left that evening, and he’d done 11 so far - and smiled when he heard his phone ding again several minutes later. A quick glance at it told him that Kendra had replied again.

Four sisters! That’s a lot of siblings. And a lot of estrogen. Just the one brother for me. I’m pretty sure my parents decided to quit having children once they realized how difficult Seth was going to be. Mischief and trouble are his best friends. I’m amazed he’s survived into adulthood.

I have two sets of grandparents that live nearby. We’re all pretty tight-knit. Warren and Dale are cousins of my dad’s mom. I have no idea how many times removed or whatever that is, so I just call them my cousins. Vanessa, Warren’s long time girlfriend, is a tattoo artist. I’ve been staying at their house since Monday, instead of my apartment.

The BBQ will be at my dad’s parent’s house. Other people who might drop by are Elise, who works with Vanessa, Mara, who works for one of the nearby wineries and is dating Elise, Tanu, our family doctor who we’ve become very good friends with, and Trask, who knows my grandfather somehow. That’s never been super clear to me, to be honest. He’s an old family friend. At any rate, we’re an eclectic bunch of people, and I expect tomorrow will be lively and fun.

What kinds of things do you like to do in your free time?

Bracken thought on these things for a little while, and finished another corsage, before he answered.

It sounds like there will be a good mix of people. I look forward to meeting them.

I’m a bit of an artist in my free time. Drawing and painting are my preferred methods. I enjoy cooking, too, but don’t often do anything too fancy since I’m usually only cooking for myself. Puzzles are nice. Honestly, I spend most of my time at the shop. Sunday evenings are when my family gathers for dinner, minus my oldest sister, who lives too far away for that to be feasible. She usually visits once every couple of months, and stays with my parents for a few days. That’s when I steal my nieces and spoil them to death.

What do you like to do in your spare time?

The rest of the day passed with a fairly steady stream of emails between the two of them. Kendra loved books, and would love to be a novelist one day, but hadn’t found her inspiration yet. Her favorite colors were blue and pink, she had studied French in high school but hadn’t made it to France yet (a dream of hers), and she was thinking about going back to college to get her master’s degree in English Literature. She’d asked about how Bracken found his way into flowers, and he’d explained that his parents had established the shop when he was in elementary school. He’d learned the business over the years and enjoyed leaning into his artistic side, so it was a pretty natural progression for him to work there after he’d graduated from the local university with a degree in business (his goal being to inherit the shop someday). To his pleasant surprise, conversation with Kendra flowed easily, and he left the shop that day with a positive feeling about the next day’s gathering.

---

Part 6 is here!

#fablehaven #dragonwatch #brackendra #aerinm writes #side warrenessa #they may become more mainstream later #we’ll see #anonymous #thanks for asking!

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swordgayist · 3 years

Text

book 3 ty lee and zuko

consider an alternate universe where, instead of maiko, zuko and ty lee develop a strong friendship while mai and azula’s close friendship (that might be peppered with some lesbianism) slowly degrades over time. allow me to elaborate.

zuko and ty lee start bonding on the journey back to the fire nation because ty lee is the only one among the people surrounding zuko who doesn’t bully and/or abuse him regularly, and vice versa.

TY LEE: aren’t you cold? what are you doing out here?

ZUKO: i’ve got a lot on my mind. it’s been so long, over three years since i was home. i wonder what’s changed. i wonder how i’ve changed

TY LEE: hm.

TY LEE: we all missed you.

(just getting the ball rolling here)

they talk more when they get to the fire nation, and the usual topic is azula, and how she treats them. they bond over the mean shit she’d do to them when they were kids because that’s easier to laugh at. it’d probably get a little more real sometimes too.

but the thing is, when it gets real, ty lee’s relationship with azula doesn’t sound a lot like zuko’s relationship with azula.

see with zuko, he isn’t actively afraid of her or subordinate to her. he is just competitive with her and she wins, and she also manipulates him a lot.

when it comes to ty lee and azula, everything is subtle. both ty lee and azula know that there is a power dynamic, but neither of them say anything about it. azula clearly hurts ty lee regularly, but they both brush it off afterwards. azula’s abuse of ty lee is just normalized, ty lee doesn’t say anything and the power dynamic continues.

the more zuko hears about it the more it sounds like how his father treats him rather than how azula treats him.

meanwhile on the mai and azula side of things, mai’s character is going to be done much much differently. because i hate how she’s written on the show so i will change her until i like her who’s gonna stop me

basically, instead of this extremely disjointed idea that mai ...... likes to do villainy things ? but still somehow she only does them because she’s scared of azula ?? we’re gonna scrap that. mai loves doing cruel shit to other people.

we’re scrapping everything about her backstory too. her parents are just two ordinary fire nation politicians who love hearing about people who are lesser than them suffering (not just people from other nations, but people who are less privileged than them etc).

we’re also scrapping the part of her character where she complains all the time because it doesn’t add anything to her story and it’s annoying.

that classism aspect of mai’s character (”you know what’ll make you feel better? ordering some servants around!” for example) is gonna be expanded upon a lot. coming from a rich, politician family, mai is extremely blasé about other people’s suffering and believes very strongly that she just matters more than them and that bothering herself with them is below her. she sees how her parents interact with their servants and how they laugh about what happens in the earth kingdom colonies and the water tribes and she picks up the cruelty they display.

because of that, her and azula get along well. usually when azula is mean to zuko or ty lee, mai just kinda laughs about it on the side. when she’s helping azula she relishes the distress she causes the people she attacks. she always sees it as fun and games. it provides a stark contrast between mai and ty lee as azula’s friends where mai joins azula out of apathy and love for cruelty, while ty lee joins azula out of fear.

(once again this is already kinda there on the show but then they just ??? ignore it and say that mai followed her out of fear too ??? which makes no sense ??)

then in the beach episode, the conflicts go a little like this:

zuko and ty lee are annoyed at mai for being so cruel and apathetic, mai and ty lee are annoyed at zuko for having all these emotional outbursts, and zuko is annoyed at ty lee for being so at ease and complacent in her maltreatment, while mai is just kinda slut shaming her. azula, like in the og beach episode, is too busy dealing with her own problems to be annoyed by other people.

we finally get a better extended version of this interaction between zuko and ty lee at the end of the beach:

TY LEE: what’re you doing?

ZUKO: what does it look like i’m doing?

TY LEE: but..... it’s a painting of your family.

ZUKO: do you think i care?!

TY LEE: i think you do.

ZUKO: you don’t know me. so why don’t you just mind your own business!

TY LEE: *sighs* i know you.

ZUKO: no you don’t! you’re stuck in your little ty lee world where everything’s great all the time!

ZUKO: ‘i’m so pretty, look at me, i can walk on my hands! whoo!’

ZUKO: circus freak.

zuko is annoyed that ty lee is so reluctant to stand up for herself and instead pretends everything is okay (this really comes out when after everything between them ty lee helps azula flirt), while ty lee is annoyed that zuko sees complaining about it and being angry all the time as “doing something about it”.

meanwhile the beach episode is the first time mai has actually been presented with the idea that ty lee (and also zuko) is not happy with how she’s treated. ty lee tries to hide it as much as possible out of fear for azula, but mai still kind of picks it up. and mai is also developing a little thing for ty lee (also peppered with some gayism).

but anyways, at the end of the beach and in later episodes zuko and ty lee repair their friendship. zuko finally starts to understand some things, and ty lee contributes to that a lot. zuko’s already realizing that he’s not happy, even as crown prince and as a hero to the fire nation. he��s starting to realize that the way his father treats him isn’t okay or loving in any way. finally in nightmares and daydreams he realizes that sitting quiet while injustice is planned right in front of him isn’t who he is. and because of his argument with ty lee in the beach, he realizes that he can’t just know it, he needs to do something about it.

and on the day of black sun he leaves the fire nation ayeeee

but that means he leaves ty lee alone. he was kind of a safe place for her while she was around azula, and by leaving he kind of took that safety away from her. he of course didn’t take her along to protect her, but yeah.

so in the boiling rock, ty lee sneaks away from azula and mai to talk to zuko. she gets mad that he left her behind, and when zuko tells her he did it to protect her, she’s conflicted on whether she would prefer to commit treason and be an enemy to the fire nation or just stay in the fire nation and let it all happen like she always has.

but she sees zuko, she sees how much healthier and more energetic he looks after confronting his abuser and leaving the fire nation (she finds it ironic that he looks happier and healthier as a fugitive in ratty prison clothes than he ever did as a prince in royal robes). and she can’t help but feel like maybe she could too.

and because of this, at the end of the boiling rock, while mai and azula are trying to stop zuko, sokka, suki and company, ty lee comes up to the landing platform and starts taking out all the guards before they can cut the cable holding the gondola up.

PRISON GUARD: what are you doing?!

TY LEE: saving my best friend.

(yknow instead of ‘saving the jerk who dumped me’)

zuko pleads that they should go back and save ty lee, but sokka remorsefully tells him that they can’t because if they don’t take this way out, they might not be able to escape at all. so all zuko can do is pray. rip.

so azula confronts ty lee. azula is confused and angry that ty lee betrayed her because she was sure she had ty lee under her thumb. but ty lee drops *the line*:

TY LEE: i love zuko more than i fear you.

and so azula gets ready to attack ty lee and ty lee gets ready as well.

and this is where mai starts to realize that it was indeed *not* all fun and games.

mai picked up cruelty but with azula ...... it was built into her. she was taught it, it was all she knew. and in this moment she was actually going to kill ty lee. so in that moment mai had to make a decision. because it wasn’t just ty lee who was in danger, it was her, if she were to let ty lee die ty lee’s blood would be on her hands, because she will have let azula kill someone she loves. she needs to save herself from going too deep and becoming like azula (keep in mind this is *her* mindset, not necessarily reality).

so she steps in, and she uses her knives to pin azula to the wall.

now, azula isn’t just angry and confused, she’s broken. because she knew ty lee followed her out of fear, but she thought mai actually saw her as a friend. yet even mai betrayed her, reinforcing the idea that trust is for fools because in the end, no one loved her enough not to betray her. and now with ty lee’s betrayal, it seems like no one fears her enough not to either.

the guards come before mai and ty lee can get away, and they are put in prison.

after the day of sozin’s comet, zuko orders for them to be released, and ty lee finally reunites with her best friend again.

meanwhile, after a lot of introspection and conversations with ty lee, mai starts to see some of the errors in her ways. she doesn’t know exactly how to make up for it, but her first step is to humbly approach suki and ask if she can join the kyoshi warriors.

(also perhaps while they’re in prison mai confesses to ty lee, and ty lee tells her that she could never fall in love with the person mai was before they were thrown into prison, and that if mai changed her ways ty lee might be ready later in the future.)

after having spent a lot of time with the kyoshi warriors and better learning how to empathize with other people, mai is able to help zuko and the gaang with azula’s healing process.

+ty lee starts to see how mai’s changed and they start talking and whoo pansexualism (officially headcanoning ty lee as a pansexual)

and so on and so forth, this is the basic gist of it this is terribly written but whatever

#ty luko #i mean not really theyre friends #maizula #mailee #atla book 3 #ty lee #zuko #mai #azula #azula recovery #atla #atla book 3 au #the beach #the boiling rock

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cuddlecave · 3 years

Note

is xiphoid

first: you *are* good

next: alright thingrey au

how bout an alternate 'the team finds out the shapeshifter is still alive, whoops!' but in an utterly disastrous way

it's been a while since antarctica! a long while, and gord and benr *meant* to tell the team about them ages ago, when benr became human shaped again, but there just never seemed to be a good time? and really, whats one more day, week, month...

anyway the team is utterly oblivious of benr, but being aware of gord, means that's they've noticed he's not been spending as much time with them! been spending, like, a lot of time at home, actually--or away from town. sometimes even avoiding them! they're worried, bc really, this is not the way to deal with trauma, gord! you don't pull away from your friends, you get help! just bc you can't see a therapist doesn't mean you shouldn't try to process it!

anyway, gords generally cagey about where he is, but on a rare team night where he had come to hang over...they very much on purpose get him drunk. now, drunk gord is still pretty fucking cagey (he loves his boyf and would never endanger him if possible), which is a shame, but tom is able to ask a question casually enough that gord doesn't think about it...and ends up telling them he goes out to the [insert desert area here] sometimes. when pressed on why he goes, he seems to realize he made a mistake, and bolts, cutting the night short.

now, credit to gord, him and benr don't go back to that particular desert area after that. but the team are damn smart, and figure that just bc he's not at that area anymore, doesn't mean he's not in *any* desert area anymore.

takes some trial and error--figuring out when gord seems to be out (he never answers his phone when he's out, his car is not at home), and then checking a desert area (didn't get anything but desert the first few times). but eventually...they find his car.

things paint...a worrying picture. there's camping/chilling gear in the car (chairs and a shitty tent, left from when gord tried camping several years ago and never bothered to remove from his car) but they're not set up and gords not there? the doors arent locked and the keys are in ignition? (gord doesn't want to drop his keys running from benr, he did that once and it sucked. also why he doesn't bring his phone! but he's out like 55 miles from the nearest town, who's gonna steal his car?) there's torn up foliage around, as if something big came through (benr may give gord a head start, but he still likes to be big enough to a) chase well, and b) nom gord after), and most worryingly--a set of human footprints in the sand, clearly running based on stride. and some strange larger footprint *next to them*.

their friend was ambushed by something big, and is going to get got. (this is not entirely untrue. not ambushed, but definitely going to get got, lol.) they set off quickly following the footprints.

meanwhile-gord and benr are having a *great* time! the exercise feels nice for both of them, it's a cloudy day so it's shady, they're gonna order pizza and play playstation after this--its gonna be a wonderful day. it already is!

gord, at this point, is beginning to tire out. benr is getting closer. he pushes himself a bit farther, to stretch out the chase just a touch longer, and makes a sharp turn around a rock formation, causing benr to briefly crash into it, giving him a few more steps. but he's tired, and well, benr has better stamina--and agility. benr bounds over the rock formation and uses it's height to gain just a bit of an extra boost, and tackle-hugs gord. they nearly crash into some sharp shrubs, but they're fine.

gord turns and looks up at benr and grins, and benr leans down to him, and gives him a long kiss. gord hums in contentment and relaxes. he's gonna get to doze, now, before driving. naptime, hell yeah.

benr picks him up to swallow him and he just remains basically limp, exhausted, letting benr manhandle him, gently maneuvering him into his jaws. he's swallowed with little fanfare, and happily settles in his tum, almost immediately starting to doze as benr starts to walk.

then he hears screaming, and benr sharply moves, and suddenly he's wide awake.

the team follow the tracks. it's a long walk, even moving at speed--gord must have really been booking it, which means hopefully he's still safe, got away some how. surely nothing would chase him for too long, when he was outrunning it this well. the trail goes on and on and on--its looking less like this thing gave up. and gords footsteps are shorter, he's not managing a hard run anymore. they're coming up on a rock formation--its still several hundred feet away. close enough to see a figure that can only be gord run from behind it, but far, far to far away to do anything about what happens next.

they see him turn sharply, and something big hits the rocks, clearly taken off guard. he makes it a few steps. and the team look on in absolute horror as what can only be the shapeshifter jumps off the top of the rocks, and tackles gord to the ground. they're partially obscured by the desert plants, but it's enough to see, even at this distance, the rippling body parts of the creature, pinning gord down.

the thing leans its head down toward gord, and they can't see what's happening with the plants and distance. and then.

it picks a completely unmoving gord up, and swallows him whole.

oh, god. it snapped his neck. it ate him. it's going to try to finish what it started in antarctica oh fuck does anyone have a flamethrower?!

a seeing it stand and start to leisurely walk in the direction they came from, they're finally broken from they're spell of silence and horror. somebody starts screaming angrily, and bubby has a lighter and big spray, making a makeshift flamethrower--and they run towards it in vengeance.

it notices them and sharply turns, booking it in the opposite direction.

(1/?)

continued under the read more!

(cont) oh fuck, thinks benr. this is not good. Not Good at all. gord frantically asks what's going on?! and goes cold when benr says 'ur friends saw us. and buby has fire.' the good thing is, benr is bigger and faster than humans. the bad thing is that he's been running all morning and now has over 200 pounds of boyf swaying in him, even if he's holding gord as tight as possible so he's not getting thrown everywhere. he's not gonna last long, and there's nowhere to hide. gord is furiously thinking. but he's also exhausted, and panicking. the thoughts in his brain are sticky like drying glue when he tries do something with them, and he can feel benr slowing. it's not by much, but his alien bf getting hurt *at all* is unacceptable, so. he decides to stop thinking and start doing. he tells benr to 'stop and let me out! as fast as you can!' and benr skids to a stop and turns half facing the approaching team, and splits his abdomen open and gord comes tumbling out into the light, getting immediately covered in dust and mud sticking to the saliva covering him. it's kinda gross, but at the moment it's not even registering, bc in those moments buby has nearly caught up. gord stands, pushes benr behind him, who let's himself be pushed purely out of surprise, and holds his hands out. 'its me! I'm fine it's ok it's me, please I can explain, just turn off the fire! it's ok!' but the thing is, as far as they're concerned...'you fucking imposter we saw gord die! get a better lie!' and buby is still running full tilt at them. gord has enough time to think, *aw fuck, this is gonna hurt*, before buby lights his makeshift flamethrower and gord is suddenly extremely hot, in pain, and knocked on his back. he can see the sky for a quick moment, before what can only be benr is standing over him, protecting him from further fire. a few limbs quickly use the dirt to put out the couple embers on his shirt (well, what's left of his shirt...) buby jerks back at the large being leaping in his direction, but it stops as it stands over the gord-imposter. which... is not moving. or writhing like the shapeshifter, or trying to split off from the damaged part. it's just...lying there. shallowly breathing as if in shock. buby gets a bit of a sinking feeling. - I got tired after writing this but basically benr tries to angle around enough to protect gord and also use teal green on him from another mouth. the team quickly figure out something is fucky, and that gord...might not be a Thing?? gord is in zero shape to have a real conversation--burns are serious business, and he basically passes out during teal-green. so why was the creature... protecting gord?? especially if it ate him?!?! there's an uneasy (extremely uneasy) truce, and benr carries gord back to the car, flamethrower pointed at them the whole way. they leave gords car and take them both back to toms place, in the car they drove in. it is supremely awkward. especially when gord wakes up for half a minute, kisses benr, and passes out again. not sure how it would go from there,, .... didn't mean to accidentally write a minific but here we are!! I really like the 'extreme misunderstanding vore' trope, lol.

ohhhh man this is like an angsty version of a regular not-a-game au idea i've thought up before o: thinking about what would happen next... the whole car ride home, benb was hitting gord with more healing (tho he gave the guys ample warning first about what he was doing so they wouldn't think he was attacking or something), and thanks to that, gord's burns are healed up to the point where he doesn't need hospitalization, just some burn cream and good rest to finish it off. (and a hair cut. benb is very sad that he couldn't repair gord's burned hair and beard. when gord's awake again he's just "Dude it'll grow back, don't worry." "i knooowwww but it still sucks. your hair was SO pretty. and you look like a sixteen-year-old without facial hair. kinda weird. babyfaceman." "WOW shut up."). when gord's awake and aware enough again, they all have a sit down and get an explanation from him and benb. benb goes on to basically give a summary of his whole backstory; explain what exactly he his and how he got to earth, and what he was trying to do both at the b'mesa base and that first norwegian base he first thawed out in. when he gets to the part about why he never wanted to hurt the sciteam, that does a pretty good job of warming them up to him. "the thing about that frzn guy is he was a total asshole. HUGE douche canoe. and i was like 'maaaan i don't wanna be this guy, he suuuuucks', but then i noticed that he'd hardly ever interacted with anybody else there. new guy on the base. nobody knew him, or knew what he was like. so i figured i could get away with acting like myself instead of him, and nobody would notice. i've never been able to just be me around other people, only when alone. i didn't really... know how it was gonna turn out. but you guys ended up liking me! you invited me to come hang out on breaks, and play video games, and watch movies, and talk about soda and photography and it was fun and nice and good! you were nice to my dog body, too. giving me a name and everything... you're all great cools. i got attached to you guys. like, super attached. didn't wanna hurt you, ever. 's the reason i never touched the sled dogs, too- i knew tommy would be sad if something happened to the dogs, and i didn't wanna make him sad." (bubs probably acts like he's not touched by that, but he is :B and also, like i've said in a post on my main, bubs feels some sympathy towards benb after hearing about his origins as an unethical science experiment. bubs wasn't grown in a lab in this au, but he was still subjected to some painful "knowledge tubes" experiments due to his contract with b'mesa. so he still knows that feel, bro. unwilling lab rat solidarity.) benb apologizes for everything in antarctica, and bubs apologizes for torching gord, but then the team asks what the fuck? happened in the desert?? and gord explains the "one-sided tag" game they do to help benb burn up energy, and that benb was just carrying gord to let him rest from the run on the way back to the car. ("Carrying you in his stomach, though?" "nah i don't put him where food goes. it's the uhhhh *lip smack* nap organ. custom made for sleeping in. bedry time.") (they also at one point explain "also we're dating" to which gord gets accused of being a monsterfucker ha ha. and then benb's like "ew no i'm ace" and harold goes on about how beautiful interracial young love is.)

#long post #bf tum is the warmest place to hide

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tundrainafrica · 3 years

Text

Title: A Tale of Two Slaves (2/17)

Summary: “Soulmates don’t exist. Fate doesn’t exist. Everything is a choice. At that moment, Levi could only watch as she made the choice for him.“

Reincarnation AU. Levi remembers everything from their past life. Hange doesn’t.

Note: As always, feedback is very much appreciated.

Link to cross-postings: AO3

Other Chapters: 1 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14

"Hey! Are you alive?"

Levi's body was on fire. Another type of pain, added to the list that only grew longer and longer the more mornings he woke up to.

It was new. In the grand scheme of things though, it was routine. When Levi woke up, the pain was already fading into a distant memory. He knew it could be easily soothed with a Tylenol and a few more minutes in bed. He had to press his face harder into the pillow, focusing on the feeling of cloth and cotton on his face to get a grip on his reality. He wanted to hear that voice again but at the same time he wanted to escape that pain.

That voice was familiar. Levi was sure when he showed up for training she would be there, and he could listen to her again. He ended up adding salt to the wounds though as he remembered the last few things he had said to her the night before.

It could have been from the stress of the whole ordeal or the embarrassment of having blurted out a bunch of nonsense.

Who the hell are we escaping from? Levi had scrambled for an answer then. What came out were a string of words he wished he had never said.

“Nothing.”

“Hey, I’ve spent a lot of time talking, I wanna learn something about you too.”

“My life is none of your business.”

She had kept quiet soon after. As Levi recalled how she had offered to take him home, he only buried his face further into the pillow. A part of him thought that maybe if he deprived himself of oxygen enough, he could forget the conversation between them.

“How far is your house from here? I’ll take you home. It’s my fault you got injured anyway.”

“It’s fine.”

“You sure you’ll get home safe?”

“Why do you care? We just met. I couldn’t care less either if you got home safe or not.”

We just met. Obviously I wouldn’t care too much about her. His meager justification did nothing to placate the guilt that had taken over him, leaving him unable to move.

He remembered the face she had made before he turned away and limped home. He had thought to himself then that maybe she just wore her heart on her sleeve. Most people probably would have thought the same thing as they saw the way she bit her lip and looked away. She could have been about to cry. Levi could not help but think though that she wouldn’t. Her mental resilience is stronger than that. Levi just knew.

Either way, Levi still regretted his actions that night. He spent the next few minutes in bed gathering himself up mentally for his morning training. As he pushed himself into a sitting position and planted his feet on the floor next to his bed, he felt his knees protest at the weight. At that moment, the dull pain on his palms also made themselves known.

Of course it wouldn’t heal. How long has it been 12 hours? When injured, most of his teammates could easily skip training with little to no consequences, as long as they sent a text. Most of his teammates still showed up anyway to watch. Feeling a little guilty for having skipped training just yesterday, Levi decided to show up anyway.

It was a force of habit more than anything for Levi to throw his jacket and shorts on, grab his gym bag and hurry to the track as soon as he saw the first signs of the sun about to rise. In fact, he only realized how completely useless it was to be thirty minutes early when he was already sitting alone in the empty clubroom, entertaining himself by looking for patterns in the stains and discolored blots on the ceiling.

He considered going back to the dorm and just informing his coach on his recent injury. He had already exited the clubroom when he decided otherwise.

The track stretched out in front of him, illuminated by the dim light from the sunrise. The morning was notably cooler and Levi remembered that summer was ending soon, if it hadn’t ended yet. The days would only get colder and classes were starting next week. How long would he be able to enjoy a morning walk without having to wear an extra layer or without considering how he could fit in a shower before his next class?

Levi ignored resistance of the stitches on his knees and the stinging pain of sweat and bandages rubbing against his palms, allowing himself a slow jog around the oval. He promised himself instead to sit out the rest of the training. His coach would probably stop him anyway when he sees the state of Levi’s hands and knees.

“Levi!”

It turned out Levi was right. Time had gone faster as Levi focused on the rhythm of his breathing, the cool wind that brushed past him and the scenery that blurred past him. Also, his coach had stopped him as soon as he arrived.

“What happened to you?” Greg gave Levi a onceover before shaking his head.

“I fell while jumping on the hurdles.”

“Get that checked. I’m not allowing you to join training until you see a doctor.”

Levi looked down to see blood seeping from the white of the bandages. His stitches split open. He could barely give his coach a nod, too disappointed by being forced out of training, a little angry at Hange for indirectly causing that energy, too conflicted by his own feelings. He grabbed his phone which he had left on the table next to the track and walked away from the track.

He had to grab the gym bag he left in the club room. He made sure to take the long way back, the scenic route with more trees than people. Having just been told off by his coach, having been barred from training, Levi felt like he was taking a walk of shame and he preferred not to run into anyone else.

He checked his phone. It was six in the morning. The university clinic opened at eight. He could kill those two hours quickly in the empty clubroom while everyone was training. By the time they finished morning training, he would be on his way to the clinic.

He had plans of just lying on the bench for the next two hours, exhausting all the content in all of his social media timelines and maybe getting into some other Wikipedia or article black hole. On his way to the clubroom, he set his alarm for 7:45 that morning.

As he arrived in the clubroom though, he found himself occupied by something else.

Everyone in the club always put their stuff away in the cubbyholes to the side. There was more than enough space for everyone. Yet somehow, even with three cubby holes open, someone had decided to leave their bag half open on the floor with what looked like half its contents spilling out.

Levi gathered what had spilled out. He had the option of just dropping it into the bag leaving the problem of organizing it to the owner. His fastidiousness took over though and Levi found himself spreading out the contents of the bag and putting it into the bag in a way that would have made it take the least space in the cubby.

“Sorry. I forgot my phone in my bag.”

Levi heard footsteps and voices just outside the clubroom and it was only then was he become aware of the fact that he had invaded someone’s privacy. He hurriedly pushed the contents of the bag into the nearest cubbyhole.

His hands though were not at their strongest, still sore from the accident last night. It was at the moment the door opened did the bag fall again on the floor, its contents spilling out, more haphazardly and messily than he had found it.

He looked up at the door to see Hange and behind her, another student.

"Levi…" Hange’s mouth was turned up in a smile but her eyes were expressing otherwise.

Levi wondered what he looked like crouched down next to her bag, with its contents spread out all over the room. From the way Hange was staring at him, he guessed he could have even looked like a criminal. "I made a rule here. All bags go in the cubbyhole," Levi tried to keep an authoritative tone as he said it, maybe it could make up for the compromising position they had found him in, somehow.

"Oh my god, I'm sorry." Hange rushed beside him, carelessly gathering things into one bundle.

Levi noticed she kept herself a polite distance from him, purposefully pushing her bag into one of the cubbyholes farther away from where her bag had fallen.

"Just don't mess up the clubroom again."

Levi lay back on the bench as soon as the door closed behind him and propped his phone on his face. He could not even bring himself to even turn it on and lazily scroll through some timeline. As he listened to the footsteps get further away, Levi closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The rush of incomprehensible emotions had left him cold as he lost one of the few opportunities he did have to talk to her.

Why? Why couldn't I chase after her?

A part of him wanted to run after her, apologize then maybe thank her for last night.

A part of him was also just as pissed off with the chain of events. He was injured. He couldn't train. The club room was a mess. Hange had something to do with all of it.

His four years living in his own tiny island with only training and studies keeping him company had left him unable to process the strong emotions that came with human interaction.

Why does she make me so angry?

He was aware that he was abrasive and sometimes too frank. It had never bothered him then. He had always believed that it was also the other party's responsibility to handle their emotions well. Hange had handled it better than many other people in similar positions yet...

Why do I care that it hurt her? How the hell did I say something so offensive so wrong? In fact despite his inability to express a lot of feelings, Levi did care enough about people to check on injured teammates and help grandmas cross the street.

He turned his phone on, deciding to occupy himself with Twitter for the next two hours. Watching people fight online was oddly calming.

A Tale of Two Slaves

By the time Levi made it to the university clinic, the bandages on his knees were bloody. The red buds had bloomed into adult flowers. Underneath, the stitches had to be redone, and Levi was prescribed antibiotics to prevent infection.

One of the nurses offered to go out of campus to buy it for him. Levi hid under the covers of one of the vacant beds in the nurse's office while waiting. The clinic was empty save for one nurse and one doctor with not many students living on campus just yet.

Levi found himself going through his timeline first, then articles on dreams.

By the time the doctor had checked on him, to ask him if he had plans to at least take a late lunch, Levi was in a black hole with 50 tabs open. They weren't about dreams or were they from random links he had found on his timeline.

They were all about Hange Zoe, pages worth of articles with pictures of her at varying ages. The awards varied, some were in the form of certificates, others as trophies. The girl behind them all was the same chestnut haired girl with that same overenthusiastic glint in her eyes.

Kid whiz Hange Zoe bags gold in the city wide

Governor congratulates the representative to the national Science symposium.

7 year old genius has big plans for the future.

Hange Zoe talks about future plans. "I want to test the physical limitations of the human body."

I wanna see how far we can throw, how fast we can run, how high we can jump, how high we can fly.

"Fucking stupid. Humans can't fly." Levi muttered to himself. He sat up in bed and checked the time at the corner of his phone.

3:00pm.

Afternoon training would generally start at five. He had time for a late lunch. Or dinner.

Nothing in the university was open though and the raw stitches on his knees continued to ache. Levi found himself staying in the club room two hours before training was to start, having Mcdonalds delivered instead at the doorway of the clubroom.

A few times he had heard footsteps by the door, he stood up the first two times, just to check who it had been. The clubrooms were lined up near the athletics area. All the sports teams hung around that area, he should not have been too surprised to realize that none of the foot traffic in that hour were from anyone in his team. In fact, he should not have expected that any of them would have been Hange.

Why the hell am I looking for her anyway?

Levi shifted to his side. The bench did not give him much room to roll completely and Levi found himself having to grasp at the sides to stay on the bench and avoid falling painfully on the ground and further aggravating his stitches.

With his two hands occupied, it became a choice. Either his knees or his phone was to take the impact of the ground beneath him. He chose to sacrifice his phone.

As Levi reached out to grab his phone from under the bench a few seconds later, he came across a small trinket on the floor. It was a ring was covered with purple cloth, the middle of the ring covered with some sort of web. The borders were lined with feathers, soft to his touch. Levi wondered whether the feathers were real or not.

Levi sat back on the bench and brought the keychain closer to his eyes. It turned out the ring was not covered in cloth. It was covered in threads so pressed closely to each other, from afar it had looked like one surface. He carefully traced the dark green strings that were interwoven so tightly around the purple cloth, no pattern was the same, no hole was of the same size or shape. It could have been homemade.

Who the hell left this here? Levi took a picture with his phone and sent it to the team chat.

Lost and Found.

Most had denied owning it. For a while Levi suspected that they could have been scared he would get mad. He knew he had a reputation when it came to cleaning and clutter. He was considering adding that he wasn’t angry eventually deciding against it. Would they believe him anyway?

One of the med students probs.

So it’s Hange’s? It was an excuse to message her at least. Before Levi could even process what he did, he had searched Hange’s name on Facebook.

No account. He would have at least expected to find a profile with one or two mutual friends. They went to the same school after all. He checked the school supergroup to find that no one there was named Hange Zoe.

So she doesn’t have an account?

He looked through other groups built for their team. He looked for a medical students group, looking one by one at the profiles for a familiar face. One of the profiles had the face of the blond man who was behind Hange when they had found him that morning.

Levi had a habit of forgetting faces. The awkwardness and the embarrassment he had gone through had only made that memory more vivid in his mind. That vividness at least was the reason why he had found a lead to Hange.

Moblit Berner.

He clicked add friend and sent a picture of the keychain through chat.

Found this in the clubroom. Might be one of your friends?

It’s Hange’s.

Probably fell when her stuff got scattered on the floor.

Okay, will give it to you when you get here.

As Levi soon found out, the students were all out of campus and had no plans to visit training that afternoon at all. The main reason why they had showed up in the morning instead.

Levi scolded himself for not even bothering to learn their schedule. Maybe it could have alleviated his disappointment even a bit. Seeing no reason to be there in the clubroom anymore. Levi dropped a message in the chat, mentioning something about injuries and rest.

He wasn’t lying. His stitches were fresh. His palms hurt. More importantly. He was recovering from a painful bout of disappointment.

We’ll be there tomorrow morning though.

Ok see you there.

Levi had plans of making it up to his coach the next morning by being extra early anyway.

A Tale of Two Slaves

I wonder what types of titans we'll get to meet today...

It was a beautiful morning. Or possibly, it was just a relatively beautiful morning when compared to all the others where Levi had to lie in bed for an hour or so just to forget the pain and the shock of dreams he could not even remember to function.

That morning he had awoken with a burst of energy and a motivation that followed suit.

I wanna talk to Hange.

The only stopping him then was the awareness of how stupid and rash it would be to make friends just because he had such a vivid dream about them.

Section Leader Hange Zoe.

Special Squad Captain Levi .

They worked too closely in his dreams. She was constantly happy, constantly annoying. She was comfortable. She had made him feel excited, calm, annoyed, an incomprehensible and tumultuous storm of emotions. The dreams were too lifelike, realistic and vivid to have just been dreams.

Was she the reason for the painful mornings? Was she the reason Levi found himself so particularly confused around her? So abrasive? So conflicted?

Levi quickly changed into his clothes, grabbed his gym bag and rushed to the track. He did not bother to check his phone for the time anyway. The sun was rising and Moblit had said the night before. They’ll be there.

He used the walk to the track to process further the emotions that had been running through him since he remembered the dreams.

His name was Levi Ackerman. He was a soldier. They fought these giant zombie creatures. Hange managed another team but they were stationed close and that was how they had gotten close in the first place.

It felt like some sort of roleplay Levi could just easily put into words and post online. He wondered if that’s what it felt like to be a writer. Do stories come to writers and artists in dreams just like that? Levi had considered writing it all out, completely disowning that thought after he remembered he was shitty with words.

He probably would never channel those emotions into words or to art. Regardless, the determination to make sense of it was unwavering. Despite his awareness of the amount of stress he had caused her the past few days, the nagging self consciousness of having exposed that many facets of personality to someone, Levi was sure he wanted to talk to her. It was too strong. She must have felt it too. Maybe that’s why she was too friendly? Too touchy?

As Levi soon found out, she was touchy with a lot of other people. If Levi had checked his phone that morning, he would have seen that training was starting soon. With autumn coming, the nights were long and the sun was rising later.

Hange was there, by the side of the track, her arms around Elijah, one of his other teammates and fellow seniors. From where he stood, Levi could not tell if she was joking or not, but he could not help but note, he had never been the object of that playful smile she gave Moblit who stood next to her with a clipboard in hand.

“Hey Four Eyes.” Levi did not need to muster up any courage to approach her. The irritation he felt at seeing her arm around someone else, that playful smile directed at Moblit provoked him enough.

Hange’s face quickly fell as she made eye contact with him. Levi’s stomach followed suit, suddenly painfully aware of the shit he had put her through the past few days.

“Oh yeah, Levi found your dream catcher in the clubroom.”

The keychain! Levi had completely forgotten to bring it with him.

“Sorry about leaving it there. I shouldn’t have been too careless.” Hange’s smile was careful and rehearsed, a far cry from the one she gave Moblit only a while ago.

“I don’t have it with me now though since I had to rush here.” Levi was sure the excuse was understandable. A lot of his teammates were already warming up in the middle of track. “I could bring it later this afternoon?”

“Actually, we probably won’t be going back here for a while. We gotta prepare with classes starting soon and we got all the information we need anyway.” Moblit explained. “So we’re gonna invite some athletes out for an interview then work closely with them.”

“About the keychain...” Yes, the keychain. I need to meet Hange again and give it to her.

“You can give it to Elijah here.” Hange suggested. “Or maybe...Moblit? If you’re okay working with him.”

Why Moblit? My teammate, Elijah? “Wait why?” Levi’s mind was racing with questions. The shock and confusion had left him a little disconnected from his surroundings. He almost did not notice the way Hange had pulled him to the side of the track. Suddenly, it was just the two of them, on the corner, out of earshot from everyone else.

“This is probably the last time we’re gonna meet so I’ll be honest with you.” Hange took a deep breath. “I really wanted to work with you for my thesis but yeah I guess… with what happened the past few days I kinda realize maybe we just aren’t compatible and we might just end up driving each other crazy.” Hange added a small laugh to that cold and rehearsed smile she was giving him. It only added salt to the wounds she was already opening up with her speech. “And I guess I should have noticed this before but you really don’t like me do you? I’m sorry if I couldn’t give the best first impression.”

No… I really like you. You gave a great first impression. Like always, even when Levi had wanted to say it, the words had gotten lost somewhere in its journey from mind to mouth.

#levihan #levi ackerman #hange zoe #levi x hange

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aveyna · 4 years

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Homecoming

Summary: After the events of the Eternal Library, Varian and his friends return back to Corona. They had earned their happy ending, but now...Hugo had to face his biggest challenge yet. Impressing Varian's family shouldn't be as nerve-wracking as it was, except for one tiny problem.

Eugene Fitzherbert is the most ineffectual thief to live. It is a shame that he is also his boyfriend's self-proclaimed older brother.

AO3 LINK

CHAPTER 1-Familarity

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“Is it just me or has everyone been acting really weird ever since we got here?” Yong questions, staring non-too-discretely at a few girls that had gathered amongst one another, talking conspiratorially behind raised hands. It seemed ever since they had stepped into Corona, their group had attracted…more attention than normal. Expected, really, considering who they were traveling with, but… “And why are they staring so much at Varian?”

“Hm, I don’t know,” Nuru smirks, eyes plastered onto her novel as they walk past a storefront. Clearly, she is enjoying his misfortune a bit too much. “Why don’t you enlighten us, Hugo?”

He wishes there were a complex answer to this, but…the reason is simple. It would seem that their dear alchemist was more popular than he let on. There were a lot of things Hugo could have, said, but he didn’t want to get kicked out of Corona so soon.

Instead, he flips them off, though, he’s not entirely sure who would be the recipient of his ire.

“Varian, are you sure it’s a good idea taking him along with us?” Nuru finally looks up from her book, its pages practically illegible from her iron-clad grip. Her golden eyes narrow in annoyance at Hugo and his admittedly pathetic attempts at garnering attention from the other alchemist. “I want to make a good first impression with Princess Rapunzel, but…Hugo is…Hugo……”

“First of all princess, wow.” Hugo gasps, hand pressed dramatically to his heart and the other around Varian’s shoulders. It had been one hell of a surprise to learn their Varian was essentially the princess’s little brother. He’s still coming to terms with goggles being the Royal Engineer, but he’s seen enough from Varian to know that he is more than qualified for the title. “How can you not trust me after everything that we’ve been through? Look at this face; would I lie to you?”

At this, everyone, even Prometheus, wears a look of utmost disbelief on their face. Sure, Hugo may have considered betraying them when he schmoozed his way into the group, but he more than proved himself during their whole ordeal with Ulla at the Eternal Library.

“You still love me, right, Yong?” They had made it well past the borders of Corona and he must admit—the city is impressive, albeit a bit too bourgeoisie for his tastes. But, he can see why Varian had so adored this place; with the huge castle towering above this kingdom, it really does look like something out of a fairytale. Though, he’d suppose such a description would not be far off the mark for Varian. After Ulla and the library, hell, he had live through a fairytale—

Or nightmare. Both could work depending on context. Enough time had passed from when the adventure they’ve had to heal some wounds, but other parts…secrets, a reality in-which he’d lost Varian—could and would have lost him to the library, the idea of someday overcoming those traumas would be impossible.

Yong frowns, considering Hugo’s words. “I just want to meet Varian’s family.”

“Okay, no, leave Yong out of this,” Varian snaps, dragging Hugo away from the shorter boy. “I should set up some ground rules. First, no stealing,” he says, glaring daggers at the taller of the two.

“Alright, alright,” Hugo concedes, placing both hands in a placating manner. “I won’t steal from anyone who doesn’t deserve it.”

“I—” Varian sighs as they start their ascent up towards the palace. “I suppose that’s the best I’m gonna get. Anyway, no stealing, arson, or overthrowing the monarchy.”

Pouting, Nuru grumbles, “No promises.”

Hugo would be tempted to agree with her discontent; Varian hasn’t talked much about his past, but from what he has mentioned, this king…he is definitely not a fan. He’d say something, but Varian’s face his split into a wide grin as he widens the distance between their group and solid ground.

“Pete, Stan!” Varian exclaims, cheer laced in his voice as he runs towards two...guards? They must be, judging from their bronze armor and the Coronian crest engraved into their uniforms.

“Ah, Varian; long time no see—”

“Varian, you’re back! I’ve missed you so much!” Unfortunately, their greetings are cut too soon as a small blur of purple and brown tackles Varian, lifting him up in the process. “You need to tell me all about your adventures! I read all of the letters you sent, but they pale in comparison to hearing them from you!”

“Princess, please let me down,” Varian wheezes, feet still dangling centimeters away from the ground. “Can’t breathe.”

“Can’t blame me for being happy to see my favorite alchemist,” Rapunzel chirps, trapping the alchemist in a bear hug.

Hugo laughs, turning away from the scene. It appears that Nuru is assessing Rapunzel, no doubt wondering as to how the princess has developed such strength. If the rumors were to be believed, he supposes carting around seventy feet of hair would give anyone muscles. As for Yong, he is…Hugo actually does not quite know what ever goes on in his head. Such a homecoming should be cause for celebration, but…it is odd—

He feels as if someone is watching them. But, try as he might, he cannot detect any particular person…or, anything, really, that may seem out of place.

For all intents and purposes, this meeting seems almost too normal.

“Nice to see you back and in one piece, Varian.” An incredibly familiar, grating voice greets them, only for said voice to turn its attention towards him. A tall man in crimson attire points an accusatory finger at him, a curse on the cusp of his lips. “It’s you—!!”

He squints, wondering if perhaps he needs a new prescription. There is no way the princess’s fiancé can be…but, no. He has heard the rumors of how the princess had been saved by a thief. It has to be him. Hugo would recognize this talentless hack and his stupid goatee anywhere. “Fancy seeing you here, Rider.”

It was just his damn luck that Hairstripe knew Flynn Rider of all people. This must be karma from all the thefts he committed, all of the pain he put Varian and the others in…but even-so, he cannot help but curse his incredibly shitty luck. How can he impress Varian’s family with this fake being a part of the equation!?

“You mean like the novels!?” Yong exclaims, gawking at the man in awe, waving a copy of Flynn Rider’s book that—

He had somehow ripped out of a very irate Nuru’s hands. “I’m your biggest fan!”

“No, no, tiny…overly-enthusiastic short person. I can’t go through this again,” Eugene sighs in exasperation. He directs his gaze towards Varian, a sheepish look on the alchemist’s face as he had finally broken free from Rapunzel’s hug. “It’s like looking into a mirror, huh, kid?”

“Wait, I know you—!!” They can practically hear the gears turning in Eugene’s head, realization of…something or someone dawning upon his face.

“Eugene, it’s…I can explain,” Varian chuckles, shifting on his feet as he averts his eyes. “Nuru and Yong are my close friends, and Hugo is—”

“I’m his boyfriend.” He could almost laugh at Rider’s bewildered expression, if only…the man’s contempt wasn’t directed towards him.

“You could have chosen anyone, but why oh why was it this menace of all people!?” Eugene screeches, and not a hair out of place on his stupid head.

That smooth, perfect bastard. Hugo’s eye twitches as he recounts their…less than stellar heist. It was the first and [thankfully] last time they had worked together, and for a damn good reason. “At least I don’t model myself after a fictional character.”

“The name’s Eugene, now. And I was merely showing my appreciation for fine literature, not that you’d know a good book even if it smacked you in the face,” the man quips, before turning to address Varian once again.

“How many times have I told you to not go after the first handsome thief you meet!?” Eugene complains, striding over towards the shorter alchemist, hands on his hips and an incredibly disapproving scowl on his face. “No criminals, and especially no dating until you’re mine and Rapunzel’s ages.”

“But Rapunzel did,” Varian splutters, faltering from Eugene’s disapproving scowl. “And I’m two years older than she was when you two met!”

“Yes, practically a baby,” Eugene quips.

“I stole the sundrop flower and nearly took down Corona single-handed!” the alchemist retorts in a half-joking manner. “And that’s not even getting into what happened with Cass! Don’t you think I deserve a little more credit?”

Eugene raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms as he looks down at the alchemist. “You’re bringing that up now?”

Rapunzel looks back and forth; green eyes marred in concern at…Varian’s less than ideal homecoming. Certainly, there’s no harm in this, but they’d best leave the two to catch up amongst themselves. Better get these three out of the way and let them have an overdue chat.

“Oh, Nuru, Yong? Why don’t I show you two around the castle?” the princess questions, clasping her hands together, smiling pleasantly, short bangs falling over her green eyes. Unfortunately, she leaves no room for disagreements as she takes Varian’s wrist and leads them inside the brightly-lit palace. Hugo watches as the hem of her purple gown disappears, and thus, his last remaining shred of hope.

“So…Flynn—”

“I already said it’s Eugene,” he deadpans, casting a withering look at the two guards who had not even hidden the fact they had been eavesdropping.

No wonder why a fourteen year old nearly took over a kingdom. Hugo resists the urge from rolling his eyes as the guards bumble around, saluting Eugene as he strides past them; shoes clattering noisily upon the polished marble of the palace.

“Let’s find somewhere a little more private to talk; and away from prying eyes.”

Hugo merely nods in affirmation, following the ex-thief only…to stop in his tracks as he hears the sound of two female voices, somewhere…not too far off, but as for where, he cannot tell. There is a bright red blur dart past in his peripheral vision and the metallic clang of chains, but…yeah.

He has more pressing matters on hand, like impressing Hairstripe’s family…or, at least, everyone except for Eugene.

---

“Okay, look—” Eugene had pulled him to the side, hands digging into his shoulders. It’s not that he minds, considering how utterly un-intimidating this man is. Except…this is Eugene of all people. How was he supposed to know this terrific big brother of his boyfriend was the Flynn Freaking Rider? Hugo had burned the memories of that lousy heist, but they were returning to the forefront of his mind now that he was face-to-face with the man. Slowly but surely, the ashes had begun to build upon in his mind, reforming into…quite possibly the shittiest situation he has ever had the misfortune of finding himself in. He’d even take Donella over the awkward conversation that was sure to follow.

“Unfortunately that’s all that I can do now.” Hugo could almost laugh at the man. ‘Eugene’s’ eyebrows are pulled together, a stern frown on his face. It is comical how deadset he looks that…Hugo honestly would love for nothing more than to mock him.

But, of course, he’s not gonna do that. He still wants to stay on Varian’s good side.

“Varian may trust you, but I don’t,” Eugene lowers his voice to such a ridiculous extent. Hugo cannot tell if this man loves the sound of his own voice or is a fan of theatrics. He’s an imbecile. An imbecile that his boyfriend considers family, but a moron nonetheless. “I don’t care how perfect and shiny your hair is, though I’ll definitely need tips on what conditioner you use.”

Hugo scoffs, “The same could be said about you.”

“Don’t test my patience.” Unlike his own kingdom or even Nuru’s, the halls of Corona’s castle are bustling with life. He’d think someone would have interfered and halted Eugene’s…tirade, but clearly, they seem to be more than a little used to his nonsense. “Varian is like a brother to me. A strange, possibly criminally insane little brother who is probably lurking somewhere deep within the bowels of Corona as we speak……”

“I’ll bet he’s already off on his own, searching for…potentially life-threatening chemicals or machines,” he continues on.

“Actually, have you ever seen him eat?” Eugene’s frown deepens. “Lance said he saw the kid eat an apple once, but I don’t buy it. Personally, I think that boy only subsists on hot chocolate and spite.”

“Really? Is that what you’re going to focus on?” Hugo retorts, biting back an insult. He almost has to squint from just how infuriatingly bright these halls are, but instead, he settles for adjusting his wire-rimmed frames.

Out of everything he has ever gone through in this life of his, this conversation is not how he had expected it to lead towards. But, Hugo supposes it could be worse. Yes…it could always be worse.

“Listen, you—”

Unfortunately [or fortunately, if you ask Hugo], Eugene’s words had been knocked out…literally. A very short, angry girl and a taller one with red hair had ambushed them during the midst of their conversation.

But…more surprisingly, why was Yong with them? Actually, no—this is to be expected. Hugo could hit, himself, really. With his training, how could it be that these three sneak up behind them during broad daylight?

Of course I just had to tempt fate, Hugo sighs, eyes narrowing at the three kids.

---

Keira and Catalina, that is what they had called themselves. He had heard of them from Varian and how they were like his sisters. At least, that is what he had gauged from the brief snippets Goggles would recount on the rare occasions he confided about his old home—but, if only he mentioned how utterly devious and conniving these two girls were. Honestly, under most under circumstances, he’d be impressed and maybe a bit disgruntled. All that it would take is his quick wit and silver tongue to get out of any situation, but……

He knows no matter what he says, no words will be persuasive enough with these two.

“Ugh, girls, what the heck are you two doing!?” The Captain of the Guard was attempting to break free from his restraints for the better part of five minutes, but to no avail. “And why is that kid with you?”

“Sorry Eugene,” the red haired girl, Catalina, apologizes, seemingly remorseful. “We’ll let you go—”

But, certainly, not sorry enough considering her part in this madness, Hugo scoffs, flinching as the cuffs dig deeper into his wrists from Eugene’s incessant movement. “Will you stop doing that!?” he hisses, the metallic chains still jangling from the other man’s fruitless attempts to break free.

The other one, Keira, she…seems to almost revel at the sheer misery she had bestowed upon their heads. “We’ll let you two go, but after we catch up with V. Or, more like, Catalina has something to say to him.”

What does Varian have to do with this—oh.

“I still don’t get what you see in that nerd, sis, but—”

Catalina buries her face in her hair, smacking her sister’s arm as she mumbles for her to shut up. To her credit, at least the black-haired girl looks sheepish enough, a regretful expression on her features as she mutters quick apologies. It…would seem that not only a good portion of Corona had admired Hairstripes [and, Hugo would suspect even some of the castle staff], but, still.

Poor kid doesn’t stand a chance. Hugo can definitely relate. He would feel sympathetic towards Catalina, but not when she was one of two reasons why he was here…and trapped with Eugene of all people.

“You got to monopolize all of V’s time these last few years. You had your chance, but now, it’s our turn.” Keira declares, voice irritatingly loud as she practically screams, “We’re kidnapping him!”

Raising her hand into the air, Catalina is quick to include, “Just for the afternoon. We’ll bring him right back, afterwards.”

“Okay, yeah, I get that, but why is he with you?” Eugene repeats, staring pointedly at Yong.

Yong shrugs, before turning back towards a window, admiring the view outside of the palace walls. “I dunno.”

Keira merely bounds up to the shorter boy before proudly exclaiming, “Yong’s our good luck charm! We’ll get through this with him on our side!” Hugo almost feels embarrassed for her.

“It still doesn’t explain, you know what—nevermind. Give me the key and I’ll let this slide,” Eugene demands, irritation clear on his face. At least, the very, miniscule bare minimum, Catalina had the grace to look at least moderately ashamed. But as for Yong and Keira? Clearly, they were living for this.

He should just leave it at this. Let Catalina go off and confess; it’ll take maybe…three, four hours tops? But as his eyes trail on the chains leading up to Eugene, he…cannot do this.

“What will you do after?” Hugo questions, directing his words towards Catalina. “What then?”

Catalina is silent, lips pressed in a thin line as she considers… “Um, I haven’t thought that far yet—”

“Don’t talk to the enemy, Catalina!” Keira screeches, quickly grabbing her wrist as she darts out of the sunny room, Yong following quickly on their heels.

“Bye, Hugo, bye Flynn!” Yong calls out, voice growing fainter as they watch the trio retreat. “We’ll be back; I promise!”

“I keep telling you people—call me Eugene!!”

---

“You’re telling me you, the Captain of the Guard, do not carry a sword!?” Hugo hisses, moments away from decking him in the face. “Or at least, nothing sharp. No weapons, nothing!?”

“How was I supposed to know those three were going to lock us up for the day?” Eugene rests his head against the pillar, looking up at the ceiling as his eyes trace the patterns painted upon its colorful exterior. “Hell, prior to this morning, I never even met that last kid.”

Hugo sighs, long and suffering as he assesses the trap they had quite literally stumbled into. It is certainly far from what he expected this day to be…at least they won’t be killed, but considering who he is trapped with, even death would be preferable. Almost, but as of now, this annoyance is tolerable to a bare minimum.

Hopefully Nuru’s fairing off a lot better, wherever she is……

The desire to let their words fall into obscurity, to stay in this obnoxiously bright room in complete silence was a reality that…he did not entirely disapprove of, but thankfully his unsaid prayers were answered, and not a minute out of place when high-pitched squeaks and chatters penetrated the looming silence that had shrouded over them. A busy tail, fluffy gray ears—Ruddiger, but he was biting down on a small, bronze key.

Rubbing his wrists, Hugo gets up, thankful to finally be freed from such a ridiculous ordeal.

“Man, I’ve never been happier to see Varian’s fat pet cat,” Eugene cheerfully states, only for Ruddiger’s fur to practically bristle as he hisses at the man, clearly unhappy with his statement.

Hugo shoots a pointed look at him. “Rude.”

“No, that’s not what I meant—” Eugene backtracks, only to sigh in defeat. “Let’s just…we’ve got a couple of traitors to stop.”

For a moment, Hugo considers this. There is nothing to be gained from meddling with their affairs; it is clear nothing will come out of it, save for a few broken hearts…which, he can certainly deal with that. He has nothing to lose or gain from this. But, as much as he despises Eugene, he can’t say that some part of him doesn’t want to seek out revenge. Or, at least, mess with their plans.

Eh, what the hell.

There is no possible way for this day to get any worse.

#Tangled #Tangled the Series #Varian and the Seven Kingdoms #Varigo #Varian #Hugo the Human #Nuru Tangled #Yong Tangled #Rapunzel #Eugene #Keira #Catalina #Fanfic

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casmoments · 3 years

Text

Marriage of Convenience; part 7

Prompt: “Arranged Marriage” - Certain factions of heaven are on your tail, the consequence of your death a trigger to greater destruction. In order to protect your life and others, you agree to an old custom that prevents any heavenly agent from harming you. The basic ritual? You have to marry an angel. Final part in the series. Reader Gender: female Word Count: 5640 Warnings: technically reader death but only the aftermath, not the process (cause/time of death is ambiguous). flashbacks to when the reader was first captured by angels, though. some true form!castiel as well.

part one ; part two ; part three ; part four ; part five ; part six

“Oh my god,” you say, mere moments after dying—sitting in heaven and you already blaspheme. Something like fondness curls in the film of his being, slithering down every wisping stem of his essence. The sensation tickles the underside of two faces, a curl of a smile on one head.

“No,” he says, the sound on the tips of his wings as he brushes them over you, “just me.”

You’re very small next to him. A human soul is no bigger than the human that was, but yours is blown wide, augmented by his grace. It has melded into your being like something that always belonged there. Your soul is thus small and not miniscule in comparison. If he was human and you a subject, you’d look like a doll in his hand.

But neither of you are either thing. He’s chaos and light and sound, rendered to something tangible in this odd dimension, with three heads and two arms and two legs, and blinking eyes running the length of every limb. Two vast wings stretch behind him, greater versions of what he showed you long ago on earth. The winding blue flames which circled ivory wings now cover the expanse of his back. It licks around him and sometimes looks more like water than fire, and you might swear it reflects starlight like quiet waters under open sky.

You are warmth and sound, golden and soft next to his whirling blue fire and white light. You best resemble a single flame, yellow and flickering, but your own being slowly bleeds through, even in this divine place. Your soul begins to manifest to a human face.

You’re perched before him in a garden which revolves underfoot. You sit on a branch—it’s the only thing that sits still.

“Oh, Castiel,” you say, “there is nothing just about you.”

Golden colours slip around you like a translucent gown as your body takes shape where you sit. You tip your head and look at him quizzically, glowing gold eyes roaming his form. You look directly at his middle head. “Is there a face under there?”

“No,” he replies, that same fondness slipping through him. “That is my face.”

“Oh.”

His middle face appears to have a veil draped over it, a vague shape of a human head beneath it. Of course, there is no beneath or atop, that is simply his entire face. On its left sits the face of a bird. It’s no specific bird as it seemingly changes at every angle. On the right sits the head of some wild cat, something like a panther with thicker and coarser hair, though coloured brightly as the rest of him, and likely softer than it looks. Other than the endless eyes, his arms and legs extend as a human’s might, albeit connected to a much bigger and stronger body shape. It must be to support those wings.

“Do I please you?” he asks. He moves onto one knee in genuflection, and even though you sit at a very high vantage, it only just puts you at eye level.

Your body has taken its full shape now, its outward age the same as the day you married. The translucent gold sheet still wraps around you and the iris of your eyes remain gold in colour. Other than that, you are familiar where he knows he is not.

But you smile and lean forward, looking him over.

“Yes,” you say, “very much.”

He lifts a hand to where you sit, placing it against the tree and not you. It’s a timid offering for you to touch him if you like. Considering he could easily crush something your size in one hand, he knows better than to suddenly grab at you like a plaything. He won’t hurt you, but it could startle you.

You stare at his fingers for a moment. His hands are somewhat human-shaped, and the eyes running down his arm end at his wrist, but something fiery seems to run over his knuckles, and his nails are more claw-like than any human. For a moment, you just stare, then tentatively reach out and lay your whole palm against him. When you make contact, wires of gold shoot up beneath your hand, running along his form like veins. You snatch your hand back with a yelp, looking at him in concern.

“It is all right,” he says, inching his hand closer. “That is how we are.”

He sees your understanding. As his grace fills you, so does your soul fill him, bound from the celestial consummation which marked you as husband and wife.

The golden threads fade and you place your hand to him again. There is a faint pulse where they show again, but it disappears even as your hand remains. You smile, running your hand back and forth.

“You sound different here,” you say, looking up at him. “But it’s pretty.”

Pretty is probably an understatement. He shifts so he kneels completely before your tree, each head fixated on you.

“This is how Enochian should sound,” he says. You look bemused again.

“Are you speaking Enochian? It just sounds like—” You don’t continue; you can’t continue. Sound is just sound, as redundant as that thought is. You shrug. “Am I speaking Enochian?”

“No. You can if you wish.”

“That’s good to know. I guess.” You are not capable of blushing here. There is no blood in your body-like form to alter it. But he wraps his second hand beneath the branch you sit on, and there is open affection in his many gazes.

“Your cheeks pinken often,” he says. You touch your face as if a blush sits there.

“What? No, they don’t!” You smile before the protest ends. “Yes, they do,” you confess. You’re thoughtful for a moment, looking away. You look at him when you speak again. “You told me I would be scared of your true form.”

“I thought it might frighten,” he says. “I am pleased it does not.”

“Me too,” you say with a warm smile. “But I don’t think I could ever be scared of you.”

“I thought you were,” he says, one of his head ducking in shame, “once.”

“What?” You have never heard this story and you look at him confusedly. There are traces of amusement on your face, however, as you see him recoiling with embarrassment. Angels should not feel embarrassment—but then, they should not feel many things he does. “What do you mean you thought I was scared of you? When?”

“In the beginning.”

“Tell me.”

He does.

He remembers the warehouse where he first found you. Until that night, he had not even realized a new prophet existed. A gang of corrupted seraphim must have activated one, their dark purpose immediately clear as Castiel followed their trail.

Though he never received a clear explanation of how he came upon their trail at all. They had quieted your prayers, preventing you from reaching anyone no matter your efforts. But a whisper somehow reached him, transferred across cosmic wavelengths without explanation, planted right in his head so he might find you.

Castiel set on the mission by himself. He would not burden the Winchesters with an endeavour beyond them. They were already crippled by an obvious misery, memories of past failures. Castiel felt much of that, feeling it beneath the skin of his vessel as it bled into his very being. Responsibility, disappointment, heartbreak, and a terrifying despair if he failed that day.

Such unending chaos, unending hurt.

Only two angels held you in captivity, awaiting a summons from their superiors. Castiel easily vanquished one but released the second, not wishing for more bloodshed. The angel taunted him for his sentimentalities, but even then Castiel ignored him. Only when he saw how you had been treated did he reel. When the angel came at him again, he finished the mutilated shadow of divinity. He mentally recited but one lament, that for the human vessels not spared.

Then he was at your side, helping you from your frightened position. You had curled in on yourself, protecting your body from further injury. The damage done looked worse than it was, though the shock of it all had broken you. Castiel touched you very carefully, even then you cried out in protest and tried to break from his arms.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promised, though his gruff voice may have startled you. He slid his hands past your protesting fists and cupped your cheeks, allowing a remedy to spread through your body.

Your panic settled, bliss falling with the physical relief. When he touched his hand to your mouth, healing the sensitive injuries more directly, you groaned into his palm—a very pleased moan that rumbled down an unfamiliar nerve.

“Is that better?” he asked when it was completed.

You slumped against him, all but collapsing in his arms. He remained on his knees, your body slanted against his, but he looked down when you looked up.

“Thank you,” you said, spoken with such sincerity. He felt a thrum of something like affection. You had placed unabashed trust in his presence. It felt good to feel the embrace of someone who thought him unremittingly pure of character, a protector as he should have been. He had failed in many regards but your gaze perceived someone who had not.

But it did not last.

Time saw these sentiments flitter away. And for the best. It was wrong of him to indulge in good feelings for the sake of their simplicity. Nor did he deserve it, anyway.

Castiel observed your nature in the bunker, your demure character giving way to someone more boisterous once you were comfortable. But you were never comfortable around him. While you welcomed Sam and Dean into your circle, Castiel read your distance as fear. A wall stood between you and him so he remained dutifully behind it, even if a bitter and jealous sting affected him. He had found you and helped you, had been the first to hold you, but it was others who reaped the benefit. But he quickly quelled those thoughts; you were an individual and deserved greater respect than such crude thinking. It was not his place to gain anything.

And, truly, it pleased him to see you so happy. To see the Winchesters so happy.

He recalled a particular visit to the bunker, early in your stay. He materialized in the library but found it empty. There was a scuffle echoing down the corridor, laughter and shouting and iron clattering. Curious, Castiel ventured forth. He followed the sounds to the kitchen where he stopped in the doorway. His eyebrows lifted as he looked on in surprise.

The room was completely upside down. Pots and pans were littered across the floor while dishcloths were suspended from lighting rigs. Vials of food colouring stained the floor in multi-coloured patterns and it looked as though a bakery had exploded at the centre table.

You were in the middle of it, the Winchesters as well. You were hurling flour at one another, forgotten dough sitting on a cutting board. All three of you were washed in white flour. Castiel turned the corner just in time to witness Dean pouring a bowl of chocolate mix over Sam’s head.

“Dean!” Sam hollered.

You were beside yourself in hysterics, draped over the table and laughing. The brothers became occupied with wrestling each other, smacking one another with flour and bits of dough while you watched and laughed to your heart’s content.

Though Sam and Dean were vastly amusing, Castiel found his gaze straying. He looked at you though you had yet to notice him. Your smiles always compelled him to watch longer.

He admitted there was a race to his bloodstream, albeit beyond control. A warmth spread across his chest and for a moment he remained there, standing in the doorway and looking at you. Your hair fell from its messy up-do, caked in sugar and flour, your cheeks powdered white and a streak of pink icing across your forehead.

It was incredible to think you were the same girl once curled on a basement floor, a stranger to all three of them. How much had changed and yet how much had not. You were still more stranger than friend despite the growing desire to change that completely. He wished to speak with you, wished to make you laugh as you laughed now, and because he was an unfettered excuse for angel, a patchwork creature felted of heaven and human, he could not help but admire your smiling lips and kicking legs, the wiggle of your hips and curve of your figure as you bent over the table.

It was the first time his thoughts of you wandered to carnality—but not the last.

As he relates this chapter of his story, you slide to the edge of your branch to look at him better. His wings have wrapped completely around the tree, one hand gripping your branch and the other holding the trunk. He pauses in his account to asses you, wondering of your intentions. You look at the ever-changing ground and then at him.

“Can you hold me?” you ask.

He eagerly offers his hand, having been waiting for you to ask such a thing. You drop into his hold, not even blinking as you let yourself fall. He catches you then sits back, allowing you to walk over his hands. You move onto your hands and knees, bending over to look at the eyes on his arm. Then you sit back in his palm and look up at him, smiling.

“Continue,” you say.

He does so, perhaps with a greater strain now that you are in proximity. And, of course, his story unfolds with more decadence than any angel should hold.

One day he happened to appear in the kitchen just as you bent right over, unwittingly flashing him a sudden view up your dress. He didn’t move for a moment, taken back. He hadn’t braced himself for that. When he realized what was happening, he panicked, flying from the room. He aimed for the library and succeeded—at the cost of smashing right into the table. He toppled a chair and almost took himself down.

You came running into the room, the skirt of your dress billowing.

“Castiel,” you said, already flushed. You seemed embarrassed. Did you know? Did you know that he invaded your space and then remained there while you unknowingly revealed your more private attributes?

“Y/N,” he said after a moment. “Are Sam and Dean here?”

He knew they were not. He meant to check on you. You had been alone in the bunker for over a week.

You shook your head, looking at him a bit strangely. You were too polite to question his odd behaviour.

“No, they’re—”

“Oh,” he said quickly, “I apologize.”

He promptly fled the scene.

He fought to return to his previous state, a simpler state. He liked to hear about you. He liked to see you. He liked the things he learned, your stories and habits, and there were other things he wished to discover. Granted, he learned these things second-hand, through Sam and Dean. But he enjoyed them nonetheless. It was a fond acknowledgement, a tender affection. An innocent curiosity. Nothing more.

And then he joined the Winchesters on a hunt, waiting in their motel room while they dined elsewhere. He turned on the television, idly flipping stations. He momentarily thought of you, wondering if he should check on you. Perhaps not. He continued surfing the television instead, always a bit curious to see what he might find.

He froze after flicking to a pornographic channel, blinking at the screen. His usual reactions were absent, a derisive glance or quirked eyebrow. His first foray into pornography had been baffling, to say the least. He understood the concept of intercourse but the details of certain partnerships escaped him. Those details were clarified but didn’t make particular sense. After that, he had a low regard for most of it.

It was still quite farcical but his vessel grew taut, human senses overpowering his angelic ones. It was a faint sensation, gradually evolving. It was difficult to reverse. Especially with his eyes locked on the screen.

It just—it so happened to be that this particular actress resembled you in a certain fashion. His thoughts would not have strayed had the scenario been different. But this unfortunate coincidence was very difficult to shake.

The woman tossed her head back, a cry of ecstasy on her lips. Castiel thought of laughter, another human response, and suddenly matched the two expressions. A poor development, honestly. He could now imagine such an expression on your face, lips pink and upturned with a delirious smile. Ecstasy—

He turned off the television when the Winchesters stumbled back in. They didn’t notice anything but Castiel excused himself, reappearing a block away. He felt the evening breeze, his vessel alerting him to every sensation. He peered through a narrowed perception, down at his own body. This was not the appropriate time to become aroused. And certainly not the appropriate reason.

After that night, it did occur him that he should better understand these responses and ideas if he wanted to overcome them. And he really needed to overcome them.

The next time he visited, he recalled his previous thoughts and felt something like shame. You would be appalled if you could hear his musings. Not only did every thought once exist but they lingered.

He may have tuckered through a moment with you, had you not wandered into the library wearing nothing but a long t-shirt. You clearly just rose from sleep, something so natural and human, your body rolling through its cycles. A body which made him very aware.

Needless to say, a whole slew of thoughts piled on him at that one moment—your skirt lifting as you bent over, a breathless moan on your lips, your head thrown back in ecstasy, and you nestled in your bed with a simple garment wrapped around your body.

“Castiel?” you asked. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for Sam and Dean,” he lied, careful to stand behind a chair. The last thing he needed was you seeing was his traitorous cock protesting at its material confines. He stood very still, breathing. Not breathing in any particular fashion, but breathing.

“They went out,” you replied.

“Oh,” he said. “I’m sorry if I disturbed you. Goodbye.”

“Uh, bye—”

He tried to detach you from his thoughts as he researched humans and their oh-so vast sexual escapades. You may have inadvertently encouraged this venture, but he only embarked upon it so he could better understand it. The more he knew, the easier it would be to divest himself of it.

He actually thought himself a decent success, not once debasing himself to any human level. His vessel didn’t enjoy his purposeful avoidance, but he learned to control its urges.

At least until visiting yet another day. Sam and Dean were gone and he was checking in, but he couldn’t find you anywhere. He strolled the halls and paused as he neared your bedroom. He would not just waltz in, obviously, though he did freeze when he heard noise inside. He stepped a bit closer to the door, brow furrowed. For a moment it sounded like you were in pain and he almost knocked.

Then he realized.

He stood still, feeling a physical drop as his vessel tightened around him. You were moaning in pleasure, bedsheets rustling beneath your moving body as you so clearly pleased yourself on the other side of that door. Castiel leaned against the wall, suddenly feeling very heavy. He furrowed his brow and looked down, almost groaning at how quickly his vessel had hardened. Was he so weak a creature after all?

He pushed away from the wall, moving to the other end of the corridor. He leaned back, flexing his fingers. He contemplated leaving, perhaps going to heaven, but he couldn’t find the willpower. His blood was pumping hotly and it all moved south, his cock almost hurting with how desperately hard it was, trapped in his clothes. He did eventually manage to fly, but he only made it to a bathroom on the other side of the bunker.

He all but collapsed against the counter, with a ragged groan submitting himself to the habits of humans. He opened his belt and then his pants, breathing out in relief when he pushed his hand down and freed the frustratingly needy erection which waited there. He clutched the edge of the counter, panting but otherwise keeping his volume down. He made a few half-hearted attempts to clear his mind, moving his hand over his cock in the appropriate fashion.

It was no use. When he came, your image was plastered everywhere in his mind. He recalled you moaning into his hand that day you met—morphing into a mental image of you sprawled beneath him, similar noises tumbling from your lips as you spread your legs and called him to you.

After cleaning up, he simply flew from the bunker and did not return. He didn’t visit you when you were alone anymore. Clearly, he had to keep his distance.

“I can’t believe you never told me that,” you say now, sprawled across his hand and looking up at him. His heads have turned aside but he directs them to you, eyes likewise blinking in your direction.

“I thought it might embarrass you,” he says, a cord of blue flame twining from his wing, teasing at your body. You laugh, squirming as you roll away. He holds you carefully.

“It would have then,” you admit, “but I think I would have liked it.”

“I know,” he says, a second strand of his grace dancing over you. This time you lean toward it, humming contently as it caresses you. “I know very well the things you like.”

You would be blushing again if you could.

“What about when we married then?” you ask, laying on your stomach. You prop your chin in your hand and kick your legs, tipping your head as you look at him. “Were you happy when you found out we had to get married?”

“If I ever was, it caused guilt.”

“Guilt! Why?”

“I thought you disliked me,” he replies. “I thought you feared me. It would be selfish to feel happiness at the arrangement if it would upset you.”

“It made me happy,” you say softly. You rest your head when more of his grace rolls over you, covering you sweetly.

“A fact I soon realized,” he says.

He remembers your wedding night very well. He had been so concerned with hurting you, and then you revealed you were a virgin he felt even worse for intruding on your potential life. It was not until he had you beneath his hands did he begin to wonder if he had been a fool. Your body responded keenly to his touch, and he saw you fighting to stifle your gasps. It could not be contained for long, your hips lifting so he would slide his hand beneath you, a tremble in your body as he touched you and felt how you desired him.

Then you were on your back, willingly spreading your legs as you encouraged his advance. He settled over you and wondered. He recalled your reactions the first day you met. You were rattled from your ordeal so he never blamed you for your hesitancy. But as he looked at you then, pink-cheeked and shy and embarrassed, unable to meet his eye as you shifted beneath him, he wondered if that held true once before. Perhaps you did not move away in fear, perhaps you did not avoid his gaze in worry. Perhaps his own infatuation had commenced that day. Perhaps you reciprocated.

Perhaps was a heavy word, saturated with so much possibility, yet he found its use persistent. For perhaps it was preposterous to imagine any sort of infatuation rooting so early in a story, yet he supposed everything had to start somewhere.

He was so used to chaos and catastrophe, to the sinister and ugly. He knew all about small problems snowballing into cataclysms of unmatched proportion. He never thought something which in itself was quiet and affectionate could begin somewhere even smaller and blossom softly. He wouldn’t know how to proceed much further. In heaven, there was only the Will and the Way. On earth, there was only pain and, if not pain, worry for the next mission. He was the perpetual soldier.

It was unusual to feel himself falling into something brighter.

As his body had almost entirely overcome his senses, he had mere scraps of grace on the surface of his being. The deeper levels would be breached at the celestial consummation, one that would bind you to him for eternity. Of the outermost remains, he used all of it to make the experience more comfortable for you. He carefully aligned his body to yours as he filled you for the first time. He offered to leave the consummation at that—but you brought an end to his wonderings and hooked your leg around him, with a smile inviting he continue.

He did, of course, thinking how happily he would continue for however so long you wanted him. And it seemed you did want him, as mere hours later you were rolling back into his arms, requesting he make love to you. He had lain behind you for hours, not sleeping but watching, touching your hair, your skin, careful not to wake you, content to be with you. And then he had you wrapped around him again.

It all felt so good until morning came. Uncertainty returned as you woke hazily, seeming almost frightened again. Instinct kicked in, the same which had always protected him, and he retreated with pitiful shame, thinking he had pushed himself to the outskirts of your affection again.

Until your emotional confession in the evening. When he had you in his arms again, he was certain to pry every secret from your lips, confirm your wanting of him, and swear to himself that he would love every inch of you and never again allow petty insecurities to stand between you.

“You did a very good job of loving me, you know,” you speak again now, sitting on the edge of his hand. You cling to him as he moves, laying on the spinning earth-like ground. Your feet touch the grass and he remains on his side, watching as you roam in a circle near to him. “Where are we?” you ask, looking up at his wing as it folds at his side, the tip reaching you. You stand on your toes and touch it.

“Your heaven,” he replies. “You have two. Prophets are blessed with an awareness of all heaven; you can come and go as you please. This is a place for you to roam, but you have a personal space which resembles an earthly memory.”

“Oh,” you say. A flash of gold moves through him when you sidle alongside him, pressing into his torso. His wing slides further over you, gently keeping you against him. You remain there for a moment, smoothing your hand over him as his grace likewise touches your hair. It’s difficult to measure time in this place, but you linger for quite a while. Then you sit up, touching his wing. “Can we see the other heaven?”

“Of course.”

He stands in mere seconds, lifting you off the ground and holding you in front of him. His wings seem to explode around him, flying up and spreading wide, so wild and bright it’s almost blinding—even here where you have nothing to properly blind.

You close your eyes anyway. When you open them, you feel something flat beneath your bare feet. You look around and realize you’re in your bedroom at the bunker.

“Home,” you murmur. You shiver when you hear the flap of wings, much smaller and very familiar. You turn around and see Castiel, standing in the shape of his vessel. The gold thread which draped over you before remains, but as material now. Likewise is he wrapped in something sheer and blue. Though you don’t think you have a beating heart, you swear it races as he approaches you.

He doesn’t say anything and you don’t need him to. He takes your face in his hands as he did the day you met and he kisses you. You feel the fabric fall from your body and then his. Every sensation is heightened to the extreme, a tremor running through your entire form as his hands slide down your body. You lean against him as he kisses down your neck, hands smoothing over your backside. You squeak, smacking his chest when he squeezes your bottom.

“Cas,” you giggle. He nips at your shoulder then lifts his head, smiling fondly. “Always such trouble,” you say in Enochian.

In reply, he lifts you off the ground. Thinking of his true form, all that strength makes sense. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, your legs his waist, and you hold onto him when he lays you back on the bed. His mouth moves down your body while his hands settle under your thighs. He pushes them apart, breaking your hold on his waist. You tremble and start to breathe when his lips scour your inner thigh, tracing familiar paths.

“Castiel,” you breathe his name, lifting your hips as he teases you. You moan with blissful relief when his mouth moves where you need it. He brings you to climax quickly and, as usual, you expect a breather. As usual, that doesn’t happen. You make a high-pitched noise as he continues his assault, your body bending as you partly lift off the bed with your second orgasm. “Cas,” you moan raggedly, because he isn’t stopping. He turns you over and lifts your hips, and then his mouth returns. “Ugh, this isn’t different—” you say, but you say it with a smile.

Your smile is broken with surprise when you feel him slide inside you, fingers still swirling over your throbbing and sensitive clit. You finish in seconds, pulsing around him and listening as he breathes and grunts with every thrust. He holds your hips with both hands, pitching almost erratically against you. You clench around him and he comes, fingers digging into your hips. You slump forward with hazy delight when he pulls away. You slide onto your stomach, laying there for a moment. You turn your head to look at him and you anticipate a tired, content look.

But it still blazes with desire, his hand running down your back.

Your body recovers quicker here. You suppose it does for him too. He rolls you onto your side and, still a bit delirious, you grab at him messily. He doesn’t seem to mind, hoisting your leg around his waist as his cock presses at your entrance. You take hold of him, aligning him, mimicking his low sound when he fills you again. You have each other in that position and then he rolls you onto your back. His thrusts fill you differently, almost better, but he swallows your sounds with a hard kiss.

He makes you come again, following moments after, and you swear you see white for a moment.

Then you’re settled in his arms. His wings, scaled to a reasonable proportion again, unfold around him as he lays on his side. He draws you against him and you nestle your head against his chest, breathing in as his wing slides over you.

“So how do you think you heard my prayer?” you ask, thinking to the beginning of his story, how he heard your prayer when you were taken captive.

He kisses the top of your head then breathes out.

“I don’t know,” he answers honestly, that familiar rough voice sounding in your ears.

“Can we go back to that other place for a bit?” you ask. As much as you adore this form, you’re almost starting to miss his other one.

No sooner has his wing moved do you feel yourself standing. Gold wraps around you again, a part of your essence here, and you stand while he waits on one knee before you. He still towers over you. You lift one hand and he takes that as indication, picking you up.

Before long, you’re sitting on his shoulder. You felt a bit ridiculous at first but you adjusted quickly. You touch one of his faces and he makes what must be a pleased sound.

“Do you think you were sent to save me?” you ask, sliding off his shoulder and into his hands as he lays down again. You curl up on his chest, his wings folding around you. The flame is bright blue, amplified by the white beneath it.

“Cherished wife,” he says, all his phrases a bit different in pure Enochian, but the compliment no less welcome. You shudder when you suddenly feel much more, a whirl of emotion beneath his chest as a thousand different feelings unfold beneath you. Most of them are unpleasant and you wonder why he shares them, but they soon bleed into something much warmer, and then it blisters hot in the most wonderful way. You think of his story, beginning with worries and fears, ending here. You understand, the essence of your soul almost completely bleeding into his grace. Gold flickers in his wings above you like stars in the blue. “You can see,” he says, “who was sent to save whom.”

castiel x reader masterpost

#castiel x reader #castiel imagine #castiel x y/n #casreader #castiel

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black-streak · 4 years

Text

Waiting for the Worms - Vera

Part 12

Aka, I have no control over myself and SOMEONE on discord maybe urged me on a little. One of these days, one of you are going to ask about the titles for these and I'm going to refuse to answer. Woah, someone remembered that Jason's body was dipped in a crazy pool and he hasn't experienced that before! How fun.

CLOSED beggars: @northernbluetongue @thethirdwheelfriend @shizukiryuu @theatreandcomicfreak @michellemagic @karategirl119 @moonlightstar64 @my-name-is-michell @mystery-5-5 @zalladane @queen-of-the-trash-planet-tm @miraculousdisapointment @dorkus-minimus @jardimazul @allthebooksandcrannies @g-arya @worlds-tiniest-spook-pastry @persephonescat @mycupisbroken @luciferge @18-fandoms-unite-08 @dawnwave16 @alwaysreblogneverpost @kris-pines04 @mysteriouslyswimmingfan-blo-blog @weird-pale-blonde-person @you-will-never-know-how-i-think @kokotaru @naclychilli @slytherinhquinn @clumsy-owl-4178 @ladybug-182 @darkthunder1589 @evil-elf16 @dast218 @lysslovsanime @emilytopaz @naoryllis @iloontjeboontje @thepeacetea @danielslilangel @finallyaniguana @i-like-fairytail-and-stuff @vixen-uchiha @yuulxd @bleeding-heart-romantic @magic-inthe-stars @st0rmy-w1th1n

~---~

Jason knew those eyes, had been haunted by those eyes for months now. Felt the absolute need to protect them from the horrors of the world without a second thought. And now they were in front of him, real and alive and coming from the face of a young, tan skinned boy with pitch black, course looking hair that fell in a rumpled mess across his face, quietly calling out Marinette's name. The name he spent the better part of three years responding to as though it were his own. But that didn't make any sense, he'd never met this boy before. How did he know her? Was this a repressed memory of hers that her body somehow stored all this time and was trying to inform him of over time? Was this the work of the fear toxin taking hold and showing Marinette's worst fear? That also made no sense. He'd known her since she was six and she'd never mentioned this boy. It also couldn't explain the simplicity of the sight before her. Nothing fear inducing was actually happening. Except he felt on the edge of a panic attack anyways.

Could it be that his worst fear was this boy because of his reoccurring presence in his nightmares and the idea of this being a real child who's gone through so damn much it reminded him of himself, it scared him half to death? Or the fear that perhaps he had truly gone insane and the dreams were an indication of the war he raged inside himself?

Lifting his hands up to his face to block the images, he took note of the size, the coloration, the scaring. This wasn't how Marinette's hands looked. Those weren't Marinette's arms. Looking down, he knew that he shouldn't sit this tall or be this broad or have that long of legs. Nothing made sense anymore and as the hysteria set in, green edged his vision.

"Marinette? Mari? What's happening?" The voice drew closer, sounding concerned and hinting at the slightest touch of nerves.

"Venomous green. Electric, neon. Like Plagg."

That wasn't his voice, was it? He spoke, but that voice was too deep, too husky and masculine to be right. Nothing was right. This felt wrong and yet exactly as it was meant to all at once and he didn't understand. The bright green closed in on him and he felt himself tremble.

"It's the pits, Marinette. You've dealt with them, remember? You know how to fight it, how to calm yourself," the voice stayed where it was at, but he was sure if he looked up, those haunting jade eyes would be right there, staring into his soul.

How could he calm himself? The nightmares never talked to him like this, never told him to calm himself, to take control. He'd never dealt with the green overtaking his vision, not since the very first dream well over a year ago. He never fought it, what was this kid on about? Why was his mind screaming at him? He wanted to lash out, to hit and fight and attack, but his instincts yelled to protect the child and nothing else was here. Grabbing up another knife, he slammed it down, surprised to see it hit into a cushion that landed under his hand right as he moved.

"Deep breaths, counts of seven with me," the voice was closer, counting for him and he followed without thought. His thoughts narrowed into the numbers, the screaming dulling down to a soft roar in the background, the green settling down until it disappeared entirely and still the counting continued on until his breathing became his own.

"Back with me?"

"What the fuck is going on?" He hissed out, fear and nausea piling up.

The kid's eyes widened and then narrowed as he backed up, grip tightening on the blade still in his hand. He opened his mouth and hesitated for half a second before he asked, voice demanding and sharp, leaving no room for argument, "Jason?"

Jason reeled back, having not heard that name since the accident, "How do you know that name?"

"She's been going by it for as long as I've known her."

"Who?!"

"Marinette."

His breath caught in his throat, shoulders dropping from their defensive hunch, unable to speak for a moment. He stayed still, processing as the boy across from him moved around the other side of the kitchen counter, swiftly grabbing the knife block and dropping it off on the counter furthest away from Jason.

"How?"

"She told me she woke up in a grave. Had been in there for quite some time. Dug out and landed in a coma for a year. My- Talia found her after she woke up. Took her back to the league and dropped her in the pits. That was about-"

"A year and a half ago."

"Yes… how do you know this?"

"Saw the acid green at night, didn't know what it was."

"She mentioned the connection cutting when she died. I guess the pits could have healed that as well."

"And she met you about nine months ago, then. Or at least something significant happened. I recognize your eyes."

"I might have approached her around that time, I suppose."

"How old are you?"

"Seven."

"Fuck kid, tell me half of what I saw wasn't real?"

"Depends on what you saw, but I would assume so."

"Fucking hell. And so what, she just up and ran? Took you with her? Mari's alive? Been alive all this time and I didn't know?"

"Something like that," the kid slid closer, carefully prying the knife from his hand. Realizing he still held it, had thrown one at the boy only minutes before, he abruptly let go, letting it clattered onto the counter below where the kid swiped it off and put it with the others out of immediate reach. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes as he came to terms with Marinette's state of living. Dug herself out of his grave? A coma? Talia. He couldn't wrap his brain around it. If the dreams were all visions, his sweet little soulmate had killed. Had fought for her life so often it felt like routine. Had suffered and lost so much, had seen this child going through the same things and put her foot down. Had ran for her life, kid in tow, no guarantee of survival, while he lived with her parents. No villains to defeat, no league to push him or force his hand. He hadn't even been grateful. Just depressed and angry while she went through a hell ten times as brutal. From the look the kid gave him, she didn't even talk terribly of him like he deserved. Otherwise he was sure the kid would have that knife worked up to his throat by now, demanding her back. Granted he didn't look happy, but his stance wasn't openly hostile yet.

Shit, he didn't deserve her and yet joy spread through him like a whip. She was alive. She was okay and had a little family of her own and had moved on through it all and he felt so damn proud and joyful to know she was alive all this time. Despite the horrible circumstances and atrocities she obviously faced in her time as him, she had been alive and not taken to an early grave. She turned seventeen last week no matter what body she did so in. The Joker hadn't taken her from him despite his best efforts. She was too strong, too persistent and capable. Marinette was alive and the pure happiness that shocked him to his core left him shaking and breathless.

"Calm down, you'll work yourself up again. She never told me you were an emotional mess."

"Shut it, kid. You would freak out if you found out someone you thought dead for three years was alive too."

"Tt. You won't survive a week with the madness."

"The madness? What's that supposed to mean?" Jason felt his hackles rising and had to remind himself of the emotional lockdown from his time fighting Hawkmoth to stamp it down. The kid obviously meant a lot to Mari and he wasn't about to make an enemy of himself.

"The acidic green and screaming in your head I had to talk you down from? That was an aftereffect of being dipped in the Lazarus pit. Marinette has no problem controlling it now. Should have known it wasn't her the second you couldn't force it into submission yourself," the kid gave a haughty sneer, turning his nose up.

"And the first time it struck her? Did she have such control then?"

The boy seemed to wilt at that, looking down in shame, "No."

"What happened?"

"I made a mistake. Someone almost got to me and she lost it. Killed everyone in the vicinity."

"And that was towards the beginning?"

"No. She wasn't allowed in the training room with me until she had the madness locked down. It wasn't even our first mission together. It was my fault she lost control. She would've been fine had I not messed up."

Jason immediately felt bad for chastising the kid for his attitude. He obviously felt uncomfortable looking at a familiar face and yet talking to a virtual stranger.

"Hey, relax kid, I'm sure she doesn't see it that way and wouldn't want you to either. She probably just did what she thought necessary to protect you, even if you don't agree with her methods. Trust me, I'm familiar with them," he offered with a self deprecating chuckle.

The boy seemed to soften, looking at him with curious eyes, "You really are her soulmate," he stated, almost coming off as a tease, "It's Damian by the way."

"Huh?"

"You've been calling me kid for the last half hour. My name is Damian."

"Whatever, kid," he smirked as Damian's lips twisted in annoyance, "Wait, did you say half hour?"

"It took a while to calm you down," he shrugged.

Suddenly it hit Jason where he had been. What had been happening that sent him into that panic.

"Fuck!"

The kid startled, looking at him like he lost his rocker, which okay, that was fair.

"What now?"

"The place I was at. It got attacked when we switched. She had to have taken in some fear toxin, who knows what type of effect that has on her!"

"Attacked? She'll be fine, Marinette's the beat fighter I know," Damian seemed to calm at that, almost offended at his inferring her inability to handle the situation.

"Was she exposed to fear toxin in the league?"

"Fear toxin? I'm not sure what that is, but her immune system was adapted to handle several poisons. Every league members' is."

"You mean this body was. This body's immune system was adapted."

That seemed to throw him for a loop, stiffening up, but he persisted, "Her mind has taken on the chaos of the pit, surely fear pulsing through as well couldn't be worse."

"As well! Her soul was in that pit, not just this body. Meaning the madness probably latched on to her soul as well. In an unadjusted body, with the jolt and panic of being launched into her old body in the middle of an attack with fear toxin coursing through it."

The air about Damian seemingly crashed around him and the small shoulders begin to shake as reality settled in, "she's going to lose herself again, isn't she?" He half whimpered, trying to push it down to sound less weak infront of Jason, but he was obviously afraid. Jason flinched, remembering the kid's age once more and that he probably should have just agreed to keep him calm.

"We'll track her down. You can ground her, you're good at that, right?"

He nodded, "Can't you just switch back, instead? Give Marinette back?"

"It doesn't work that way kid. You can resist the tug when it comes, but you can't force the tug itself."

"Give her back! She's probably a mess right now, I need to help her!"

"I can't, kid. I'm sorry. We'll find her though, I promise. I know where she is. Where are we? The faster I can map out a route, the sooner you'll be with her. Tell me and then get changed, we'll leave now."

As the kid ran to what was presumably his room, rambling out an address, Jason was surprised to realize how close they were. Marinette lived in Gotham. He shouldn't feel so surprised.

He forced himself to the other room, rummaging through a drawer until he found clothes to shove on and walked towards the door, Damian running up behind him. As his hand touched the doorknob, his mind yanked him back and without any warning, he was thrown into Marinette's body once more.

#jasonette #maribat #ml x dc #WFTW #part 12 #yall are spoilt by me #i didnt even give this a once over #its just being tossed into the world now

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brandyovereager · 4 years

Text

The Phoenix Effect - pt. 7

This is the longest chapter I have ever posted! The conversations in this chapter were so much fun to write, I hope you have fun reading them ;). Let me know what you think, I love to hear from you guys!!!

On ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/22195906/chapters/60178285

Summary: Rowan is in Rifthold with Dorian when a strange phenomenon sweeps the land. Those once dead are popping up alive. Everyday, more and more are Reborn. One day Rowan encounters a Reborn young man who refuses to give his name, only asking to know the whereabouts of Celaena Sardothien.

Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius lounged on her throne. Her posture was casual in a way that made her appear superior, but the grin on her face betrayed the childlike joy within her.

Aelin had heard about the reborn phenomenon in Adarlan from Rowan’s reports, and knew all the miraculous details of what was happening. It shouldn’t have been as much of a shock as it was for her to hear that reborns were showing up in Terrasen.

The first ones arrived in towns near the border between Terrasen and Adarlan. Within a week there were reborns appearing in Orynth. Luckily, Aelin was a swift and wise leader. She was able to quickly institute a procedure for helping reborns similar to the one in Adarlan.

The whole situation was managing smoothly, her mate would be returning home soon, and just three days ago Aelin found yet another reason to be happy.

It seemed there was no real logic to where the reborns popped up. It didn’t coincide with where they died��or even where they had lived most of their lives—because when Aelin last visited the reborn specialists’ center, she was reunited with a dear friend she thought was lost forever.

Somehow the magical force behind this phenomenon had brought Nehemia Ytger to Orynth, alive and well.

Their reunion was joyous and tearful. Aelin had so much to explain to Nehemia, things she never had the chance to say, but all she could get out were incoherent sobs of delight. Several minutes of heartfelt embrace later, the pair was sat close together and calm enough to delve into their much needed conversation.

The story spilled out of Aelin faster than she could think—along with a stream of pent-up apologies and guilt for what happened to her friend. Aelin had blamed herself for so much after Nehemia died, and all that shame came resurfaced as she sat across from the other young woman.

Nehemia adamantly denied any guilt on Aelin’s part, but made sure Aelin knew that she would be forgiven anyway. After sufficient reassurance and long overdue healing, the two friends jumped right in to all the wonderful updates on Aelin’s life.

The young queen excitedly took her old friend on a tour around her castle and introduced her to her court—most of it, at least. Nehemia and Lysandra hit it off wonderfully, and the three spent many hours together with broad smiles on their faces. It filled Aelin’s heart to see two people she loved get along so well. She couldn’t wait for Nehemia to meet Rowan.

Now, three days after their reunion, Nehemia sat beside her in the throne room while she held her court. The two friends exchanged many secret smiles as various courtiers made their—often ridiculous—remarks.

From outside the throne room, Aelin could hear a commotion begin amongst her guards. The Fae queen sat up straighter in her seat and focused her gaze on the large doors ahead of her. As expected, they soon opened and a servant entered.

“Your Majesty, two new reborns have arrived and wish to speak to you.” That was quite odd. Why would her guard have gotten in a fuss over a couple of reborns?

“Reborns should be sent to the specialists’ center to find help. Why should these two be brought to see me?”

“You know these ones, My Queen, they are your family.” A jumble of feelings rushed through Aelin with the servant’s statement, and the look on his face betrayed his knowledge of her reaction.

“My family? Send them in.” Aelin was tingling and buzzing down to her fingertips. The possibility of her own family being amongst those reborn had always been there, but she hadn’t let herself believe it would happen.

The doors to her throne room opened to reveal a male and female, each with golden hair. The male Aelin recognized immediately, and she leapt from her seat to meet him in an embrace.

“Gavriel.” The golden-haired male held her firmly to him with just as much enthusiasm as Aelin felt herself. She had missed him, and Aedion had too.

Stepping back from the beloved Fae, Aelin turned to look at the female beside him. Her heart jumped for a second before she realized that—despite the many similar features—the woman was not her mother. This was Aedion’s mother. There was no denying it, her face so blatantly Ashryver. It was easy to see why Gavriel had once suspected Aelin to be her child.

“I don’t think we ever met, but I am Aelin Galathynius—Rhoe and Evalin’s daughter—and you are Aedion’s mother.” There was no question in her voice.

“Yes, I am Andelin Ashryver. It is wonderful to finally meet you, Aelin. I loved your mother very much, and I owe her everything. You are her spitting image.” Aelin’s heart both warmed and grew heavy.

“I have been told that a lot,” Aelin smiled lightly, “as I’m sure you have too.” Andelin threw a wry smile back at her.

“The Ashryver genes are strong.” Aelin had to agree.

“Aedion got them as well. He looks very much like you.” Andelin’s face softened at Aelin’s mention of her son. Aelin continued, “You would be proud of him—for many reasons.”

“I am incredibly proud of who he has become, but I’m afraid I can’t take much credit for that.” Aelin recognized clearly the guilt and sadness Andelin felt over her son’s upbringing. “Do you know where he is? I need to speak with him.” Aelin grimaced slightly in response.

“It’s rotten timing but Aedion is actually in Adarlan right now fetching my mate for me.” Aelin reached out to grab the other woman’s arm in reassurance. “You are welcome to stay here as long as you’d like, though. I will have a suite prepared for the both of you immediately, right near Aedion’s.” These two were family, she would not have them be anywhere else.

A servant was promptly summoned and sent to ready their suite. Another servant was directed to find Lysandra, who arrived minutes later. Similar to Aelin’s reaction, Lysandra first recognized Gavriel and rushed to meet him in an embrace.

Aelin watched her friend closely as she finally took in the woman next to Gavriel. She could see the shifter piece things together and widen her eyes slightly in realization. Lysandra’s gaze flickered over to Aelin and the queen nodded in affirmation.

“I should introduce you to my dear friend, Lady Lysandra Ashryver. She is Aedion’s wife. Lysandra—you have met Gavriel—and this is Andelin Ashryver, Aedion’s mother.”

————

The journey back to Terrasen was too gods-damned long.

It wasn’t even that Rowan was sick of walking for hours on end, day after day—though that was certainly part of it. Rowan needed to get back to his mate. He had so much he needed to tell her. So much had happened that she would need time to process, and he would have to be by her side anchoring her as she did.

Even more, though—selfish as it may be—he just missed her. He had been separated from his love for too long. He ached with the knowledge that the other half of his immortal soul was not beside him. It was a challenge every night to lay down in a cold bed by himself and fall asleep without holding her. It was wrong. Mates were not meant to be apart.

For the past week he had been walking the long road back to his love, and it was awful. There were far too many miles between them. He wanted to forget about his traveling companions and just fly back to her as fast as his wings allowed. Surely they didn’t need him walking beside them—after all, Aedion had travelled all the way to Adarlan without Rowan. Terrasen’s royal caravan was more than enough enough manpower if they found themselves in trouble.

He couldn’t leave Aedion alone with Sam, though. The young Ashryver had not taken to the reborn assassin very well. Aedion had no great love for anyone from Aelin’s time as Celaena, often choosing to avoid that part of his cousin’s past. During the seven days they’d been on the road together, the male had only spoken to Sam a handful of times—each in a gruff and unfriendly manner.

Rowan supposed that might be for the best. He didn’t put it past Aedion to spill the truth about Aelin in some attempt to torment the boy. Needless to say, the unlikely trio travelled in a state of unending tension.

Rowan managed to keep himself as a buffer between the other two most of the time, but it was exhausting him. The Fae wasn’t exactly overjoyed at the presence of Sam either. The two had spent a fair amount of time together back when Rowan was helping Sam in his search, but ever since the young man’s identity was revealed it was awkward for Rowan to be near him. They had never spoken much—and that was certainly fine with Rowan—but the silent walking left Rowan alone with his thoughts, and he was a little uncomfortable with the thoughts he had when he knew Sam Cortland was beside him.

He was especially uncomfortable when he considered the thoughts Sam might be having himself as they travelled.

Sam knew nothing about what Aelin’s life was now. He had no idea she was the Queen of Terrasen, that she was an immortal Fae, that she was mated and married. The Aelin he had last known was Celaena, and Sam was in love with her.

Yes, those thoughts didn’t sit well with Rowan.

The three travelers and their caravan were currently surrounded by dense forest. Rowan didn’t mind too much—it shielded them from the hot sun—but it did mean they were farther from lodging and refreshment. They hadn’t encountered many others on their journey so far, and they hadn’t seen any intelligent life this entire day.

A bush about three feet to Rowan’s right rustled and the Fae turned to watch as a deer bolted away, startled at the sight of them. His hand relaxed from where he’d reached for his sword, taking notice of Aedion beside him doing the same. They might both be protected members of Terrasen’s court, but the warrior’s instinct to defend never went away. Rowan was sure the guards in their caravan had instructions to ensure Rowan’s—and Aedion’s—safety first, but if an attack did happen, the male doubted he’d be able to run for cover while others endangered themselves to protect him.

He and Aelin had similar opinions on that matter. They were powerful, immortal warriors. As the leaders of Terrasen, it was their responsibility to serve and protect their people, not the other way around.

For the first time that day, Rowan spotted what looked to be human figures ahead of them on the path. There were two of them, with hoods over their heads, unmoving on the side of the road. Beneath the cloak of one figure was a pair of high boots, and beneath that of the other Rowan could see full skirts, indicating the pair was likely a male and female.

As their caravan neared the two travelers, Rowan started to detect more details about their appearance. Their cloaks were high-quality and made from an expensive-looking hunter green cloth, not typical attire for two lone wanderers. Anyone of money or status traveled with a caravan, like he and Aedion were.

The pair turned slightly more towards the large group approaching them and the woman called out at the sight of Terrasen’s flag on their uniforms.

“Terrasen! The royal caravan!” The woman nudged the man beside her to draw his attention to them. “Are members of the royal family with you?”

The caravan’s head—Captain Algaard—stopped their advance and addressed the woman.

“We are of Terrasen, yes, and this caravan is transporting important members of the court.” The guard kept his answer vague so as not to reveal too much to a stranger. “What do you want of them?”

“We must speak to Aelin Galathynius. We need to warn her.” That was concerning.

“What must you warn Her Majesty about, traveler?”

“It may be difficult to believe, but my husband and I should not be alive. Someone has tampered with death, Captain, and we need to tell her.” Aedion approached the captain and grabbed him by the shoulder.

“We are alright, Algaard. Two reborns don’t pose much threat to His Majesty or myself. They are just confused.” Aedion then turned to the traveler woman. “Do you need help, kind woman? Are you in need of provisions?” The couple seemed to notice Aedion for the first time. The woman’s eyes widened in recognition.

“Aedion?” The Ashryver male paused in surprise—an emotion Rowan shared—before walking closer to the couple. Rowan could see the moment Aedion realized who the woman was because something in his face crumbled.

“Evalin?” Evalin. Even if Evalin were a common name—which Rowan didn’t believe it was—a closer look at the woman was all he needed to confirm that she was, in fact, Evalin Ashryver Galathynius. This woman, reborn to a body not much older than Aelin’s, was the near twin of his mate. It stirred something deep within the Fae to look at her.

Aelin’s mother was one of the dead brought back by this strange phenomenon. From the woman’s statement earlier of her husband, the man beside Evalin was likely Aelin’s father. These were his mate’s parents, ones she had grieved for years and missed every day.

Rowan snapped out of his thoughts to find Aedion in a firm embrace with Evalin and Rhoe. They didn’t appear to be speaking, but he had a feeling emotions were being communicated in other ways. These two were important to Aedion as well as Aelin. They had been his guardians during his early years.

Rowan felt a little intrusive watching such an intimate moment, so he turned to address the rest of their caravan. They would be adding a few more to their party, it would seem. Evalin had said she needed to speak to Aelin, and Rowan very much agreed.

“These are Her Majesty’s parents, Rhoe and Evalin Galathynius. We will be bringing them with us. They are members of Terrasen’s royal family and should be included in your protection the same as Prince Aedion and I.” The news was understandably shocking to the guards, but they remained serious and registered Rowan’s statement as the order it was. He continued, “Someone prepare them refreshment.” That was enough to set the group moving about.

When the king turned back to the reunited trio, he found them more composed than before. Aedion met his eyes and Rowan took that as his cue to approach.

“I am honored to meet you, Your Highnesses. I am Rowan Whitethorn—“ Rhoe cut him off before he could continue.

“The Fae warrior. I have heard many stories about you, Rowan Whitethorn. I have to say I have always admired your skill—the stuff of my childhood legends—but we have no want for Maeve’s presence in Terrasen. Thank you for helping Aedion, however you may have, but we should make the rest of our journey alone.” Rowan couldn’t help but smile slightly at Rhoe’s words.

“I can assure you, Rhoe Galathynius, that I no longer have any ties to Maeve. My allegiance lies solely with Terrasen and its queen, both of which I would protect with my life. You can rest knowing my particular skills will only be used for you, not against.” Rowan spoke firmly to hopefully convey how serious he was, and he would have continued had Rhoe not butted in yet again.

“You are blood sworn to Maeve, don’t think I am unaware, you have no choice where your allegiances lie.”

“That oath was broken by Maeve herself. I am now bound to Aelin completely, by ties even stronger than blood.” Rowan had to admit, witnessing Rhoe Galathynius’ face as he explained the situation was quite amusing. “As I was about to say before, I am Rowan Whitethorn Galathynius, mate and husband of Aelin Ashryver Whitethorn Galathynius, Queen of Terrasen. I will, in fact, be traveling to Terrasen with you. The whole purpose of this caravan is to bring me back to my mate, but we are more than happy to have you join us.”

The wry look Aedion gave Rowan indicated that he had not hid his satisfaction well. How could he blame him, though? It wasn’t every day you got to tell your mate’s resurrected parents that you were soul bound to their daughter.

@rowaelinforeverworld

@flowersinvegas

@aelin-queen-of-terrasen

@camixd93

@lord-douglas-the-third

@montse121296

@dank-queen7

@slytheringalathynius

@rhyswhitethorn

@jesstargaryenqueen

@trilogiesrule

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