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lastbluetardis · 11 months

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Sacred New Beginnings (19/?)

Summary: James Noble thought he traded away his chance at love and a happy-ever-after when he signed a contract with a record label that turned him into an international celebrity. But a chance meeting in a dive bar may prove him wrong. Ten x Rose AU This Chapter: Explicit, ~5000 words AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 | Ch16 | Ch17 | Ch18 |

James can hardly hear past the roar of his pulse in his ears as he is the sole focus of Jackie Tyler’s—(Jackie Peters’s? He’ll have to ask Rose what last name her mum has)—ire. Gone is the cheerful grin he’d seen in the photos Rose had sent of herself and her mother on holiday in Barcelona; now that joy is replaced with the sort of rage only a mother is capable of.

He throws a desperate glance at the other adult in the room, but Tyler Peters is stunned into silence, his eyes locked on James as though he’d never seen a human being before.

Absurdly, this is what unfreezes James, and he throws out a stupid little, “Hello. I’m James Noble. Pleasure.”

“You’ve got a lot of nerve showin’ up here,” Jackie spits, stalking ever-closer. James regrets that he didn’t use the last two seconds to free himself from his position of being backed against the countertop. “Who the hell do you think you are?”

“Mummy! Daddy!”

Jackie whirls around to face the corridor at the sound of a tiny voice and pitter-patter of feet. She automatically crouches, and Tony gallops headlong into his mother’s waiting arms. She scoops him up and peppers kisses across his fair skin.

“Did you have a good night with sissy?” Jacke coos, stroking his hair away from his face. “She didn’t feed you any ice cream, did she?”

“Yeah! An’ made hotdogs and cheesy ‘tatoes, then we played Jus’ Dance, an’ James was there!”

“Oh?” Jackie asks, flashing James a withering glare. “When did he get here?”

“Yeah, he’s so fun!” Tony squeals, pivoting in his mother’s arms to beam at James. “He’s my fav’rite.”

Rose finally emerges from down the hall, her cheeks stained scarlet as she squeaks, “Hi, Mum. I expected you to text when you got here.”

“Oh, so you could hide this one somewhere?” Jackie scowls, gesturing to James.

“I… I wanted… I was gonna tell you…”

“What, that you let ‘im come weaslin’ back into your life? Did he come up with a sob story? Made it real convincin’, did he?”

“Jacks,” Tyler says quietly, inclining his head slightly towards Tony, who is still ensconced in his mother’s arms and watching the exchange curiously. “Let’s save it, eh?

Jackie purses her lips, then presses them to her son’s temple before handing the child to his father. “Take him outside, yeah? Meet you downstairs.”

“Five minutes,” Tyler warns. “This one needs to get to bed.” To his son, he chirps, “Say bye to sissy!”

“Bye-bye sissy! Gimme hugs and kisses!”

Rose tiptoes around her mother, not sparing her a glance as she scoops her little brother into her arms and gives him a couple of big twirls around the room.

“Spinny hug, spinny hug!” Tony screeches, clinging to Rose for dear life.

The sight makes something hollow ache in the pit of James’s gut. The siblings clearly adore each other, and Rose is so good with him.

“Bye-bye James!” Small hands tap his legs, and he realizes Tony is gesturing for a hug. He hesitates for only a fraction, but he can’t say no to those big brown eyes.

“G’night Tony,” he whispers, kneeling for a brief embrace. “Thanks for playing with me tonight.”

“All right, little man, wanna see who can race down the stairs fastest?” Tyler asks his son, ruffling Tony’s fair blond hair.

“Yeah! Onetwothreego!”

Tony bolts out of the flat, giggling madly, leaving his father to leisurely stroll behind him. Before Tyler closes the door behind him, he spins and says, “Good night, Rosie.”

“Night,” she mumbles, looking increasingly uncomfortable at the prospect of being left alone with her mother.

James nearly fumbles out an excuse to leave, but realizes that would be the most cowardly thing he’d ever done, and Rose deserves better than that. So he pulls on his big boy pants and turns to face the music.

Before he can speak, Jackie turns on Rose and throws her arms up into the air. “What are you thinking?! Have you gone mental?!”

“Mum, please just…”

“Whatever happened to “I deserve better than bein’ the latest in a long line”? I thought you were over bein’ a good time for someone who would drop you in a heartbeat for someone younger and smarter and prettier?”

Rose flinches from her mother, and James takes an automatic step towards her, reaching across the space between them.

“It’s not… it’s not like that,” Rose says weakly. “I got it wrong.”

“Oh, did you? ‘Cos from where I’m sittin’, it’s bloody obvious what’s going on here. Mister Handsome Rich Rockstar has swindled you again, tellin’ you whatever it is you want to hear so he can keep you ‘til he’s done with you.”

“Er, I’m not technically a rockstar,” James blurts, and he can hardly believe what has just come out of his mouth. But he can’t stop. It’s like his brain has ceased all higher function and his mouth has taken over. “More folk-pop. Indy, maybe? Soft pop?”

“Oh, shut up,” Jackie snaps, turning to him with fire in her eyes.

He clacks his teeth together and nods, stuffing his hands into his pockets in an attempt to make himself seem as small as possible, which is quite the impossible feat, considering his height.

“You! You need to get the hell away from my daughter if you know what’s good for you. You men, you’re all the same, taking what you want, thinkin’ you’re entitled to get your way, lyin’ through your bleedin’ teeth to get what you want. Well I won’t stand for it! My Rose deserves better. She isn’t a girl you can shag and drop the moment someone else comes along.”

“I… I know,” James stammers, his mouth impossibly dry and his stomach roiling in discomfort.

“Oh, do you?” Jackie remarks, false surprise lifting her face. “You had no problem tellin’ the entire bloody world you were just havin’ a bit of fun. ‘Cos that’s all you really want, isn’t it? Fun and a place to wet your cock…”

“Mum! Enough!” Rose shouts, red-faced and near-tears. “I was wrong. We’d both misunderstood each other. But we’re together now. Properly.”

“That’s what he told you, didn’t he? Bet he sounded real sorry too. Bet he said all the right words, didn’t he?”

James’s heart falls when he sees Rose flinch and drop her gaze to her feet.

“That’s enough,” he says quietly. “Say whatever you want about me, but Rose is smart enough to make her own decisions about her life, no matter what you believe. Yes, when Rose and I first started seeing each other, we each thought it was something casual. And I was an idiot for what I told the reporters. But things are different now. I want what’s best for her.”

Jackie grunts dismissively. “You say that now, but the moment she gives you a bit of bad press, you’re going to spin whatever little tale you need to tell to get the public on your side, and my Rose is gonna be the one who gets smeared through the muck.”

“I wouldn’t…”

“Mum, please,” Rose whispers. “I know I have an awful track record with boyfriends, but those are my mistakes to make. Maybe James will be a mistake, maybe he won’t be, but you have to let me live my life the way I choose to. And right now, I choose him.”

Jackie softens a fraction as she turns to her daughter. It’s as though with him out of sight, the gentle mother returns. She reaches to Rose and cradles her jaw, stroking her cheeks as she says, “My Rose. I will always want the best for you. It killed me to see you in such a state on holiday. I don’t want to see you be taken advantage of. Is it money? Sweetheart, you know me and your dad will help you out, you don’t need to stay with him for that.”

James is slightly offended that Jackie thinks he’s paying Rose to hang out with him or paying her for sex, but before he can think of a response, Rose covers her mother’s hands and leans into the touch.

“It’s not money,” she assures. “He’s not paying for anything of mine.”

“He bloody well should—he’s rich! You better not be payin’ for your dates!”

Rose lets out a sniffly giggle and throws her arms around her mother, who holds her tightly and rocks her from side to side. James wonders if he should sneak out while they’re distracted, but he finds he’s rooted to the spot, trying to wrap his head around the last few minutes.

“Please be safe, sweetheart,” Jackie whispers. “Please.”

“I am safe, Mum. And I wish you’d believe me when I say I’m happy. Really happy.”

“I believe that you believe it,” Jackie says, pulling back just far enough to kiss Rose’s forehead. “Remember that I’m here for you the moment you need me. Don’t you ever think you can’t come home to your old mum.”

Rose nods wordlessly.

The fight seems to have left Jackie, but she turns to him and says, “Don’t you dare hurt her, or mess her over.”

“I– I won’t,” he vows.

Jackie narrows her eyes, scanning him up and down, but doesn’t say anything else. She turns away from him and back to Rose. “I gotta go. It’s way past Tony’s bedtime. Thanks for watchin’ him.”

“Of course. I love spending time with him,” Rose says, guiding her mother to the door.

“I love you. More than anything.”

“Love you too. Drive safe.”

Jackie kisses both of Rose’s cheeks and doesn’t even look James’s way as she sweeps out of the flat.

oOoOo

Downstairs in the foyer, Tyler Peters is desperately trying to occupy his definitely-tired-but-pretending-he’s-not-tired four-year-old, and it’s going about as well as one could hope. Tony is racing laps around the room, skillfully dodging the amused (and mercifully tolerant) tenants of the building who are simply trying to enter or exit the building.

“Watch it, mate,” he calls when Tony nearly barrels into the little old lady who has lived in this building for decades. She is one of the few residents who already leased a flat here before Tyler became the owner of the building. “So sorry Mrs. Donovan.”

“Oh, my grandsons have just as much energy,” the old woman says cheerfully, smiling down at Tony. “These bones may be old, but they’re sturdier than they look.”

“Hi!” Tony chirps, flashing a toothy smile. “Bye!”

And so the laps continue.

And continue…

Tyler sighs and checks his watch. He should’ve known Jackie couldn’t keep it to five minutes. It’s nearing on fifteen, and he’s about to corral his son so they can go fetch her when the lift dings and Jackie steps out, her eyes sparking and her jaw locked.

“Mummy!” Tony sprints over and takes her hand. “Time to go!”

Tyler joins his family and takes his wife’s free hand, rubbing his thumb along the back of hers.

“Chat go all right?” he asks quietly.

“I don’t know what the hell she’s thinking,” Jackie grumbles. “I mean… James bloody Noble?! It was bad enough to hear my daughter was havin’ a lark with that… that… scoundrel in the first place. But now she’s taken him back? Stupid. Irresponsible.”

Tyler bites back a smirk and knocks his elbow into her ribs. “Put yourself in her shoes, eh? When you were her age, you can’t tell me that you wouldn’t have bedded Bono if he’d shown the slightest bit of interest in you?”

“It’s not the same!” she complains. “Bono never would’ve…”

“And Rose likely thought James Noble never would’ve,” he says simply. “You know I love her dearly and that I want the best for her, but Rose seems happy right now. Will it last? Probably not. But let her have this, eh? How many people can say they dated a famous singer in their youth? It’ll be a story for the grandkids and great-grandkids.”

His wife huffs out another impatient breath, but doesn’t argue further. “Yeah. Maybe. But still. James bloody Noble. I just hope Rose knows what she’s doing, datin’ that man…”

Tyler wraps his arm around her waist and gives her a squeeze, but doesn’t say more. Together, they walk out of the foyer of the building, all while being watched by two young women leaning on the wall beside the lifts.

The women exchange stunned, disbelieving looks.

“James Noble? The James Noble?” one of them asks.

“With Rose Tyler?” the other asks. “The girl up in flat 10-2?”

No fucking way…

oOoOo

James stares at the front door for several long seconds after Jackie’s marvelous exit. Rose shifts away from his side to step forward, twisting the lock and fastening the deadbolt chain before she clunks her forehead into the door. She doesn’t move from her position, so he goes to her.

Carefully, he slips his arms around her waist and presses a whisper-soft kiss to the side of her neck. Though she feels limp, she manages to spin in his grasp to instead plonk her head into his chest rather than her front door. She simply stands there, unmoving, as he rubs her back.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, voice muffled. “I didn’t think… I thought she’d… I’m so sorry.”

He doesn’t know what to say, so he stays quiet, nestling his stubbly cheek into her hair and breathing her in. Never before has a parental introduction gone so poorly. Usually his partners are as famous as him, so the parents are accepting and gracious or simply indifferent. Occasionally they’ll fawn over him.

But the outright hostility and venom that Jackie just spat at him…

“I didn’t realize you’d told your mum about me,” he finally says, matching the volume of his voice with hers.

She groans and says, “During our holiday. I’d been out of sorts, thinkin’ you didn’t care about us at all. Mum caught on to my mood. I didn’t mean to tell her, but I was quite upset, and it all just sorta… came out. And when I saw your red-carpet interview that confirmed I was just a bit of fun for you… I lost it, and she saw my reaction, and it wasn’t good.”

James wishes he could go back in time and wallop his past self across the head for his thoughtless comments. He wishes he’d had the courage to tell the interviewer how he felt about Rose, to tell the world that he was riding the high of falling in love, and that he wanted to keep it private. But he hadn’t. He’d been a prick and a twat, and he’d broken Rose’s heart from five and a half thousand miles away.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be. I’ve forgiven you for it all. But I just… I guess I’d forgotten how much I’d told Mum about you. And I’d forgotten how upset she was on my behalf. I was stupid for thinking that telling her on the spot that you and I were properly together would be enough for her to accept you. I shouldn’t have done it this way… I should have talked to her first, then introduced you. I’m so stupid.”

His stomach churns as he squeezes her tightly, as though that could rid them both of the shock they’re in.

“Should I… should I go?” he asks, mentally pleading with her to say no. The thought of spending his night in his empty house makes him ache with loneliness.

To his relief, she shakes his head. “I don’t want you to, but I don’t feel like I deserve to have you with me tonight. My mum just… verbally eviscerated you. You must be so angry.”

“Not at all,” he insists. “Well… I’m a bit chastened. And a bit embarrassed that I made such a poor first impression, and that you’d been so upset about my behavior that you told your mum how awful I am. But I still want to be here. With you. If that’s all right.”

In response, Rose finally lifts her face from where it had been pressed into his shirt. Her eyes are a little red but completely dry, though he barely registers that fact before she threads her fingers through his hair, presses up onto her toes, and brushes her mouth to his. His eyes flutter shut at the glorious pressure of her kiss. He melts into her, splaying his palm across her back to hold her close.

“Stay,” she murmurs when she breaks away, though she catches his lips in another kiss a moment later. “Please stay with me.”

“For as long as you wish,” he says, because there is nothing on this planet that could make him leave.

Apart from her kiss of greeting at the door, this is the first that James has had Rose’s hands and lips on him in over a week. He tries to keep it chaste and slow, still unsure whether it’s appropriate for him to stay, while hoping to convey comfort and support through his body. He really shouldn’t let them get carried away; Rose is obviously upset, but he just can’t help it. He’s drawing as much strength from her as she hopefully is from him.

He has the presence of mind to keep his hands in safe places, primarily across the expanse of her back. He grabs onto the fabric to anchor himself as he basks in the heady intoxication of her mouth.

They each know exactly where this kiss is headed but pretend not to, and instead they explore each other’s mouths in lazy, indolent strokes of lips and tongue. James quickly becomes far too hot, his skin flushed and tingling with anticipation of things to come. He tentatively dips his fingers beneath her jumper, shuddering to touch her bare skin. She sighs into his mouth and presses her front flush with his.

He’s steadily getting hard in his jeans, each beat of his heart sending his blood rushing down, down, down, helped along by the rocking of Rose’s hips. He drops a hand to her arse, caressing and squeezing and pulling her more tightly into him. With his other hand, he tangles his fingers into her hair and guides her head back a bit to get better access to her neck. She grips his hips with near-bruising force as he plants row after row of searing kisses to the sensitive patch of skin beneath her ear. That familiar whining moan rushes out of her as she shudders in his arms, holding him close to urge him on. Not that he needs the encouragement.

Without breaking the kiss or the press of their bodies, James slowly guides them down the hall and to Rose’s bedroom. It takes ages, as he keeps getting distracted with the taste of her skin and the sound of her quiet gasps. They move even more slowly when Rose remembers that she has hands, then proceeds to use them to cup him and stroke him through his jeans.

“Christ,” he chokes out as a spark of pleasure zips up his spine.

“Rose,” she counters, giving him a playful squeeze that sends a full-body shudder through him.

“Smart-arse. Fuck, do that again.”

A laugh hums up her throat, vibrating against his now-still lips as she grips him tightly and rubs. He’s going to fucking lose it, right here in the doorway of her bedroom, but Christ this feels so good and he never, ever wants her to stop.

The intensity recedes a moment later, and he regains his senses enough to tug her hand away from him to instead guide her all the way into her room. There’s a pile of laundry on her bed that Rose haphazardly shoves to the floor.

“Clothes off,” she orders as she fumbles with the hem of her jumper, tugging until she pulls it over her head.

He doesn’t need telling twice.

Neither of them bothers with trying to sexily disrobe the other. Rather, they go for speed and efficiency, and soon enough, they’re both wonderfully naked. She’s as beautiful as he remembers, even more so, and he drags her down to the mattress with him. They move together until Rose is on her back, her legs open for him, and he’s atop her, his hips cradled in hers. She reaches between them for his cock, and strokes him a few times as she guides him inside of her.

He presses in, slowly, inch by inch, shivering at the sensations rushing through him. He groans through clenched teeth as he’s fully seated, forcing himself to wait, to give Rose a moment to adjust. She’s panting beneath him, chest rising and falling as her nails bite into the fleshy part of his back.

“Okay,” she whispers, arching her hips up and pulling him close for a rough, sloppy kiss that conveys everything she wants and needs from him.

His skin sings, tingling at the sensation of so much of her body pressed to his. His blood turns molten, burning him from within as he begins to move.

“Feels so good,” he chokes out, pulling back and plunging forward in a steady, measured manner. The slick glide of her all around him is as addictive as ever, and he trembles with the pleasure slowly mounting in him.

“Uh huh.” Her agreement dies on a moan as he thrusts in with a little more force this time. “James.”

He catches her bottom lip between his before releasing it to kiss her again. He teases his tongue into her mouth, flicking at the roof of her mouth just behind her front teeth, then going back to simpler kisses. Rose clings to him, kissing him back in equal measure as her nails rake down his spine to cup his arse, guiding his quickening rhythm. The sting of her nails coils a raging, aching heat low in his spine, building higher and higher until he knows it won’t be much longer until he’s lost.

“I missed you,” he grunts as her muscles begin to tighten around him. Thank fuck; she’s as close as he is. He redoubles his effort, wanting to push her over the edge first. “So much.”

“Me too,” she gasps. “Fuck. Please…”

He speeds up his rhythm, giving up on kissing her lips and instead tucking his face into the side of her neck. He breathes her in then plants his mouth to that patch of skin beneath her ear that is always her undoing. He grins to himself as she shudders and curses and moans, and when he dips a hand between them to rub her, she breaks.

She cries out and writhes into the mattress, arching her hips up and up and up, closer to him, closer to the sensations he is wringing out of her. She’s perfect, and fucking hell, he’s right on her heels. The perfect pressure within him pulls tighter, making him lose all sense as he chases his high. He thrusts with abandon, clenching his teeth as the flames fan hotter, drowning him, consuming him…

He lets out a wrenching moan and thrusts deeply into her, releasing helplessly, shaking and cursing and burying his face into her. Sensation sparks through him, channeling relief and pleasure through his entire body, curling his toes and stealing his breath. She’s everywhere, all around him and holding him through this maelstrom that has never felt so fucking good.

Rose… he thinks he gasps her name, but the rushing in his ears deafens him to anything except his erratic heartbeat.

He returns to awareness by Rose lazily stroking his back and kissing the top of his shoulder. His body is too heavy to move, but he manages to pull out and flop indelicately beside her, keeping an arm and leg slung over her. She laughs quietly at his antics, and he grins into the pillow. He cracks open an eye to look at her, and the sight of her smile and sex-mussed hair and flushed cheeks ignites a joy and love so deep that he begins to giggle. His body is thrumming with hormones that make him feel boneless and content, and through it all, he laughs and folds himself closer to Rose.

She’s laughing with him and turns to face him fully. He mirrors her position so they’re both on their sides, their legs tangled lazily together. He reaches out and brushes a few rogue strands of hair away from her face, then leans in to kiss her softly.

“That was great,” he whispers into the sacred silence of her bedroom.

“Mhm. Very great.”

“The most great,” he says, beaming as she rolls her eyes.

“Did you have a nice trip?” she asks.

He hums in wordless assent, and briefly tells her all about the week he’d spent in east Asia, meeting fans and doing photoshoots while promoting Catalysis.

“How was your week? Are you feeling better?” While her voice is still raspy from the illness she’d contracted, she looks and sounds much better than she had during their video chat on his last night in Japan.

“Much better. Teaching classes while feeling like death is always frustrating, but it’s easier than arranging for a substitute,” she says with a shrug.

He frowns, but they already had this discussion about how shittily schools treat their teachers, so he lets it go.

“I’ve got an upcoming holiday concert at the O2, weekend after next,” he murmurs, remembering the monthly schedule Donna had sent him that morning. “I’d… I’d really like you to come. If you want. It’s not just me. I think Ed Sheeran is on the list too. And Astrid Peth. She’s a good mate of mine. You can bring a few friends with you. There’s a private suite for my guests, so you could stay hidden, mostly, as long as cameras aren’t wandering around. And my mum’ll be there too. I think. Well. I should invite her, shouldn’t I…?”

Rose interrupts his nervous rambling with a soft kiss. He melts into her, but she breaks it far too soon for his liking.

“I’d love to,” she says, cupping his cheek before scraping her nails through his hair.

His eyes flutter shut at the echoes of pleasure that ripple through him, and he grins at her acceptance of his invitation. He’s giddy at the thought of being on stage and looking into his private suite to see Rose. His favorite pieces of his life will be in the same place, melding together perfectly.

He leans forward to kiss her again, and she willingly reciprocates.

oOoOo

They sleep, eventually. Between (and during) bouts of sex, they talk about everything and nothing. It’s like nothing bad can happen to them here, not when they’re twined so intimately, not when they’re making each other laugh so freely.

Wrung out in that perfect post-marathon-sex way, James buries himself beneath Rose’s blankets and lets blissful unconsciousness claim him. His dreams are vague and foggy, and he doesn’t remember them when he awakes later that morning to sunlight peeking through Rose’s curtains.

His eyes are gritty and heavy as he leans over to check the time. It’s barely 8am, but he feels refreshed, even though the drowsiness of lingering sleep tugs at him again. His shuffling has disturbed Rose, who curls close to him and mutters something unintelligible. He kisses her forehead and closes his eyes once more.

He drifts in and out for many long minutes before the gurgling of his stomach is too distracting. Even Rose hears it, and she pokes his belly, mumbling, “Shush.”

“Can’t exactly help it. Mind if I order a breakfast and coffee delivery?”

“Go for it,” Rose says through a yawn.

“Then can I borrow your shower?” he asks, sitting up and letting the sheets pool around his naked waist.

“Go for it,” she repeats, tucking an arm beneath her pillow to glance up at him. Her gaze falls to the morning erection that is somehow poking at the blankets despite their multiple rounds of very satisfying sex the night before. “Well, hello.”

She gently prods it, giggling when it bobs a bit. “Bouncy.”

James stifles a snort. “You’re adorable when you’re sleepy.”

“Pfft.”

He lets her mindlessly poke his cock as he scrolls to a food delivery app and orders a selection of bagels and croissants for them, as well as his favorite coffee and her favorite tea. His chest balloons with warmth when he adds Rose’s address to his list of favorites, then places their breakfast order.

“Should be here in half an hour,” he says, resting his phone on the nightstand, ignoring the handful of missed notifications. It’s the bloody weekend, for God’s sake. It can wait. For good measure, he completely silences everything, not wanting his morning with Rose to be disturbed.

“Hmmm, how can we pass the time?” Rose muses, blinking up at him through her lashes and grinning wickedly.

She shows him just how entertaining thirty minutes can be.

He doesn’t have time for a shower before there’s a knock at the door that has them scrambling for clothes. He tugs on his pants and t-shirt while Rose simply dons a robe overtop her knickers, cinching it tight at the waist to keep her modesty. They emerge from the bedroom, with James going to the kitchen for plates while Rose heads to the door.

There’s an odd commotion in the hallway, but James doesn’t really think much of it, not as he absently wonders what he and Rose could do today. Maybe they can sneak out somewhere and visit a museum or something. Maybe he could take her to the studio—it should be fairly empty on a Saturday morning. Maybe they can take an impromptu road trip to somewhere Rose has never been. Pack their bags and drive to the first place they can think of. Book a hotel and order in a bunch of fancy food and rent some films to watch and get drunk on expensive wine and kiss until their lips are bruised. God, that sounds like a perfect weekend, and he hopes Rose will be agreeable.

But all of those plans, those hopes, are dashed the moment Rose opens her front door to reveal a stunned delivery person and over a dozen paparazzi photographers, armed and ready with flashing cameras.

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #sacred new beginnings #ten x rose au #james x rose #my fic #romance #angst #it's heeeeere!!!#enjoy 😘💜

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luvhughes43 · 6 months

Note

Stop what was her first word and how did he react to it 😭

lowkey think i wrote this in the last au chapter but we’re gonna ignore that because i legit can’t remember <3 😭😭

leighton is standing in the middle of moms living room, dancing to the music coming from the tv (intermission music from jacks game)

and anyway, moms recording her because her dancing is just too cute! and then the tv shot changes to a close up of jack on the bench, and so mom asks “oh baby! who’s that on the tv!”

leighton turns and waves, “HI!”

moms lowkey freaking out because what are the chances she records her baby’s first word ?

but anyway.. her first word is either “hi!” directed to her dad, or it’s “dada” like in the latest au chapter (i think included it? i know i wrote it)

#journalist au!

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quaranmine · 1 year

Text

The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter Eight)

July, fireworks, and some insight into someone we don’t actually know much about.

Chapter Eight: 5,436

<< Chapter Seven | Masterpost | Chapter Nine >>

HEY Y'ALL! Those of you who follow me on tumblr have been kept pretty well apprised of this chapter's progress, but it's good to be back. I've struggled with this chapter a lot, not out of any fault of its own, just because real life decided to beat me over the head in July and August.

Anyway, this chapter has a few content warnings. CW for past injury, car accident, death, and as always…grief. Nothing graphic but it beat me over the head while I was writing it oof.

Finally, as a disclaimer—there is information in this chapter about wildfire survival. I’m not an expert, and some of these topics are quite literally life or death in real life. I’m an entry level environmental scientist whose only professional experience is in topics entirely unrelated to this. While I have done my research on this fic and done my best to always present accurate information, I am not a reliable source. This is a Hermitcraft AU fanfiction. Please do not take or substitute anything I say in place of information from actual professionals, lol.

“I felt like lying down by the side of the trail and remembering it all. The woods do that to you, they always look familiar, long lost, like the face of a long-dead relative, like an old dream, like a piece of forgotten song drifting across the water, most of all like golden eternities of past childhood or past manhood and all the living and the dying and the heartbreak that went on a million years ago and the clouds as they pass overhead seem to testify (by their own lonesome familiarity) to this feeling.”

Jack Kerouac, The Dharma Bums

»»———-　　———-««

July 1989

It’s July, and there’s a complete burn ban put in place for Shoshone and the other national parks and national forests that surround it. If you ask Scar, it should have been put into place two weeks ago. The scattered storms and rain in May and early June has done nothing for the landscape now, which is dry and still full of theoretical tinder from years of fire-suppression activities.

It’s July, and it’s sweltering outside. The main radio chatter during the daily weather conditions report says the temperatures have been record-breaking in the region. This is unsurprising to Grian—his cabin feels like less of a lookout and more of a greenhouse these days, with the inescapable sun taking great advantage of all the windows. He’s not really cut out for the heat of the summer. It makes the days feel listless and blend together, but at least it cools off in the evenings.

The fire season starts to ramp up in other ways too. There’s a fire reported in the Bridger-Teton National Forest, located immediately to their southwest, and officials seem concerned it will grow quickly with the hot, dry temperatures and wind. Elsewhere around the country the picture seems just as bleak: fires in the 1989 season have already burned hundreds of thousands more acres than the same time period in 1988.

Apparently, the Two Forks lookout had gone unstaffed for several years prior, before the Yellowstone fires last year caused the agency to consider hiring more staff. The fires last year also, coincidentally, increased the budget for this year’s activities.This seems to have been a prudent decision, because the season is shaping up to have a spark indeed. They’re keen to use Grian as much as possible.

Grian can’t see the smoke column from the Bridger-Teton fire on the horizon; it’s too far away. Instead he starts to notice that his visibility on the horizon is worse now, as the haze in the sky slowly grows. Distant mountains that were once brown and green are now wispy tones of flat yellow and gray. The Trout Fire still burns steadily in the distance. It’s a stubborn nuisance to the Forest personnel, but not a big enough fire yet to garner any worry. There’s more than enough worry to be passed elsewhere.

All of this would be enough on its own, but another contender has just stepped into the ring: Independence Day.

The 4th of July is on a Tuesday this year, which means Grian and Scar get the wonderful privilege of working overtime all weekend watching the mountains, and holiday pay for the day itself. In all likelihood, people will be just as likely to celebrate on Saturday or Sunday or Monday as on Tuesday. Mary, a lookout in a more northern section of the Forest, has already called in to report a few incidents in her sector. The extra pay is welcomed; the responsibility for idiots is not.

Fireworks are strictly banned, of course. The acknowledgement of that, however, requires campers to actually care in the first place. They do not.

And so the month begins.

»»———-　　———-««

Fire is, both philosophically and literally, one of the most important things humanity has ever been able to harness. It can be the difference between life and death, and yet it is both life and death. Fire fosters warmth and light and power and life. Fire caresses life and leaves behind destruction.

Shoshone National Forest exists as part of the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, one of the largest mostly-intact temperate-zone ecosystems in the world. It’s part of a great chain of protected lands and wilderness spaces in the northern Rocky mountains. Shoshone is the second piece of that puzzle—just as Yellowstone National Park was the first national park to be established, the neighboring Shoshone National Forest was the first ever national forest to be designated in the United States.

It is also, like the other lands in the Greater Yellowstone Ecosystem, fire-dependent. Plants and animals living in such ecosystems are often adapted to their local fire regime, which is the expected pattern, frequency, and intensity of the fires in their area.

Lodgepole pines dominate the middle elevations of the Shoshone National Forest, and are the poster child of a fire-dependent species. These trees produce cones that are sealed with a tight resin that relies on fire to melt it. Fire is, therefore, essential to the reproduction of the species. But fire is also essential to their life cycle in another way: just as fire is necessary for the baby trees to sprout, lodgepole pines are very easily killed by fire.

And if the fires kill the weaker Engelmann spruce found in Shoshone’s higher elevations, that’s okay too—it just leaves room for the much more tolerant whitebark pine trees to grow without being outcompeted. Fire similarly benefits wildlife in Shoshone by diversifying the forest understory, encouraging growth of new plants, and providing dead tree snags for shelter.

It kills, but it also supports life.

The history of Shoshone National Forest and fire has its bleak moments. In 1937, a lightning strike started the Blackwater Fire in the Absaroka Range, a range of mountains located predominantly in the national forest. Dry weather and high winds turned the fire into one of the deadliest wildland firefighting stories in American history, with 15 firefighters killed and 38 injured.

Labor laws are written in blood. Safety rules and best management practices are, too. Although no fault was assigned for the tragedy—a rigorous investigation deemed the situation was out of anybody’s control—the Blackwater Fire would ultimately change the landscape of wildland firefighting. It is remembered in the Ten Standard Firefighting Orders, a set of systematic guidelines developed by the US Forest Service afterward to reduce danger for firefighters.

These orders are still in use today.

So what is a lookout’s role in a wildfire, other than keeping watch for it? Historically fire lookouts were used as firefighters themselves—expected to hop on a horse and head straight to a fire after seeing it, tools in hard—but in modern times lookouts are primarily used for providing updates. A lookout’s job is not complete once a fire is spotted and reported. They are expected to provide constant updates on its size and location, as well as assist firefighters and smokejumpers from their position. This work is very important—so important that sometimes fire lookouts don’t evacuate the scene until a helicopter is required for their rescue.

And what if you’re a hiker? What if you’re on the ground? The prospects aren't good: hikers should just avoid being caught around a wildfire at all costs. Survival odds are, unfortunately, low.

But what if you can't avoid it?

Try to determine which way the wind is blowing and remain upwind of the fire. Fires also burn fastest uphill, so seek lower ground. Fires will burn cooler and slower downhill. Try to find a safe spot from the fire, something that would burn less easily such as a rock slide, a large meadow, or a lake. Crown fires burn tall and hot in the tops of trees, so even a meadow will be safer than a forest. Cover your nose and mouth with clothing to protect your airways. Huddle close to any large object that can buffer the ambient heat. Lay face down. Don’t attempt to outrun the fire.

Sometimes, setting your own fire is an option. Burning out an area large enough for you to lie in can allow the wildfire to move around the already burned spot—but this attempt is best saved for a grassland. Forests take too long to burn. And if the fire is close, and if you can see a safe, already burned spot through it, and if the flames are less than five feet tall, the best option might be to just run through the fire.

Jumping in water is an option, but that might not save you. Superheated air, smoke inhalation, and lack of oxygen in the area is a primary concern. Fires move faster than most people can imagine. Fires can create their own wind, their own weather.

Fire, above all, should always be respected.

»»———-　　———-««

“Draw something for me,” Scar says suddenly into the still blue air of the dusk. “And, dude, turn your light on already.”

“Huh?” Grian says. He frankly doesn’t mind sitting in the dark while there’s still a little light left in the sky to adjust to, but his hand reaches automatically for the lantern’s switch before he even really processes Scar’s words. With a soft click the cabin is bathed in warm tones. Really, the reflections on the windows only obscure their visibility now that it’s mostly dark, but it’s undeniably more cozy now.

“Ah, it’s good to see your little light in the way over yonder,” Scar says. “You’re like my little firefly in the mountains!”

Grian rolls his eyes at that. “What did you mean by ‘draw for me’?” he asks, blocking any spontaneous attempts at poetry Scar can make.

“I mean, I’m bored. And I know you’re bored. It’s been a long day.” He hums a little to himself. “Figured you might wanna do something to pass the time.”

Scar’s right, it has been a long day. It’s the 4th of July, and they’re in it for the long haul. Grian thinks they should have just been allowed to sleep and clock in later in the day—who sets off fireworks at 8 AM?—but the fire season doesn’t rest and neither do they. Now, it’s evening, and this is where the real monitoring begins: after dark.

Unfortunately, it’s also when the morale to keep sitting at the desk is starting to dip precipitously. Firewatching after dark is difficult and typically something they aren’t required to do. As a lookout, he primarily looks for smoke, not fire. Fires themselves are often too small or too tucked away for their light to be seen, and at night the smoke blends into the dark sky. But fireworks, fortunately, tend to announce themselves gaudily.

Mostly, it’s the sheer personal resolve to pay attention that takes the greatest hit. Scar’s idea isn’t a bad one, there’s just one significant snag:

“I don’t draw,” Grian reminds him gently.

“But you used to,” Scar persists.

“I drew houses,” Grian corrects, even though he knows that his drafting is far from the only thing he’s practiced over the years. “For work. It’s not the same.”

“Well, then draw your lookout,” Scar says and then seems to almost cut off his own thought with a—”Ooh, maybe draw mine instead!”

“I can’t do that.” It’s a black and white statement of fact, but Scar doesn’t agree.

“C’mon,” he says. “You definitely brought your materials with you, I know it.”

“You don’t have any way of knowing that.”

“You have to have a pencil and a notebook, right? How do you take your notes for the morning reports?” Scar says this in the sort of way where he knows he’s right. He says it playfully, like it’s a silly mistake right under Grian’s nose.

“Okay, fine,” Grian says, trying to imbue an eye-roll into his words. “I get it.”

He’s not really sure why he picks up the yellow legal pad from the corner of the table, or the pencil in the cup. He tears the top sheet off where he had, in fact, scribbled some notes earlier about temperature and wind speed.

The thing is, Scar can’t even see him. He could lie to Scar and say sure, of course, I’ll do it, and Scar would be none the wiser, miles away on the horizon.

He picks up the pencil. The notebook stares back, blank except for the faint lines.

He does try to draw his lookout first, from memory. He thinks of it the way he always does in memory—a snapshot, perfectly clear image his mind took one day. In his mind's eye, the lookout starts to rise over the horizon in the late afternoon sun while he hikes up the hill towards it. He doesn’t have a ruler in the tower, so he carefully uses the spine of one of the old paperbacks as a straight edge to run his pencil against.

It just…doesn’t look right. First of all, angles are off. He’s messed up the two point perspective somehow and he doesn’t have his usual drafting materials with him anymore. But it’s more than that. The lookout, despite being bathed in golden light in his visual memory, just doesn’t feel inviting. It’s just intimidating. A place where, despite its natural beauty, Grian just sees his worst days play out over and over again.

He crumbles the paper again and tosses it to the side. He grabs the radio again.

“Scar, you paint don’t you?” Grian says. “You’re an artist.”

“Well, I guess if you say so,” says Scar slyly, “one could refer to me as a bit of an artist.”

“Why?”

The bluntness throws Scar. “Huh?”

“Why do you do it?”

“Why am I an artist?”

“Yeah. What made you start?”

Scar is quiet for a long time. Not too long to be worrying, but enough to seem…contemplative. He finally replies, “You know, I always liked it. In school I’d always get recruited to help with posters and stuff ‘cause I was one of the better ones at art, which maybe said more about them than me because I wasn’t an artist then. I didn’t practice. I didn’t know anything.”

There’s another pause, but not as long. Grian doesn’t interrupt.

“It wasn’t really until after my accident that I started pursuing it more. It was somethin’ to do! And one of the nurses told me it might be meditative. Help me out a little.”

“Did it?” Grian asks softly.

“I think so,” Scar says, and then with a little bit of a chuckle he adds: “But I don’t think I have to tell you though that sometimes a drawing frustrates you so much you want to throw it across the room! It isn’t all meditation. But I think that’s the point.”

Grian flushes a little. Scar’s comment is truer than he knows; the crumpled evidence of his most recent drawing attempt still sits on the floor by his chair. He reaches for the pencil again, and looks at the page once more. Maybe he will try to draw Scar’s lookout. He won’t tell that to Scar, of course, because he’ll be insufferable about it, but maybe he’ll try.

Grian doesn’t really know exactly what Scar’s lookout looks like. It’s far away, and he’s looked at it in the binoculars a few times, but the details are always fuzzy and hard to make out; each shake of his hand jolts the image at that level of magnification. And it’s far too dark for him to look again, so—so he improvises. Scar’s cabin is not on a tower like Grian’s is. It's situated on a large piece of rock at the top of a mountain. It doesn’t need to be on a tower, because there’s nothing around it tall enough to block the view, unlike the trees next to his tower. He fills in the details as he remembers, and creates new ones in the place of things he forgot.

The soft scratch-scratch of the pencil is lost to the noise of the radio again. “I broke my arm pretty badly at the time—needed surgery on that—but it wasn’t my dominant hand so I still painted. I like doing landscapes, mostly,” Scar says. “Pretty things. I grew up in nature. My dad and I went camping a lot. I missed it. I…wanted to do that again. Didn’t know if I would do that again.”

“I would love to see one of your paintings,” Grian says.

“I don’t really think they’re worth getting excited for,” Scar says, doing a bit of regrettably predictable artist’s humility. “But I’ll mail you one, if you want. Oh! Maybe you’ll even get a little surprise. Jellie likes to help me sign a few pieces, whether I want her to or not…”

The idea of a painting signed with a paw print is so utterly charming to Grian that he almost suggests that Scar should do it with all his paintings as some sort of signature flair. Then it occurs to him that it might be hard to wash a cat’s paws, and starts to ask Scar about what he does—in his cabin in the middle of nowhere with no running water—when a sparkle catches the corner of his eye.

Grian whips his head around just in time to see the sparks die. “Ugh,” he radios. “I just saw a firework. Super far away though.”

“Well, I was surprised neither of us had seen anything yet. Go ahead and mark the general direction of it even if it’s out of your district. Hopefully if there’s a fire someone else closer will catch it, but you could always check on it in the morning.”

Grian wanders over to the firefinder in the center of the room. Conveniently reminding him of which direction it was, several more fireworks go off in quick succession—golden, blue, red. It’s too dark to take a real reading, so he just points the sight in the general vicinity of the celebrations and takes its azimuth. He’ll spend extra time tomorrow examining this direction.

As he takes the measurements, a thought drifts into his mind. It’s something about the convergence of this specific job, a job nobody’s ever heard about in a Forest overlooked because of its more popular neighbors, and the wistful quality of Scar’s voice when he spoke about the subjects of his paintings. He found this job advertised in a newspaper. How did Scar find it? Who trained him to do this?

He sits back at the desk, and starts to sketch in the mountains around Scar’s lookout. This, he remembers well. He knows the familiar fold of the hills and peaks like the back of his hand, even after a little more than two months on the job.

The question circles his mind.

“Scar,” he says finally. “You know why I came here. To this job. To this National Forest. I’ve…made that really clear, whether I wanted to or not. But I don’t think you’ve ever said why you came.”

“Oh,” Scar says. His voice is quiet. “I guess I haven’t.”

Grian lays the radio down on the table, giving Scar space to speak. There’s something about the way Scar acknowledged him that sounds like he’s been exposed. One thing Grian has come to learn about him is that he’s a smoothtalker, and an excellent actor. Scar has dramatic flair in spades, and if he really wanted to, he’d spin a captivating tale for Grian about the totally-true events leading up to his place in this forest. It’d be as truthful as his name.

He doesn’t, though.

“People come out here for a lot of reasons, but not every person can stick with it. It’s lonely, for sure. And, of course,” he chuckles, “the bugs are pretty bad. I’ll tell you right now, I’ve seen more than a few volunteers and new lookouts suddenly get afraid of the dark when it’s just them and no one else for miles,” Scar says. “But the people who stay tend to fall into two categories.”

“What are they?”

“People who are running from something and people who are looking for something.”

There’s no need to question which category Grian is in. Not when he’s already laid his whole soul open for Scar to pick through and deeply intertwined himself in this mystery.

There’s only this: “Which one are you?”

“It’s hard to say,” Scar replies. “But I think I was running away.”

And Grian wants to say from what? but he doesn’t. And he wants to be sitting in Scar’s lookout right now, or anywhere but here, but he isn’t.

He sets the pencil down, temporarily abandoning the drawing he’s been scratching this whole time. He looks straight ahead through the window, but the glare from the lamp on the glass just reflects his own face right back at him. In the shadow where his head is, he can pick out the faint outlines of the hills beyond.

“You can’t run from yourself though,” Scar says. “‘Cause it just follows you. And being alone with yourself just makes you face it faster. I think my mom was right. She was worried about me. That’s why she made me take Jellie to keep me company.”

“I think I need to meet this Jellie,” Grian says, because he doesn’t know what else to say. Scar doesn’t typically sound so serious, and it’s a little jarring. “She sounds pretty fantastic.”

“She is, she’s—hey, what about meeting me?”

“Nah, I think I prefer the cat,” he says. Cheeky.

“Well, I can’t say I don’t agree,” Scar says. He sighs. “I guess I should just talk about it, right? You can ask me whatever you want. ‘Cause the more I ramble, the less I talk about it, and the less I actually answer your question. Which is the fun of rambling! If you say enough words people forget about what you’re distracting them from. Oh, but I don’t know why I’m telling you that. A true salesman never gives up any secrets. I’m only a salesman in the winter, though. What am I selling now? I guess I’m selling myself. Wait—no, not like that, don’t you dare be laughing over there, G-man!”

Grian says nothing, and he isn’t laughing. He just lets Scar’s words fill the space. He doesn’t ask anything else. It feels hypocritical to do so. He’s dying to know everything, of course, but he also knows what it’s like—that looming weight on your neck from the pressure of well-meaning friends who just want to talk when all you want to do is be alone. If Scar has come all the way out here, then he must really have wanted to be alone.

Scar seems to rattle himself out of it on his own. “I’m stalling again,” he says, voice like lead. “I’ll just start. It’s okay. It’s been 10 years. I’m fine.”

“You don’t have to tell me anything,” Grian says. “I was just curious. You know all this about me but I didn’t know anything about you. But if it’s a…thing then you don’t have to.”

“No, no,” he says. “It’s fine. I already told you a lot of the story. I just left out some pieces.”

“It’s a slow night,” Grian says. “Only a few fireworks. Plenty of time to talk, if you want…or plenty of time to just watch.”

“I appreciate that,” Scar replies. He takes a deep breath. It’s a funny thing, that. Grian can’t see Scar’s face—he has no idea about anything, even what color hair he has—but he knows the sound of Scar’s breathing.

“I told you about my accident,” Scar begins. “I told you about how it nearly killed me, about the hospital, about taking up painting. And I told you about the way I’m still in pain, even years later. I don’t think it’s ever going to fully go away. But that wasn’t really the whole truth, or the worst part. The worst part was that I wasn’t the only one in the accident.

“I should have been, though. I was the one driving. I was just running an errand, but I was living with my parents at the time so I asked my dad to come with me to help me pick something out. I don’t even remember what it was. And I don’t remember the accident, either. I only know what they told me. I read the accident report. But there’s a wall of glass between me and what happened. Apparently, we hit some black ice in the road and it spun the car into the other lane. We got hit by a truck. It happened so fast. He didn’t know what was coming either.”

Scar pauses there. Grian tries to take in the story. “I’m sorry,” he says. “That sounds terrifying.”

Scar’s voice breaks on the next line. “The doctor told me my dad was dead when the paramedics arrived. They think he probably died instantly. I don’t remember that, though. I don’t remember anything. I just—I just woke up a week later in the ICU. That’s what I remember. Everything was just so fuzzy and hurt so bad. I could tell something was up but I was too tired. I slept. They waited three days and made my mom break the news.”

“Oh, Scar,” Grian says. “I’m so sorry.” But everyone is sorry. They’re always sorry. It doesn’t do anything. So instead he adds, “You must have been so scared. It must have been confusing.”

“It was ten years ago. I’m fine,” Scar repeats, and Grian doesn’t comment on the way it sounds like a lie. Maybe it isn’t a lie on most days of the week, but it certainly is tonight. Scar continues to talk. “I don’t know why that’s what messes me up the most. That I caused it and I don’t remember it. That it’s my fault but I didn’t know for so long.”

“It’s not your fault,” Grian says gently. “It was an accident. That’s what accidents are, they’re not on purpose. So it can’t be your fault.”

“And you’re right, G-man,” Scar says. His voice wavers. “I already know that. It isn’t my fault. I didn’t mean for any of it to happen. I didn’t know about the ice. I know it’s not my fault but…it’s really hard to believe that, isn’t it?”

Grian swallows against a lump in his throat, and flicks his eyes down to the table. It’s the hardest thing in the world, just below staying alive.

“I just think about everything I could have done differently. Why didn’t I just go alone? Why didn’t I wait until the next day? What if I was driving slower? Would the difference of one mile per hour, or five, or ten have been the difference between life and death? What if I had reacted faster, or better? What if I saved the car from spinning? If I had left just one minute earlier, or five seconds earlier, there might not have been traffic in the oncoming lane. If I had left three hours earlier, maybe the temperature would have still been high enough to keep the ice from refreezing.”

He stops to take a breath. “It doesn’t ever stop. And it doesn’t bring anyone back. The worst is thinking about the things you did and the things you didn’t. Like maybe I would have told him I loved him that morning if I’d known that was the last day I’d see him. Or maybe I wouldn’t have stolen $20 from him and then lied about it when I was 8 years old. Or maybe I would have asked him again to tell me about his funniest story from when he was a teenager. But that’s just how it is, I think. It all comes back to you.”

“How do you deal with it?” Grian whispers.

“Badly,” Scar says, and for once he doesn’t sound like he’s on the brink of tears. “You go forward. And then backward. And then forward again. You live through it.”

“I don’t think I can.”

“You’re already doing it.”

“I’m not doing it very good.”

“That’s the only way you can do it.”

There hasn’t been any more fireworks since they started talking. The night outside is dark, with only the slightest sliver of a new moon. Millions of tiny stars glitter in the sky in nearly uninterrupted view. It’s a beautiful night out there, hot and still, but Grian stays in the four walls of his cabin. Enclosed.

Scar speaks. “One of my steps was coming back here. I think, in the end, it was a step forward. This place gives me comfort. I always liked this part of the state. My dad used to take me camping out here all the time, like once a summer. Sometimes we went to Yellowstone National Park. Sometimes we went to Grand Teton National Park. Sometimes we went to Bridger-Teton National Forest. And sometimes we went here. It’s the quietest here.”

“It sounds like you were close with your dad,” Grian says. “It sounds like fun.”

“It was,” Scar says. “My dad was cremated. It was a while before I was out of the hospital, and it was a while before traveling somewhere wasn’t an ordeal. We saved some of his ashes for closer to home, but we made a special trip out here and scattered a little in each spot.”

“That sounds nice…” Grian trails off. “Like he’s still here, somewhere. In a place he loved. In a place with you.”

“I think I fell a little in love with this place then, in a way I didn’t when I was just a child. Or maybe I was just antsy. I wasn’t doing very good, I guess I can tell you that. There was too much guilt and familiarity at home. I wanted out. I wanted to be anywhere else but there. It took me two years after the accident to make it but I came here.”

“So,” Grian says. “Running from something. I see it.”

“Yeah,” Scar says with a huff of air. “Not that great at running these days though! I mean, I’m barely a hiker anymore without being wiped out for a few days! My mom thought this job was a terrible idea. She thought the last thing I needed was to be alone. I guess you know what that’s like.”

“I didn’t even tell my friends or my mum I was taking this job,” Grian admits. “They’d freak out. The reaction from people I knew back in Colorado was bad enough. So I just sent ‘em a letter the first week I was here. A ranger told me I had mail at the main office but I don’t want to check it.”

“They’ll give it to you at the end of the season if you don’t come pick it up,” Scar says. “You can read it then, after you’ve already done it.”

“Was it what you needed?” Grian asks abruptly. “Being alone.”

“I needed it. I think—sometimes everything in your head makes you want to avoid people. You feel like you need the silence of an empty room to just let it all fall out and fix itself. It helps. But only for a little while, because it never really fixes itself. After a while it just eats you up.”

And Grian wants to say, I think it’s eating me. And he wants to say, I think I am not alone enough, I still need more space, I still need more time. And he wants to say, Everything will be fine, I just need to find him. And he wants to say, I don’t think I would have lasted this summer without you.

“I didn’t have anyone to talk to my first summer as a lookout,” Scar admits. “But you have me. And I think—Grian, I know you think you’re alone, but you aren’t. And I know you think nobody understands, but I do. I’m trying to.”

“Oh,” he says. Oh.

There’s tears suddenly welling up in his eyes, and Grian rapidly tries to blink them away. He sees it in the incessant chatter that had annoyed him on the first week. He sees it in their radio channel, the one just for them to talk on, the secondary channel that ensures the main frequency is always open for real emergencies. Scar’s been cultivating the perfect landing spot for Grian to fall into, before he even knew Grian needed it.

“It’s not actually two different things, is it?” Grian finally responds. “Running away from something, and looking for something.”

And Scar says, “I don’t think it is, in the end.”

<< Chapter Seven | Masterpost | Chapter Nine >>

#hermitcraft #grian #goodtimeswithscar #hermitcraft fanfic #hermitcraft fanfiction #hermitcraft au #hc_firewatch_au #quara fanfic

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bugsandcoffee · 2 years

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I thought it was a good idea to collect the fics I write into one place so here we go! It's sorted in multi-chaptered works and one-shots and I will list if the fic is complete or not. This masterlist now also includes a section for my non-Stucky fics. You can find me on AO3 as bugsandcoffee 💕

Last Updated: 7th of December 2022

One-Shots

The Artist's Muse [1,562 words, Teen and Up, Complete]

Bucky Barnes commissions a portrait of himself from Steve Rogers and ends up finding so much more.

The Little Witch in the Woods [1,016 words, Teen and Up, Complete]

Bucky was content in his little cottage in the woods, he loves practicing magic and cuddling his cat Alpine. Then one day an injured werewolf shows up on his doorstep and Bucky finds something else to love.

I Think About You [1,383 words, Teen and Up, Complete]

Breaking up with Steve was the worst mistake Bucky ever made.

The Halloween Party [1,035 words, Teen and Up, Complete]

Steve and Bucky meet at a Halloween party and finally learn the other might not be as disinterested as they both assumed.

Tough Act [9,294 words, Teen and Up, Complete]

A decade after they broke up Bucky shows up on Steve’s doorstep. He needs his help. Bucky needs a boyfriend to convince his record label to let him release his next album and if he can't get a real boyfriend, a fake boyfriend will have to do.

Steve agrees. After all there's nothing that could go wrong with fake dating the guy you've always had feelings for, is there?

Beautiful [668 words, General]

Steve thinks about how much he loves Bucky and their life together.

Lies and Memories [1,666 words, Teen and Up]

History had tried to erase Bucky as much as Hydra had. He needed to remember and reclaim who he was.

Just A Cat [721 words, Teen and Up]

Bucky has to walk through the snow to buy cat food for his beloved cat Alpine. He ends up taking the cute guy who works at the store home with him.

Multi-Chaptered Fics

Darling I Fancy You [6,294 words, Teen and Up, Complete]

When Bucky joins his friend Kamala on a trip to London to see a movie premiere, he doesn’t expect to find love at the meet and greet she won in a fanart competition. But he has caught Steve Rogers' eye and Steve has caught his and the trip ends up being even more special than he expected.

It's a Date! [4,010 words, Teen and Up, Complete]

Steve stumbles across Bucky’s TikTok and it leads to them meeting. They get along perfectly and it's the start of something beautiful.

Hairpin Triggers [21,005 words, Explicit, Complete]

Bucky first met Steve while the leaves were turning into shades of red, orange and yellow.

A story about falling in love, loving while being deeply traumatised, watching your entire life fall apart, and then putting it all back together.

Non-Stucky Fics

Sexiest Man Alive [Evanstan RPF, 1,315 words, Explicit]

Sebastian calls Chris after seeing People has called him the sexiest man alive. Will they finally get what they've both wanted?

Evanstan Round Robin Chapter 8 [Evanstan RPF]

Upcoming Fics

Untitled Puzzling Fic [One-Shot, ? words, Teen and Up]

Unmoored [Multi-chaptered, ? words, Mature]

Untitled Stucky Jack Reacher Never Go Back AU [Multi-chaptered, ? words, Mature]

Stucky The Nanny AU

Hanukkah Bingo Fills

Stucky Soulmates AU

#a bug's creations #a bug's masterlist #fic masterlist #stucky #stevebucky #stucky fic #evanstan fic #evanstan

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daveysjackie · 1 year

Text

Masterlist of all the Kelly-Jacobs kids I have made for my numerous AUs

Honestly, this is mostly so I can keep track of these scamps and my AUs. But I'm putting them here so enjoy

(Also, if you have any questions about the characters or the AUs, please ask, i love talking about my AUs)

My New Dream (single Dad Jack AU)

Faith Cecelia Kelly (Later Kelly-Jacobs)

The only child in this AU

She commonly goes by Fae

Named because of Jack's dream of Santa Fe (yeah Jack really sprained a brain muscle naming his kid)

She also gains the moniker of his "little fairy"

When Davey finds out her full name, he calls her Cece.

(He is the only person that is allowed to call her that. Not even Jack is allowed)

She was born soon after Jack moved to Santa Fe for college and he had a one night stand

She doesn't remember much of her life before meeting Davey when the move to NYC when she's 3

Discovers she's a lesbian when she's 7 and brings her first girlfriend home at age 10

Davey introduces her to baking when she's 5 and by the time she's 20, she is a pro baker on the cusp of owning her own little bakery

The Intricate Chaos Of You (Davey's band AU)

Stella Kelly-Jacobs

She was born via surrogate. Unlike both her dads having dark hair, she is blonde

Because of her blonde hair (and Jack and Davey always using the stars as endearments towards each other (because of Davey's song)) they name her Stella

Unlike her dads, her musical talent is limited to playing the recorder (badly)

She does have Jack's artistic talent

She either wants be a fashion designer or an inventor. There is no in-between and she changes her mind every other day

She is not very fond of the reporters and fans they deal with constantly so she loves it whenever they go back to Santa Fe because it's much more peaceful there

That being said, she has used her dads' fame to get out of trouble in school multiple times.

David Jacobs Guide To Dealing With A Bad Roommate (AKA my roommate AU)

Oliver Kelly Jacobs

He's told the story of how his dads started dating when he was 12

Jack never hears the end of it

What do you mean Aba had to get SHOT for you to confess you like him?

I was going to but the burglers got to him first

He's a little daredevil. He does flips on roller-skates, skateboards and bikes

(His dads dread when he starts learning to drive)

His dream occupation changes about twice a year

Unfortunately for his dads, he never chooses a safe job

(Jack's first grey hair is before he even hits 30 and he 100% blames Ollie)

Even In Silence

Connie Kelly-Jacobs

The oldest of her siblings

In the last chapter of EIS, she's 14

She's named after Connie Francis (who her grandfather (Jack's dad (Francis Sullivan) was named after)

She's loud all of the time (something picked up from all the time spent with Uncle Race)

She loves her siblings but is always in a competition with her brother.

It could be anything: homework, eating, brushing their teeth, she turns it into a competition

She could win everytime if she wants but she makes sure her brother wins just as many times (keeps a tally per week on her phone)

Fitz Kelly-Jacobs

His name comes from JFK's middle name (because his dad's (Jack's) aunt was named after Jackie Kennedy)

He is the middle child and only boy

In the last chapter of EIS he's 12

Almost the complete opposite of his older sister, he's very quiet.

Not that he doesn't talk. More like Ferb from Phineas and Ferb. Only speaks when he feels it's very necessary.

So he normally just uses ASL and is very close to Davey as a result

But he takes after Jack in his love for the drums

If he's sitting down at home, there's a 80% chance his youngest sister is in his lap

Meadow "Mimi" Kelly-Jacobs

The youngest of the siblings

Davey insisted on naming her after Medda somehow

But since she's young, everyone calls her Mimi to simplify it

She's 3 in the last chapter of EIS

A Jack Kelly carbon copy but with all the David Jacobs sass.

Ergo, the best of both her dads

Loves candy (as any child does)

Loves her siblings but has torn both of their hair at least twice when they ignored her in favour of literally anything else

Ice Skater AU

Maariyah "Maari" Kelly-Jacobs

She was adopted when she was 4

She's Punjabi (because I have to project SOMEWHERE)

Oldest by just a few months

Jack teaches all their kids to ice skate and she loves it so much, she decides to persue it as her career

just like dad

Wins her first competiton at 11 and Jack is a blubbering mess over her. She has a screenshot of it as Jack's picture on her phone.

She's a lesbian and meets her future wife at a rink while they're both just practising

Isaac Kelly Jacobs

He was 2 when Jack and Davey adopted him

He's African American. Jack immediately clicked with him because Isaac was orphaned when his mom died of cancer, the same as Jack.

He is normally the target of his siblings' pranks

When he becomes an astronaut, he often jokes in interviews that it was just to get as far as physically possible from them

He's the same age as Maari, just younger by a few months

He is pansexual and meets his partner in high school physics but they don't get together till they meet again years later

Sky Kelly Jacobs

The youngest of the siblings, adopted when they were only a few months old

They were born in Greece and are mixed race

Comes out as non-binary and ace when they're in their last year of middle school

(Jack's reaction to this is screaming "GOTTA CATCH 'EM ALL" and Davey rolls his eyes at that)

They're younger than their siblings by 3 years

They use the fame they get from being in a famous family to become a climate change activist (and dabbles in many other big social movements)

(This entire AU is just so >>>>)

Trans Davey AU

Francis "Frankie" Jacobs (later Kelly-Jacobs)

He was born before Davey starts the proper transition

He clicks with Jack immediately when they finally meet (he's 8)

Frankie is super close with his Aunt Sarah because she practically co-parented him up until he was 1

When Jack and Davey run into financial problems and meet Medda who gives them jobs, he becomes the "theatre's little nuisance (affectionate)"

Between the people at the theatre, Davey's family and all their friends, he is the apple of everyone's eyes

#newsies #davey jacobs #92sies #david jacobs #newsies broadway #jack kelly #1992sies #west endsies #livesies #uksies #javid newsies #javid #javey newsies #javey #AU masterlist #i love all of them #every single one

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funnywiccanwritingcorner · 2 years

Text

Le Joyau le plus precieux

A Lucky Luke Modern!AU fanfiction

Chapter XII - Rescue

The same passengers did not disembark from the train as on the outward journey, but in that human tide only a keen eye could have noticed who and how they had changed. Yes, it would certainly have noticed a short old man with white hair and beard wearing dark glasses and the tall young man with red, curly hair and protruding teeth walking towards the exit of Nice station.

-We've got to find a car that you can drive, Joe.- -Why should I drive?- -So I can change in the back seat. I can't wear the uniform now, we'd be too showy. And be careful not to scramble the mask, or it'll come off so fresh.- -You told me that already.-

The car dealer and hirer had something of a slimy quality about him; the classic little man with the carry-over who tries everything to trick the customer. Not wanting to waste too much time, Lucky left Dalton to listen to the man's chatter as he looked around for the right model. He finally picked out, amidst 1970s wrecks and models that were far too upmarket, a beautiful black, low-roofed Volvo rental. The price was reasonable, so with a whistle he alerted Joe to his location.

Shortly afterwards there they were, taking the road that would lead them to the foothills of the mountains above the city. Only when they had passed the last houses on the outskirts did Lucky lean out of his passenger seat in the back and break the silence between them: -I'll turn on the radio, shall I? -Go ahead. The local station was playing a marathon of 80s songs, and over the beat of one of them Luke announced: -I'd better get changed. I'll be five minutes.- -Even ten, there's time.- Dalton recognised the song, and moving his fingers on the steering wheel in time, listened to the words:

I saw him dancin’ there by the record machine

I knew he must a been about seventeen

The beat was goin’ strong, playin’ my favourite song

An’ I could tell it wouldn’t be long

Till he was with me, yeah me…

His eye fell on the rear-view mirror above his head and he blinked: Lucky was really undressing back there! He watched as he took off his shirt: he was thinner than he looked, but not in the "walking skeleton" kind of way, no, that well-built, lean guy with everything in its place. As he then began to pull off his trousers, Joe felt he was close to a heart attack. -Watch the road, detective, don't get distracted!- joked Lucky, who had realised he was being watched. -That's what I'm doing!- -You're going the wrong side of the road.-

The structure was surrounded by an iron, electrified fence, which left a forty-metre dirt space inside before reaching the actual building. Crossing the threshold and then exiting would be the most difficult parts of Jolly Jumper's rescue.

In Paris, the Dalton brothers, Nat and Cheyenne waited for their friends to activate their earphones. -You don't have to be here if you have to work, Cheyenne...- Jack tried to say. -I want to be there. I asked Louise for a leave of absence until tonight, and Amélie is staying at her friend's for a sleepover.- She looked at him, determined: -I won't move from here until Jolly is safe.-

In the meantime, the guards at the gate saw one of their men emerge from the bush, pointing a gun at a short elderly man walking ahead of him. -Hey, guys!- Lucky was altering his voice so that a slight Scottish accent emerged: -I caught this snooper snooping around under the guise of birdwatching! Let me through, I'll throw him in a cell!- The two asked no questions and opened the gate. After passing through the gap, at the entrance Lucky entered the security code for entering through the front door, learnt by heart after several rehearsals with Nat. It was to the latter that they turned once inside, switching on their earphones: -We're in.-

-Showtime, then!- exclaimed the hacker, seeing two red dots light up on the screen where he had opened the digital map: -You must continue to the third corridor on your right, then take it. I'll let you know if there are any guards, ok?- -Roger- confirmed Joe. Nat gave further instructions: -Now go all the way to the end, you will see a lift in front of you. Get on it and press button B -3, it will take you to the cells.- Inside the cabin, Luke promptly pushed the indicated buttons. The classic waiting music was playing in the background. -This is a joke, right?- mumbled Dalton, causing the others to laugh as they listened. Lucky commented: -Earse, but unnecessary in a place like this.- At floor B -2 the lift stopped. -Oh no...- -What's going on, Nat?- Joe asked.

Another guard entered through the doors, busy flicking through a file and therefore not paying much attention to the other two with him. -Chill, boys, steady nerves...- murmured the hacker. The lift arrived at B -3, and Lucky and Joe promptly exited the cabin. Alone again, remembering to breathe, Dalton announced: -This is it.- Each cell had a number pad on the right side. -Perfect. At the moment you are the only ones on this floor; go ahead to the fourth turn to the left.- Cheyenne, looking at the screens connected to the cameras, twisted the bottom lip of her mouth with her teeth, nervous, clutching her arms. William tried to reassure her: -Hey... It'll be fine, you'll see...- She nodded, her eyes fixed on the movements of the two insiders. -Now to the right. Keep going for about a hundred meters.- -Nat, are you sure this is the right way?- -Yes, according to the facility records. Continue to the left...- He typed a command on the keyboard. The recording symbol disappeared from the cameras. -Clear field.- They would never get the escape records. -The cell?- -328, Lucky. I'll tell you the code.-

At the moment of opening the door, however, Luke hesitated for a moment. Joe sensed it was an emotional moment, so he urged him: -Come on...- Pushing it open, the door emitted a squeak that sounded like the rumble of thunder in the silence. The interior of the cell was rather bare, with a cot bed, a sink and a toilet. On top of the bed stood curled up a man, dressed in black.

-Jolly...?- Lucky wasn't sure in pronouncing that name, but he was relieved when a head of shapeless blond hair rose at the call with a jolt, and a familiar face turned in their direction, dark eyes wide: -...Lucky...- The two brothers clutched each other in a tight embrace. Hearing his cousin's voice, Cheyenne had a moment of emotion: -He's fine... Thank goodness...- -I knew you'd come to get me out!!! It was the only thing keeping me sane in here!!- -A year of confinement without even a book or television? What is this, Guantanamo?- commented Joe. Jolly looked at him: -Who is he, Luke?- -Detective Joe Dalton; he's agreed to help me... You grew a big beard, brother.- -A year without a razor leaves its mark.- -Come on, boys, let's postpone the chitchat till after we're out of here.- Dalton looked outside the cell: -There's no one here, let's go.- Cheyenne held back from grabbing Nat's microphone headset to talk to his cousin. Joe was right: kisses and hugs later.

-The first floor is full of guards, you cannot leave the same way you came in. You must take the lift back and go up to floor A 1.- -But then we'll trap ourselves.- -No, Joe, there's a car park on that floor. Stealing a vehicle is the only way you can get out with Jolly; it's elevated, so there'll be a couple of ramps before you get out.- -Got it, Nat.-

But when the metal doors opened, the three of them had a bad surprise: the guard with the file from earlier was still there; he had evidently not noticed that he had not left the booth. He looked up and saw them, but before he could scream Lucky knocked him out with a punch. -No good; what are we going to do with him?- asked Joe. -Nat, what about the cameras?- -They're still on "no rec".- -I have an idea, but we have to be quick.-

Shortly afterwards there were two guards and a plainclothes man on floor A 1. In a glass-and-steel cubicle there was an armed guard who stopped them: -I.D.- -I'll take care of it- said Nat, tapping into the ID machine with one of his programs. Lucky swiped his badge, which was fake, and Jolly the one of the guard they had knocked over. They both turned out to be qualified. -And grandpa here?- -I don't need a badge like these wimps, soldier!- -He's my uncle, a sergeant of the old guard...- threw out Jolly Jumper; suddenly a cry went through the air: -Stop them! They are intruders! Stop them!- The guy from earlier had recovered, and in a tank top and long johns was running in their direction. -Where did he come from?!?- exclaimed Nat, -Did you see him, Dalton brothers?!?- -No, he hasn't passed in front of the cameras!- replied Jack. -Run, run!!-

The guard raised his rifle. The three jumped headlong towards the jeeps parked inside; bullets began to fly. Cheyenne clung with his arms around William and Jack's neck: -Oh, no, no!!!- Through the cameras they saw them take refuge in one of the vehicles, fortunately armoured. -There are no keys!!- shouted Lucky, overpowering the noise of the bullets and the alarm that had just been triggered. -Wait, I got it!!- Jolly reached under the dashboard and pulled out the wires, starting to fiddle with them to make contact. -Hurry, he's catching up!!- Joe urged him; the car started up and Luke took the wheel: -Hold on!!- He slammed his foot on the accelerator and swerved, crashing into a couple of other vehicles under the machine gun blast. With a turn worthy of a rally driver, Lucky drove the car nose down towards the ramps, shifted gears and sped off in the direction of the downhill car. Meanwhile, other guards swarmed into the car park to launch themselves in pursuit.

-Lucky? Joe? Damn it, we have no audio or visual contact!!!- Nat fiddled on the keyboard: -We'll have to follow them from the satellite!-

-I see the exit!- exclaimed Joe, squeezing in between the other two. -And I see the soldiers in the rear view mirror!!!- echoed him, alarmed, Jolly Jumper. -We have no choice; hold on!!!- With a sharp acceleration, Luke drove full speed into the sheet metal door that was closing in front of them. Jolly and Joe clutched at each other, terrified, and let out a scream, but the jeep passed through the gap, its roof brushing against the sheet metal. They jumped out, and more bullets started raining down on them.

-There they are!- shouted Nat.

Crashing through the gate, which produced sparks on impact, the three of them plunged into the bush, avoiding trees as much as possible and jolting whenever their wheels hit potholes or roots. Joe was clinging to the seat to avoid ending up like a pinball; Jolly had grabbed the handle above the car door. Once they reached the road, fortunately in the same spot where the Volvo was parked, Lucky braked suddenly: -Get out, quick!-

In the driver's seat of the other vehicle stood Dalton, Luke beside him and his brother behind. They drove off just a second before the other jeeps emerged from the woods still in pursuit. -Guys, do you hear me?- Nat retorted. -Strong and clear, boy!- Joe swerved, avoiding a pothole. -Listen to me, go straight down this road; there is a bridge over the river ahead! If you cross it, you can get back to Nice!- -And how do we get rid of the ballast?- -You drive, I'll take care of the rest.- -Well! Keep your head down, Jolly Jumper, we haven't finished with those guys yet!- Which in fact resumed firing, shattering the rear windscreen.

-Hell, it's a rental! We'll have to pay the penalty!- Lucky rolled down the window: -I'll slow them down.- He pulled a vintage pistol, a seven-shooter, out of an inside pocket of his uniform. -Where did that come from? Wait, but it's...- -It's time to use it for something good instead of stealing, don't you think, Joe?-He leaned out to his mid-torso, and with one accurate shot, he blew a hole in the tyre of the jeep in front of the other five or six behind them; it skidded off and ran into two others, causing them to spin. Those that remained continued, and the soldiers resumed firing, forcing Luke to take refuge inside the Volvo again.

-How far is it, Nat?!?- -Don't stop, Joe, you're almost there!!- Tall white poles on the horizon marked the presence of the bridge. Dalton began to zigzag between the cars they began to encounter; fortunately it was not rush hour and dodging them was easy even on the wrong side of the road. -Nat, these guys won't let go!- -Go towards the bridge!-

A bell began to ring, like the one at level crossings. The cars stopped just before they reached the bridge, which began to rise. -Oh, I get it, man.- With a sneer, Joe pressed down on the accelerator. Jolly emerged between seats: -What? What's going on??- -Hold on where you can!- With further acceleration, the car followed the raised part of the bridge. -You're crazy!!!- shouted Jolly Jumper grabbing the seat where his brother was. Nat and all the others stood paralysed watching the scene on the screens as if it were in slow motion: the car jumped as if on a ramp, flew through the air for a few seconds and landed again on the opposite side with a metallic clang, only to return to the almost clear road. The same manoeuvre failed for the jeeps, which collided with the stationary cars and against the now raised part of the bridge. One ended up in the water. After another handful of seconds, Nat announced, recovering his breath: -It's done.- The others with him broke into a shout of jubilation; Cheyenne broke into a group hug with the Dalton brothers. The three in the car let loose in a similar manner. Jolly Jumper stated: -Too many emotions together! I could faint!!!- -Ah, Joe! You were great!- exclaimed Lucky, -Where did you learn to drive like that?- -Are you kidding? I practised running after you!- Laughing to relieve the tension, Jolly reappeared: -Next stop, Nice!-

-He's monopolising the bathroom...- muttered Joe, removing his mask and wig, in a joking tone. -Well, so would you after a year without a decent shower!- Lucky shed his wig and false teeth. -Hey! Your cheek!- -What?- -It's bleeding!- Luke touched his left cheek: -Ah... A bullet must have grazed me. I'll put a plaster on it right away.- Dalton let himself fall back on the bed: -With all the ones that rained down on us, just a little scratch... You really are the man with the most shameless luck I've ever known!- Jolly Jumper emerged from the bathroom with a towel around his waist: -Hey, guys, do you have a lawnmower to get this Amazon forest out of my face?- Lucky laughed: -I'll get the tools, little brother.-

#lucky luke #joyau #joe dalton #modern au #fanfiction

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sanctum-of-ramshackle · 2 years

Text

In The Dark

[TWST AU]: An MC/Yuu who fights like Xu Shang-Chi

[Synopsis]: In this timeline, MC/Yuu was transported to Twisted Wonderland and uses their knowledge of material arts to survive through chaotic adventures.

[Gender Neutral MC/Yuu]

[(A/N)]: I love Simu Liu and how he acted as Shang-Chi to show Asian representation in the Entertainment Industry.

youtube

The first time MC/Yuu came to Twisted Wonderland, they were in a middle of a battle against The Ten Rings clan.

MC/Yuu broke out of the coffin with their bare hands, shattering the lid into splinters and scaring poor Grim.

They were confused and still on defense mode then asked Grim who send him.

MC/Yuu: Who sent you? Wenwu?

Grim: Who-wu?

MC/Yuu: Never mind. *Sprints out of the room*

Grim: Hey! I need those clothes!

The chase still happens like in the canon storyline, but with some parkour stunts and losing Grim until later in the Library.

Crowley was almost knocked down while he came into scene, but you know you can’t sneak up on a former assassin.

MC/Yuu (plus Grim after he was captured by “The Whips of Love”) were dragged into the Dorm Sorting Ceremony and the same disaster happens.

MC/Yuu: *Witnessing a mess after under a minute* …This is crazier than seeing Morris the first time.

They brought Grim in as an emotional support buddy since their childhood wasn’t too good.

[Campus]

MC/Yuu: *Blocks an attack and knocks out the Savanaclaw student* I told you to stop, but you didn’t listen. I mean, what were you proving? Your large physique or that attitude?

Ace: Whoa! How did you do that?

MC/Yuu: I was trained to be an assassin in a clan called The Ten Rings. They’re not good people and last time I was with them, Wenwu was tracking down his son after he left.

[During Chapter 1]

Trey: Thanks for coming with me, MC/Yuu. I could use a set of hands.

MC/Yuu: No problem. If it saves Ace from being a “magicless student”, then he doesn’t have to complain about my living situation.

Trey: Yeah, it’s for the next Unbirthday Party. I just needs some over from that tree.

MC/Yuu: Okay. That sounds easy.

Trey: Careful, they have an outer shell covered in spikes. I provide some gloves-

MC/Yuu: *Kicks the tree which shook off some chestnuts* This enough for the tart?

Trey: *Surprised* Huh. They are enough.

[Back in the Heartslabyul kitchen]

MC/Yuu: Wenwu talked about some wannabe who was impersonating him as The Mandarin, the leader of the Ten Rings. Anyway, I found out he’s reintroduced to his career of becoming an actor.

Deuce: *Curious* When did that happened?

MC/Yuu: Oh, when Shang-Chi, Katy and I were looking for Xialing after she was imprisoned.

Deuce: Oh.

[During Chapter 2]

MC/Yuu: *Fighting against Overblot!Leona* Is this what you want?! *Pulls out replicates of the Ten Rings* You sore fighter!

Ace: Beat his ass, MC/Yuu!!!

Deuce: Careful, Prefect!

Jack: Don’t kill him!

MC/Yuu:

Overblot!Leona: *Falls back from the impact and spat out the Blot stone*

Everyone: OH!!!

Ruggie: Ya didn’t have to knock him unconscious!

MC/Yuu: I’m sorry! I’m still getting use to the rings.

[Karaoke Night at the Monstro Lounge]

MC/Yuu = Red Lyrics

Cater = Orange Lyrics

[Run It - DJ Snake (Ft. Rich Brian & Rick Ross)]

youtube

MC/Yuu: I picked a perfect song to start tonight.

Cater: Go for it, MC/Yuu-chan/kun!

[Song starts]

MC/Yuu: You can join in, too.

Cater: Alright! #KaraokeDuet

Uh, rollin' in impalas but you too tame

I ain't from the South, but I appreciate the wood grain

Neighbor callin' me about the noise it's only two, man

Now I'm in the same building but the floors and view changed

I ain't for the waitin' now

I bought a 'Rari and I did it just to hear the sound

Drive safe really 'boutta lose all it's meaning now

Guess you love to travel when I pull up man you're leaving town

Say you're married to the game, and I'm just here to burn the gown

I got a flight in the morning

I see what you been tryna do and I'ma mission abort it

You think I never pay attention in my mind I'm recording

I'm 'bout to win and ruin all your goals and dreams out of boredom

Ridin' around with homies like we run the city (done it)

Lookin' fresh and feelin' like a milli (money)

Move in silence, you can never hear me (comin')

If you got a problem when you see me (run it)

Run it

DJ Snake

Rozay, woah

Bang, tryna show you what we came to do (huh)

Boss, only talkin' makin' major moves

Rolls Royce, no top, me

No one will ever stop me

Me against the world, I got my back against the wall (woah)

Know I'm hell bound (woah)

But I'm well now (woah)

On the road to riches I could never lay around (woah)

Told her don't make a sound unless she make it loud (ah)

Everybody scream (everybody scream)

That's my only thing (yes)

I'm a born winner

A Jordan 23 (woo)

All my people G's until the party ceased

Ace: *In the audience* Do a flip!

MC/Yuu: *Performs the impressive stunt*

[Cater attempts to flip, but flops instead.]

Cater: *Falls on his back* Ow…

MC/Yuu: Oh shit. You okay?

Cater: *Looks up at MC/Yuu* Did you get that on MagiCam?

MC/Yuu: Oh my god.

Epel: You are so cool! How can I fight like you? Y’know, like the punching, kicking, and parkour stuff.

MC/Yuu: Uhh…it takes years to perform everything. But it’s not too late starting your journey.

Epel: What should we start with?

MC/Yuu: *Holds up a wooden board* Break it. Use whatever strength you possess and maybe we’ll start from there.

[Within a second, Epel breaks the board with his palm. Except he received 5 splinters.]

MC/Yuu: *Inhales with caution* Vil is gonna kill me.

✨[Reblogs helps creators and creates for more content]💫

182 notes · View notes

silksaddle · 3 years

Text

The Traveler 4

Jack ‘Whiskey’ Daniels x f!reader Western AU

Chapter summary: Time runs out fast, but it’s not the only thing you need.

Word count: 12.6k

Warnings: 18+ only! canon typical violence, blood, injury, weapons (guns), oral (f receiving), piv sex, handjob, cumplay-ish, a lot of feelings, (sex with feelings...) angst but also some romance

Notes: gif credit to @din-djarn! This one was tough! Lots of rewriting and changes. Thank you dearly and kindly for sticking with this, and special thanks to Cris and Dani for being my lovely, generous writing consultants! The book mentioned in this chapter is real and was published in 1859.

Series Masterlist

Chapter Four: Gunpowder Trail

Gunpowder Trail winds itself a hundred miles away from any surrounding settlements.

The rough terrain bites and chews most travelers out, and pushes their horses away to seek out other camping grounds. It reaches the ridged peak of a dark forested land, grown over with sun-bleached grass, forming a small pasture at the top.

Jack Daniels pushed up to the top at the age of nineteen, a young and fresh-faced addition to the Statesmen.

Robbers, plunderers. Train stoppers.

Killers.

Their space was set out for them, where no other person of sound mind bothered to venture, out of respect for their own safety. A near eternal campfire at the center, a gathering of tents, and a store of the West’s most expensive, destructive weapons. The Statesmen kept the ridge to themselves, residing there between jobs of cattle robberies, train hijackings— their faces were never seen, nor did any of them use their real names to avoid personal records.

Whiskey was his new name. Jack knew the depth of the actions he led, but by himself— a young man with no money— the dreaded outlaw band with an ‘S’ mark stamped on the leather of their boots and the metal of their flasks seemed worth it. A lifeline fed to him on a spoon when they found him frequenting and holding his own in a saloon.

We could use someone like you.

Twelve of them lived on Gunpowder Trail’s pasture; a leader, his top men, the others scrounging for something bad to do. A gruff and bearded man of pale skin kept their plans in order, yet he did the least amount of their work. Champ, they called him.

Jack, who before carried nothing but empty pockets, had his hands filled with a whip, a lasso, and two revolvers. Even a Barlow knife, tucked into the back of his faded jeans. The white horse they kept in their meager stables, shyer than the rest, only let Jack ride her.

And every single day, the men made him loop stolen cattle as practice, shoot bullets through chalk marks on branches, and every time he fell into trouble, his own natural ear for charm would help him squeeze out by a wink or an empty promise.

By the time he was ready, he found himself looking at an exploded train car, his fellow men racing into the flames with their voices tearing through the noise, telling him to grab as many valuable things as were left there.

He kept with them, if only to survive and make something of himself in the harsh winters, and even harsher summers at the summit, where an overlook saw the ridged tower of reddened rocks, a canyon of dirt and grass and blue skies.

Their richness of thieved gold and belongings in the secluded camp kept them healthy, well-fed, as if a step above the rest. And their hefty earnings from committing crimes helped them bribe off even the most steadfast lawmen into shutting their mouths.

Champ held the pocket watch of a deceased mayor, when they pilfered his lavish house in the town of Stag River, had killed him in his living room, for what Champ described as “salvation.” He remained adamant they functioned to bridge the gap from people whose riches made them dumb and powerful, to take from the undeserving idiots and bring life to the less fortunate. But it never lasted long. They helped no one but themselves. What was the point of killing? How long did this have to last before they finally stopped?

Jack lost sight of what their doings were worth as he grew older and gained a few lines in his face. Taking from the rich folk by slamming through their doors and ransacking buildings was fine, it was nothing quite so special. Except actions got darker, and the thrill was snatched up by the change in him when he’d grown to be a proper man— when his values started to shift. He’d seen couples on the trains he’d snuck onto, holed up in their cabins; he’d seen horrified families when he and his men rode up to their mansions with greed written on their faces.

Marshals and sheriffs tracked them, one or two men picked off with guns to their temples, but their spot at the end of Gunpowder Trail remained untouched. Their faces still unseen, always covered, but the novelty of existing as untouchable outlaws wore off.

As Jack pondered his situation— tied to the most dangerous known operation— and gathered his share of patchings-up on the back and arms, the work got too dirty for him to stay around. Ridiculous, for a man of the skill he’d acquired. He could no longer stomach tearing apart the things he wanted that other people had. And although the Statesmen taught him everything he needed to know to survive— they’d preyed on him as a kid— Champ worked him like a dog. Exploited him. Jack exhausted himself through physical pains of strained muscles in his hands from the shooting, red skin from the ropeburn, all the ailments in between.

Watching death was never anything new, but being forced into causing it for no necessary or sound reason— it pushed him away faster than the travelers who gave up on the trail.

The disagreements over Champ’s increasingly outlandish plans burst out, arguments over what jobs they should do, whether they needed to, what train or town or person they should go after. The growing tension stretched taut between him and Jack, the more he convinced them to stop, that they’d taken enough; Champ and the other men only told him he’d see what they’d soon become.

The final straw; a kid killed in the crossfire. It was a bank robbery in an unassuming town. Not even Champ knew how it had taken this long for a young one to die at their hands, even by accident. But Jack had tried to protect him, tried to seek out his mother, and was promptly dragged out by his fellow men to be knocked out of service by a punch to the head.

Corruption seeped into each vein of the Statesmen, and at its beating heart, they were led by nothing more than the power-hungry. Death and murder and crime was no shock to the brain in this part of the world, but the guilt grew over Jack’s back like sharp, black vines— he outgrew this life. Yearned for softer things, a solid home, to make his own living and profits and decisions of his own accord. That kid displayed Jack’s own deep desires: to be young, to start over again, to forget the things he’d done.

Coming from a feared group of bandits known in each town for hundreds of miles in every direction, Jack’s luck peaked at his anonymity. He could start over this time, but he could throw one last punch. Tired from being overworked as the most useful of the group, and longing for anything other than living raid to raid, like true calmness, Jack’s resentment grew tenfold.

Something told him Champ was onto his desires of escape— with painstaking carefulness he prepared Sylvie, biting his tongue between his teeth in fear of her making noise in the dead quiet of night. He had gathered his belongings into one saddle bag long before; it was the gold he needed to snatch up. To leave a mark with Champ, to ensure they wouldn’t assemble enough money to start an even bigger ill-advised syndicate where Jack knew the killing wouldn’t stop.

In the dying fire-light over the ridge, Jack snuck, snuck past the occupied tents, guiding Sylvie by the reins as he stepped on foot. She threatened to huff, only calmed by his gentle petting, but she sighed forcefully at the added weight of the gold, alerting the nearest tent something was up.

The dread in Jack’s stomach solidified like the glinting gold, unwelcome, heavy with guilt.

Where do you think you’re goin’, Whiskey?

What he did to get away cost him the comfort he sought. It was never his intention, taking out the knife clipped to the back of his trousers— he was threatened. Champ pushed and yelled what sounded like roars in the distance, grabbing the man he once saw as a son by the collar and pulling it tight around his neck.

Get back to your fucking tent, he spat.

Jack raised his hands to Champ’s, clamped around his shirt, and the blade slid deep from the start of Champ’s thumb to the end of his pointer, tendons sliced. It bought him enough time to mount Sylvie while Champ held his hand in screeches, alerting the sleeping men in their tents through more furiously angered shouts. Yet it would do nothing for him, trying to aim his pistol and shoot at Jack, who disappeared beyond the fire and into the black, worry etched into his brow.

Champ’s last pride— his shooting hand— got torn to a shred and put out of business. Their biggest find of gold, gone. The Statesmen would follow that thief till they struck him dead.

***

“You’re... the fugitive?” You’re still as the air where you’re seated, piecing together what he’d left out before when he’d told you of shortened anecdotes.

“I ain’t proud.” Shifting, his lips press together to form a taut line, his knees drawing over the floor as he comes closer. “Darlin’, I did some bad, bad things.”

Sniffling, you meet his eyes. Glassed, glossy, pleading as they look up at you. Burning amber in the golden light of your room, contrasted to the blue dark outside the open window.

He seems so different, now, than the man described with the words of destruction and the joy taken in thievery; your head spins. And beyond it all, you don’t find yourself betrayed, or hurt, or taken aback so much as you’re concerned for his life.

“Jack…” you sigh, a tear slipping at last down your cheek. He reaches up to brush it away, and his thumb meets your skin as gentle as it ever has; proving he won’t harm you.

“Thought they’d given up on trackin’ me, I only got days left before—”

“They want the gold back?” You’re not sure what to ask, what to do, but the hands of dread are closing around your chest, squeezing your heart.

The guilt flashes in his eyes again. Deep, aching guilt. “It wasn’t all their gold. But it was enough,” he admits, “I left it on the doorstep of the bank we took it from and kept a little for myself. But it don’t make me feel any better.”

“And the knife…”

“That too.”

It’s like you’ve known all along, and yet not at all.

Jack never lied.

He’s only telling you now, and it sends your thoughts running unbearably fast— of all the places he’s been, running, of everyone he’s met— why you?

Your head fills with so many more questions, speedily whirling as they pop up one after the other, dizzying you.

“This whole time, you’ve been running from them?”

You can see the cogs turning behind his eyes, the sharp machinery of his mind rolling on and on. Figuring out what to say, what to do. He shifts closer, and his eyes grow wide as he looks at your face, clouded over in warning and protection.

“Runnin’.” He puts both hands on your cheeks, with a firm hold to focus you back on him as the truth seals dread and yet understanding around your heart. “And I need to start again, so I can end it for once. I can’t let them get here— and I can’t ask the sheriff for help. More people’d get hurt.”

There’s too much to consider now, a million things that could go wrong. If he stayed, the law workers would itch to catch the Statesmen, but with that comes inevitable deaths on town soil. On your own, leading them away from civilization, you doubt you’d be of much help to Jack if they found your camp.

Looking down at him, the sweat forms in your palms, more tears welling in your eyes. Every which way, every opportunity feels like a trap, as if the whole world is closing in on the two of you in your room at the end of the hall. But none of it is born of disappointment, or resentment— it’s plain worry for him. The man you see now is not who he was. Jack looks at you like you’re all the softness in the world he’d ever dreamed of, when he’d been a rougher man. Like he couldn’t stand to upset you, and seeing the conflict crossing your features is tearing him up inside.

“Why can’t they let it go?”

“Because,” his eyes narrow, “they’re vicious men. I was, too. And when you take a man’s means of killin’ and protectin’ like I did, you get yourself in real trouble.”

It’s an overwhelming helping of premature grief, your heart thumping sadly, but with a tiny twinge of hope. You wrap your fingers around his wrists, making sure his hands remain at your face, if only to have the warm sensation to ground you. When you think on it, the threads pull together— his skill when he’d rescued the house and everyone in it from Mr. Porter and Mr. Bryant, his unusual talent at bargains, and beyond that, the fact that you’d not seen him shoot his gun once, other than during those lessons he gave you. He’d no doubt grown to adulthood on Gunpowder Trail, but if anything had changed, it was that dark part of him. No longer a vicious man, or a taker, but a peacemaker.

“And… of all the places you’ve been traveling...” you start softly, unable to finish your question, but he understands all the same.

It’s not processing quickly in your mind, that Jack had once lived the life of an outlaw— the kind of men who’d frightened you in the street, the ones who burn good things to the ground. But you can see that streak of something inside him. A deep rooted vein where he’d longed for danger to keep him occupied and lively. Running with the Statesmen meant he learned those skills to hold his own in the face of threats, using that whip, that lasso, those two guns— one that you shoot with your own hand, now. He must have rested at dozens of different places, been granted the generosity from many families. Surely there have been other people that meant something to him.

“It was you.” He bites his lip in concentration, hands squeezing your cheeks as he perches himself closer to you in his kneeling position.

“You wouldn’t let no one give you a hard time,” he laughs, despite the lump in his throat, “but everyday I came back, you had a glass of whiskey waitin’ for me. You’re a hard workin’, busy woman… and yet you were nothin’ but kind to me. I ain’t once met someone who makes me feel the way you do.”

“Oh, Jack,” you breathe. The promise of danger eats away at your shoulders, but Jack himself, at your feet, so sincere, makes it impossible to feel anything but empathy. What did he mean when he said he would keep running? He’d go without you?

“I made you a promise, angel. That first time I touched you, I told you I would bring you,” his thumbs stroke your skin, languidly easing you from panic. “But I didn’t know they were still comin’. I could never do that to you, and I doubt you’d—”

“Stop.”

He perks up when you speak again, confusion covering his otherwise sorrowful look when your voice covers his own, doubtful one. Unsure of what you mean, he leans his head closer to you in question, and waits with bated breath.

“I don’t feel any different about you. Or leaving with you.”

Shock clouds him, and you look at him, soft and weary beneath you, leaning into you for any touch he could receive.

You meet the floor in a thud as you wrap your arms desperately around his neck, willing the shame and stress and guilt to drain from his body like wringing a towel dry.

If you squeeze him hard enough, maybe it would help.

The curtains sway across the floor with the breeze of the open window, and the light flickers quickly across the room as you sink further into each other, holding on as if some imperceivable force would separate you now. The house is quiet, not creaking or sighing through the boards— only his shallow breaths fill your ears.

Situated upon his lap, you card your fingers through the loose wave over his forehead as you part, guiding it back into place among the rest of his dark hair. His lip quivers involuntarily, and his mouth makes its habitual pout, expecting some form of disappointment to cross your features. But apart from the small crystalline tears, there is only compassion. You trace your fingers down his cheek, across his bottom lip.

He tries to speak, opening his mouth, and nothing but a weak sound comes out before you place your lips against his, snaking your arms tight around his neck. He whines, readily pulling you further into his lap, scrambling to take you as close to him as he can make you. You feel his nose pressing beside yours, the arched curve prominent against your face.

“Darlin’, it’s not sa—” he croaks, “—you ain’t scared of me?”

The instances you’d seen him make use of his weapons, he protected. He did it to save you from gunshots, to teach you how to hold your own, to keep his rightful winnings at the saloon. It’s true— you never knew him before, when he would have been handling plans of robberies... but then again. Redemption.

“I know you. You are not a bad man,” you whisper, breaths shaking inside your chest. You’re certain of that— he’d no doubt committed crimes in his time, but the more you ponder it, he was only a kid when they took him in. A vulnerable young man, who needed food, shelter, and people to herd with.

You feel his muscles loosen in their hold of you when he registers your words. His fingertips dig into your waist, dropping his forehead to rest against yours. His breath ghosts down over your chest, those calming puffs of air blowing the lace trim back and forth on your chemise.

“I know you,” you repeat the words, bestowing a plush kiss to his cheek, then the other. His skin has gotten rougher without a shave the past few days, and on your lips you feel the heat of his face. “You’re a good man.”

He adjusts his grip to settle on your hips, sliding back across the floor until his back hits the edge of the bed, cushioned into the overhang of the blanket. Your legs are thrown over his, squeezing his sides as you bring your foreheads back together. “You left them. You saw it was wrong. How is that so bad?”

A humming noise rumbles against your chest as he forces himself to consider. You watch his handsome face, a fresh wave of appreciation for him washing over your entire body— the anxiety is still settled at the pit of your stomach, but the most important thing to you in this moment is his honesty with you. That he’d helped you find joyfulness in the mundane tasks of your every day, that he’d had the mind to keep running, until it brought him to you.

Ruthless men are after him, but he’s yours, here.

His thighs tense under you as a tearless sob escapes him, and soon enough he’s wrapping his arms tightly around your body, whispering, “You would still have me?”

The intense gaze from below washes over you, and you nod fervently, his hand slipping between your thighs. He draws his fingertips up, met with your bare cunt, wet and waiting.

His voice rasps softly, “Fuck, just let me be close to you. I can— I got at least one more day, I can figure it out—”

“Yes,” you whisper, hugging him with every limb, “yes.”

In that meantime of one, possibly two days before he’d try to leave, you’re positive you could convince him to let you go along. He seems reluctant enough at the mere mention of it, his voice uncertain in tone and volume, and you’re not fond of his insistence on going alone, but his words fill you with trust.

Your heart skips one, two, three beats as you slip the top buttons of his shirt open, widening it just enough to allow you the space to leave a kiss on his sternum. He whines, fighting the urge to do much the same, a pointless battle inside himself, telling him he doesn’t deserve your tenderness.

“Show me,” he whimpers, forearms pressing you down into his lap. “Please.”

You’ve always been the one to say that word.

A sweet kiss follows his desperate wish, turning more heated as he draws you nearer, lifting his thighs to make you dip forward against him.

His fingers slide underneath the ribboned strap of your chemise, gliding along your skin until he meets the fabric at your back.

“I won’t change my mind.” Taking his face into your palms, you kiss him again slowly, his hands tensing up around your figure at the gentle way you treat him— your soft voice, your soft touch. He meets you with a shallow sigh, chasing after you when you part from him for a breath he won’t allow you in his neediness. He captures you for another, holding you by the back of the neck with a strong and sturdy hand. “I will keep wanting you.”

The small modesties he carries rise to the surface of their pool in his stomach, and if Jack were honest with himself, he’d reason that you should no longer take a place at his side. Maybe a traveling life with him isn’t as good or safe or fulfilling if it's spent with a keeper of such secrets. He’d steal you away in a heartbeat, but shame chains him down and couples him with fear— so long as he’s a wanted man, you wouldn’t be secure.

Perching forward, you kiss the corner of his jaw, the end of his chin, the other side of his face.

“You always were too good to me,” he husks, your unbent loyalty throwing him into a fit of need for you, to hold you, to have you wrapped around him until neither of you can take any more.

He ducks his head to kiss your chest through the thin cotton, the ribbon dangling between your breasts.

“Please, Jack—”

He secures a palm at the back of your head and leans you downward until your body meets the cool floor, his hand providing a gentle landing.

He crawls up over you, planting his hands beside your head, causing a curl to slip over his forehead. You reach up, smoothing it along with the rest of his hair, and he follows the movement indulgently, his eyes shutting.

After a moment of watching you from above, he pushes your chemise up your stomach, the heat of his palm causing the rest of your body to shiver. He stops as he uncovers your breasts, and draws a finger to your navel, flicking his gaze across your torso to meet your eyes.

“I’ll keep wantin’ you,” he places his lips on the column of your throat, tilting your head back to allow him the space, “and needin’ you,” another kiss, at the middle of your chest, “and dreamin’ of you.”

His mouth drags in a tender line down your stomach, the tip of his nose meeting your skin. Pushing his body down the floor, his mouth hovers over your aching clit, the tingling sensation driven wild by his shallow breaths blowing across it.

“I want t’keep you.”

His stomach and joints press uncomfortably into the floor, but the pain dulls when his tongue meets your wet heat, licking a stripe as he takes his time. Your head falls back on instinct, hands frantically slipping through his hair, a lush sensation replacing the better of your anxieties when he does it again.

Two strong arms wrap around your thighs from underneath, bringing your cunt closer to his face, allowing him to lose himself to it, his tongue sliding across your clit in circles. He closes his lips around it and groans something needy, the hands at your legs squeezing your muscles.

“M’gonna make you feel good if I never do anythin’ else.” His eyes, more doe-like in nature, peek at you with determination, and you nod again, eyes shutting. Jack dives back down but his speed remains the same, his wet mouth sliding over your cunt languidly as he builds you up.

“Want the taste of you,” he groans, muffled, his bottom lip sliding up your entrance, “I’m gonna earn it, every day.”

“It’s yours,” you gasp as his fingers claw, as his tongue swipes more focused patterns. “Take it.”

He follows your words with a literal edge, tugging on your clit with his lips and stroking the bud of it with his tongue. Your spine lifts off the unforgiving wood, and your head threatens to knock against the leg of the vanity table as you let it roll side to side, panting deliriously.

Glancing up once more, he studies your face from between your legs with an equally hungry face, your wetness glistening on his chin as his lips pull into a little smile. His hand travels up your stomach and lands promptly on your breast, earning him a breathy and mindless moan from your throat when he squeezes around your hardened nipple.

“Thought I’d driven you away.” He admits, his attention switching from your chest to your face.

“You’d never—”

The words catch up in your throat as he lowers his mouth and slips his tongue over your sensitivity, your thighs automatically trying to wrench closed from the weight of the pleasure.

Almost too much, but still not enough.

He lets you squish him with a slight chuckle at the state of you, so affected, and rolls your nipple between his thumb and forefinger in time with the lapping of his tongue.

“Oh, Jack,” you cry, the tone so different from the way you’d said that same sentence not half an hour ago. He preens with a grumble against you, and lets his lips drag closed around you once more.

“Say it,” he demands after you writhe on his face, tilting his head to swipe his nose through your folds. You whine at the smooth feel of its arch passing over you, and again at the sight of his face shining with your slick. “Keep sayin’ my name.”

“Jack,” you allow, a needy prick in your tongue.

“Uhuh...” He groans after you, satisfied, your booming heart momentarily relieved by the slight crinkle in his eyes.

It’s when he buries his mouth, that you notice him rutting against the floor, his hips bucking and rubbing his cock against his trousers.

“Come up—”

Without a thought on it, you attempt to drag him up to you and let him sink into you by a rough tug on his suspenders, but he remains put with his face hidden and his tongue now furiously swiping.

His arms clamp around your thighs, refusing to be moved from your aching, throbbing cunt, and he locks down. He hums his rejection into you and begins nodding his head along with the motions of his mouth, the muscles in his lower body engaging when he feels you begin to tremble.

“There,” you think you hear him say through the thick fog of arousal, “almost, come on…”

It had ramped up so fast from his leisurely swipes, and now he’s eating away at you freely and quickly, your hands fisting tight in his hair.

“Ah—” you whimper, elbows meeting the rigid surface, your hair sliding over the cracks, and your entire body pulls up in anticipation of what he’s soon to give you.

He mumbles on your clit: “I need to feel it.”

With only a couple more strokes, your body tremors when it starts to flow through you, powerful waves falling head to toe. Jack keeps you in place with a single-minded want to please you, basking in the squeeze of your thighs around his head, and faintly you can see the upward turn of his moustache above your cunt, like he’s smiling at the pleasure he’s offering you.

“Ja-ack…” your head falls, but it hasn’t tired you out yet, nor him.

He lays his cheek against your thigh once you’ve calmed to catch his breath, and lifts a finger to stroke through your folds. Blinking slowly, his gaze traverses up your stomach, your breasts, your neck, then to your face before he hovers over you again, nudging your nose with his.

“I think I’m gonna need all of you tonight,” he murmurs, and you inhale your scent from his mouth, caught in between your helpless panting.

But you’re not listening intently; you’re shrugging his suspenders off his shoulders and tugging him nearer, and he responds in the same manner, frantically pulling his cock free.

“That’s alright, angel? Y’sure?”

Your whimper is almost pathetic in its tone, needy and soft and demanding, but he takes it positively as it was meant, using the gentle guidance of his hands as he spreads your thighs, calloused fingertips inciting a shiver. “I— I’m sure.”

You resist when he tries to urge you up to the bed, instead forcing him back over your body. His eyes bloom in width and darkness when you beg, “here,” and he nods, a strained furrow forming on his brow.

You glance down at his thickness, his fist wrapped around the base as he glides the tip over your soaked clit. Before he pushes in, he fashions a hand underneath your head to pillow it from the rocking, and ensures he has your gaze when he notches himself up with you.

“Hang on to me,” he begs more than he asks, and in the moment before he goes any further, you lock your ankles behind his back, and wrap your arms around his neck.

He rolls his hips forward, giving you half of him as he moans out his relief with a raspy voice.

“Oh, fuck,” he gives you the rest, indulging in your equal enthusiasm for this, to keep him, and you sigh together when he meets his end. He keeps you full as he stares down into your eyes, to burn them into memory— laid on the floor of all places, your expression begging for more of him and only him.

“Feel me.” You urge him to bow his head where his nose fits over the curve of your shoulder, his breaths blowing over its surface in rough pants.

“Nothin’— nothin’ bad is goin’ to happen to you,” he grates, dragging his hips out to ease back inside the warm squeeze of your cunt, elbows digging into the floor on either side of you. The hand underneath your head tenses, fingers gathering your hair and tugging just enough to make you whimper again, and he looks almost just as broken as when he’d walked into the room.

“I always come back to you, darlin’. I’ll make good on my promise.”

Jack’s whisperings taper off to a breathy moan when you clench, trying to pull him somehow further into yourself. But there’s no space left, except for the inches between you each time he pulls away to slide back in, his thick cock stretching your walls coated in arousal.

“I trust you,” you slide your fingers up his neck, carding through the hair at his nape. You don’t only mean his promise, but him on his own— you trust him that he wants you, that he needs you safe, that he won’t abandon you.

“I mean it.” Pushing himself to the base, Jack holds his cock inside you, flattening his stomach to yours. “You make me wanna be the good man I always thought I was.”

He sucks a sharp breath before slanting his mouth over yours in a heady kiss, but you remain uninterrupted; his words had left you speechless, knowing that you, above all the adventure and people and adrenaline rushes from his own smart mouth had been the one to inspire an end to troubles and an end to traveling.

His kiss becomes a nip of your bottom lip, a bite and pull before another, longer press of your mouth as he rocks into you. Tightening your arms around his neck, you fit your cheek next to his, shallow breaths sounding by your ear, blending into grunts.

“I’m never afraid of you,” you murmur, his cock meeting a deep, pleasurable spot, turning your confident words into quiet whimpers.

He picks his head up from yours, the intensity in his brown eyes unlike any time you’ve ever seen them; different than his fierce sureness with the rope, playing cards, different than fucking you in the early hours of the morning.

Maintaining your eye contact, he stops moving.

One hand still cradling the back of your head, the other rises to trace down your cheek, then cupping it in his wide palm.

His mouth quivers before he bites on his lip, trying to focus more on his thumb stroking your face than the way his heart is begging to burst.

“I am gonna give you everythin’ I can.”

Despite the weight of his body on top of you, you try to display your understanding with a tilt of your hips to meet his own, coaxing a gravelly sound out of him as he allows his arm to sneak beneath your lower back. You whine at it, his cock nestled inside you at its deepest, his voice shaking with want and need. He ruts against your body, scanning your face at the shove.

“You— you’ve given me all I could have wanted,” you cling onto his body, “it’s just you, just you that I want—”

“You have me, ‘m gonna make it right.”

He drops his head onto your chest, his scrunched nose fitting in between your breasts as he grunts there, until the sounds could resemble a small sob through gritted teeth. Embracing him, your nails scratch through his disheveled hair, and you can’t help the honest pleas before they spill out of you.

With shut eyes, you breathe, tightening around his cock as you edge closer to coming, “I would go with you, Jack, I’m not afraid...”

“C— can’t,” he murmurs back, his forehead beginning to shine. All of a sudden, you realize your cheeks are wet again, and he wipes the new tears away with a brush of his own rough cheek against your face. His voice jumps at his increasing speed, “I’ll make it safe for us first.”

Your muscles all seize. He gasps at the strength of your clutch as you listen, and his pace only quickens when you cry out his name, its softness spurring him on. Lying here, on the floor, you’d rather never leave this moment with him and his breathy vows. It’s as if the light has dimmed to a burnt orange glimmer; all you can see is him, the expanse of his shoulders rising and lowering as he moves, his solemn but enraptured face capturing your heart all over again.

The crease of effort has not eased in his brow, and you loosen your arms to cradle his jaw. A hint of a smile flashes in his lips as you push on his cheeks, your throat lengthening as you stretch your head back.

“Just keep hangin’ onto me,” he begs, your foreheads pressing together as he nears his end, and you clench on his cock, your wetness coating its entire length. “My darlin’ girl… give me a good one.”

Before long, you feel it coming, taking you out of your worries for a stretched piece of time as bliss replaces all else, and the only sound in your ear is your mingled panting.

“Oh, J... J—Jack!”

Your thighs tremble around his waist, and he encourages more out of you with another stroke and press of his cock, the thatch of hair on top of it brushing your clit.

“That’s it, just feel me, I’m still here,” he coos, calming down with you, and it’s with slower strokes that he starts to come, the thick liquid spilling inside of you. His groans turn softer after a moment, and looking at you, sympathy covers his features, all shadowed and chiseled by the light. You say nothing before he’s kissing you again, the notch of effort returning to his brow as he slants his mouth to yours, his attention undivided on the sensation. It lasts over more insistent presses, each slower than the last.

“I never had a reason to face what I’d done,” he rasps against your mouth, “I do now.”

Something inflates in your chest.

“I’m ready to stop runnin’ for you.”

***

Come morning light, you blink your eyes open to find his figure obstructing the sun shining into the window as he stands in front, frantically gathering his belongings. His travel bag lays at his feet, full of clothes tossed inside, except for the shirt and trousers he’ll soon dress in. Your chemise lies somewhere discarded on the floor from hours before, when he’d kissed along each of your limbs, and took you there on the rigid wood.

It’s early, a full two hours before your usual time of rising to work, yet your sleep had been full and restful thanks to Jack’s ease in exhausting your body.

“Jack,” you call out, extending your arm across the soft cream pillows. He turns his attention to you with a smile, albeit troubled, and moves to sit by you on the edge, his hand coming to rest at your temple.

“I’ll be gone soon, angel,” he whispers, smoothing the back of his fingers along your face as he lowers himself to brush his lips against yours. “I got a bad feelin’ I should go now.”

It’s so sudden, the confession and the impending departure, the feeling in your chest so different than the day before.

“What are you going to do?”

“I’ll figure it out…” Jack hovers over your body, unable to pull away. “I’ll get a few days ahead of ‘em.”

Figure it out… you don’t like this at all. You’d been understanding enough to listen to his wishes, but later today, you doubt you’ll be able to let him go out there. Not when the Statesmen are reportedly so close. “I’ll have to tell the boys at the post office that I’m leavin’ and all. Tell Mrs. Adler. Get packed up.”

He sounds forlorn as he tells you the future course of his day, petting at your shoulder. You sit yourself up beside him, noticing the hug of his underwear around his thighs, the sock garters on his calves a garment you seldom find yourself able to study, and kissing the back of his neck, you swipe your hand over his belly. He tilts his head back with a resigned groan, the tickle of his hair meeting your skin, forcing a little laugh from your throat.

“You won’t make this easy on me, will you?” he purrs, letting your hand gently rub over his front. “I’ll miss that sound.”

“You did say you’d come back for me,” you tease, and surprisingly, there’s still a small spark in you for how heavy your heart weighs.

“And I will.” He hoists himself up on the mattress and takes your wrists in his fingers, pinning them above your head. “I’ll take care of everythin’. Come and get my girl, take her away, give her somethin’ better than this chore of a job.”

The scruff of his moustache bites at the sensitive skin of your neck, and then his teeth, as you start to wiggle your wrists between his palms, his body falling into yours. “Promise.” You start to wonder what he’d do if you packed your things and put your foot down, determined to go along with him if he insists on leaving. It makes a whole world of sense to stay and request the help of the town, rather than go on his own. There’s time ahead of you to consider your options— all you know is that he won’t go alone, not if you can help it.

Slipping from your bed, he retrieves his trousers from the window sill, stepping into them. You watch as he does up the front, and then you meet him at the window, taking his shirt.

He eyes you, raising his brow, then smiles as he turns around for you. You guide him into the sleeves, smoothing the fabric over his broad shoulders, and pat the collar down before you wheel around to start buttoning the front. Jack watches your face intently, his hands coming down to rest at your waist and squeeze. He can’t help but tug you a little closer, making you huff, and before you can get the top two buttons, he dips his head down for a kiss.

It’s gentle, your fingers tight around the fabric, and then it’s over. Blinking, Jack takes a soft hold of the back of your neck, his lips then pressing against your hair as he speaks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers from above you, your cheek squishing against his shoulder. “I thought things were different now, but they ain’t.”

You sigh onto the exposed patch of skin above his collar, wrapping your arms tightly around him. He inhales sharply at the squeeze as if he still hadn’t expected to receive such affections any longer, and in turn hugs you back with the same strength.

“It’s okay, Jack. I want you to be alright.”

“I will figure it out,” he repeats himself, running his palm flat over your hair. “I found you before. I can find you again.”

Your soft hum turns into a yelp at the sudden bolt of a gunshot ringing through the air, just shy of your window. It echoes barely, and Jack’s grip on your body becomes iron as he peers out of the glass.

“Oh, shit. Fuckin’ shit.”

“What?” you gasp, and he’s already shoving his boots on and throwing every weapon onto his body as you look out from the curtains.

On the street, a half-masked man stands in the dust, staring ahead at the front door of the house.

Jack steers you and shoves you down onto the stool by the vanity, your body dropping to it with a thud, his finger pointing at the end of your nose.

“Don’t. Move.”

“Jack—” you call after him as he makes for the hall, “who is that?”

He swivels on his heel, pulling a revolver from its slot. “Stay put.”

Just as you run up to the door, it slams shut in your face, rattling in its frame. With shaking hands you snatch the nightgown from your dresser, forcing the long, light fabric to drape from your chest to the tops of your ankles. Your stomach flips uncomfortably, and you’re suddenly aware of just how badly you need to eat as you chase down the hall for him.

You force your footfalls to be quiet, ripples of the fabric blowing against your speed as you run down the steps and come to an abrupt halt. You brace your hands onto the railing as your gaze settles upon Jack; he stands tall in the open doors with a wide stance, his hand hovering over the leather pocket of his holster. A gentle wind gusts through the road, and your eyes follow along to the man with the bandana concealing the bottom half of his face, and despite being hidden, you know that he’s smiling.

“They told me you’d be here, old Jack.”

Shrinking yourself against the wall, you listen to his gruff voice and watch as Jack’s shoulders tense further, but he says nothing in return. You’re confused underneath the rich anxiety flooding your veins; why is there only one of them? Did the Statesmen split up to find him?

His lean build is covered in expensive black clothing, and he by no means looks like he’s desperate for gold. Only vengeance. And his confidence has led him to bring a single gun along, with his horse silent behind him.

He takes a step closer to Jack, spinning a silver gun into his grip. “Any idea how much you owe?”

Jack’s chest puffs in and out, and from the side you’re looking at him, his face is twisted deep into anger— eyebrows and mouth pulled downward into a sinister frown.

“I don’t owe you men shit,” Jack spits, remaining still and tall.

The man swiftly points and fires at the door frame behind Jack, making wood chips explode at his side, and you cover your mouth to fight off a scream.

“Extra for fucking up Champ’s shooting hand. Extra for leaving us fucking hungry.”

Your heart thuds painfully hard, but Jack doesn’t seem to show a drop of fear.

“You took our fucking livelihood!” He puts a bullet in the opposite side of the doorframe, and this time Jack flinches, a bead of sweat dripping down his temple. You inch slowly as you can to the foot of the stairs, staying low to the rail as you creep, and the man points his revolver at Jack’s chest. “We robbed every town we went to, looking for you. And it still ain’t enough.”

You watch his fingers sliding along the end of his lasso, faces appearing in the windows across the dust, but no one daring to exit their doors. Newcomers aren’t treated with much wariness, but this one had shot a bullet into the air to get attention, and he hadn’t brought anyone but himself. You’re holding onto a sliver of hope that sheriff Branch will come and finish this without a fight or scratch. He’s nowhere to be seen, though, and the faces in the windows remain still as they watch the two men square off.

“Well, luck tends to run out.” Jack roars lowly, “Why ain’t Champ here, then?”

“Scouting.” He spits onto the vacant street, and still, no one arrives to interrupt. “You come with me, Jack,” he holds his arms out in alarming leniency, “pay off your debt, aid one more job, and there won’t be no more killing. Or the rest of us are coming when I tell ‘em I found you. You got nowhere left to go.”

You don’t believe that for a second. They want him dead, and you know that. Whoever this man is, he’s stalling, and you doubt that the other man in charge would let Jack live another minute of his life upon spotting him. You try not to make the stairs creak as you slide down the next step, and by now, your stomach is in knots, your legs shaking even as you tense the muscles.

“No one cared when a god damn boy was killed,” Jack snarls, biting down on his lip as he tries to conceal his hands, pulling the rope loose. “I fuckin’ cared. And I ain’t that kind ‘a man no more. You’re all fuckin’ done for.”

The air stills, dead quiet between them. But your breath and blood are pumping laboriously, and you don’t know what to do with yourself, crouched on the steps and folded into yourself.

“But I could kill you right now for the bullshit you did,” the man barks, “we could do this here. I don’t care if Champ wants to do it himself. You make a fuss and I’ll put a bullet in that brain instead.”

Jack’s wrist uncoils the rope, and you’re secretly wishing he’d reach for his gun. But you know that’s his last resort, at least now. “If you ain’t gonna be civilized about this…”

Jack whips the rope forward and the loop closes around his opposite’s barrel, but they’re just as fast as each other. He manages to tug the weapon from his grip and back across to himself by the porch, yet a shot had already been fired at his chest. The bullet shoots askew and skims along the flesh of Jack’s left shoulder, and the blood starts to seep before you can scream.

“Jack!” you yell, your entire body numb as you sprint over to him. You don’t feel your feet scraping the wood, nor the ache in your belly, nor the tears already spilling out of your eyes. He stumbles backward, and you drop to your knees at his side to take his head into your hands, his eyes widening at the sight of you. His skin burns, a rasping cough leaving his throat in shudders.

“What do I—”

“Who’s this?” The man asks, eyeing you up and down, not ignorant of your lack of clothing compared to a properly layered, modest dress. “Got yourself a lady now, Daniels? I hope you told her what you did. What a shame…”

He walks closer, hands raised in a false surrender.

“No, no,” he protests, leaning straight up to action, but your rapid thinking has you pushing him back down into the porch, and taking a gun from his holster.

“Don’t come any closer.” Your hoarse voice shakes, but you push the words out anyway, despite their lack of threat.

It’s different, this time. Your target is a living, breathing thing. You know you won’t kill him, but something has awoken at the sight of Jack’s blood, at the sound of his pained whimpers, and you can’t stop it, you can’t push it away before you take aim.

Don’t pull the hammer down until you’re ready to shoot.

The first lesson flashes in your mind’s eye as you fix your posture, aimed at the man’s shoulder as he approaches slowly to retrieve his weapon. He’s at your mercy without that damned thing, but he’s only getting closer.

“Darlin’,” Jack croaks, struggling to sit up as the pain weakens him further.

Your palms are damp against the wood of the handle. You chew your lip, taking one more brief look at Jack and his watery eyes as he lays on the wood, and you take a massive breath. The hammer pulled down, your pointer flexes against the trigger, and you can’t even look as you squeeze.

“Come on, girl,” the voice before you taunts, “you won’t.”

The fire of the bullet explodes in your ears, the following screech of pain almost as loud, and when you blink your eyes, he’s on the ground with a hand holding his leg.

His blood taints the road, but still no one comes out to aid. You want to scream in agony, too— this was never something you’d do, never something you could imagine doing. Hurting someone who’d offered nothing good to the world still makes you crumble harder.

“Fuck—”

A series of aggravated curses fill the background of your consciousness, and although he’s your shared, lethal enemy, you can’t focus on the masked man thrashing at the other end. You missed where you wanted to aim, but you still hit him somewhere bad enough.

Your chin trembles so hard it makes your teeth clank together as you pull the rest of the rope back, and the gun in the loop skids across the floor back inside the house.

“Please,” you hear a soft voice call, and you fall back to your knees beside Jack’s trembling body, cupping his face in your hands. Behind you, you hear the scraping of the man’s arms and legs on the road as he struggles back to his horse, and with a jarring groan, he pulls himself up by the stirrups, bleeding onto the side of the animal. Defeated, he starts to guide it away, but not without stopping to stare down at the two of you on the porch, as the red drips down his boot. He’s weaponless, but he knows where to find you.

“Don’t think about running this time.”

He’s weaponless, and injured, but he knows exactly where to guide the rest of his men. And before anyone can catch him first, he disappears.

You and Jack look at each other defeatedly, too, as the pounding hooves die off.

He chokes as you nestle in closer to him, peeling back the ripped fabric of his sleeve.

“Please,” he begs again, but you don’t know what for.

Despite his violent flinch, he lets you continue inspecting the wound. It’s open and still flowing, and the tears in your eyes make the view blurry, your shaking hands patting over his chest as you try to figure out what to do.

“Was too late,” he splutters, his eyes now swimming with tears as yours do, his uninjured arm reaching up to let his fingers round your ear. He settles his palm at the side of your neck, and a full sob shatters your throat at the pained look on his face.

“It’s okay, it’s okay, Jack,” you soothe, rocking him in your arms. The blood pools onto the fabric of your nightgown, staining the stark white with dark red.

The world, the town, you— none have ever felt so small.

“I’m— I’m going to get you the doctor.” You smooth his hair back, unsure of how to do that when he’s bleeding out and struggling to stay awake on his own.

“It’s just a skim,” Jack insists, but his eyelids are drooping, the hold on your cheek weakening. “I… darlin’, I have to…”

“No,” you say softly, and the street rumbles with the arrival of the sheriff and his horse, a minute too late. He comes to an abrupt halt at the porch, eyes widening at Jack, at the blood covering both your clothes, and you beg him with a desperate cry for the doctor. He demands no further explanation before he nods with a concerned frown, pulling the reins the other direction.

“Keep him awake,” he barks back, steering his horse to ride down the street to the doctor’s quarters with thundering hoof falls, “I’ll bring him.”

The clouds have fully covered the sky, casting a grey shadow over Jack’s body as he shivers in your hold. A hiccup hinders his breath, and then he blinks up at you with remorse.

“This ain’t what I promised you.” He winces, his voice barely audible as the lightheaded rush overtakes him, and you move his head gently in your hands, side to side.

“Don’t worry,” you urge, “don’t go to sleep, don’t go to sleep—”

You’re whispering against his mouth as you lean into him, foreheads touching, and slowly, you press your lips together, feeling the soft sigh he lets out when his eyes close and his body goes limp. You wish from the deepest, angriest part of you that that man doesn’t make it back to his camp.

***

With an unconscious Jack, lifted up to his bedroom once they’d taken him from your cradling arms, you’re swiftly whisked back downstairs in your upset by the sheriff despite your protests. You don’t know what’s happening to him as he lays upon his bed, the doctor working on him, and the last thing you want is for him to feel alone when he wakes up. Instead of allowing you to be present as the doctor stitches him up— dismissing your gentle, desperate whimpers of “please help him”— he’d requested your presence to listen to your account of the morning.

Only, once sitting, your nightgown damp with a shawl wrapped around your shoulders, you steer the conversation where you need it to go.

Your hands still shake as the fire crackles, and sheriff Branch so far seems to be unbelieving of your story; you tell him of the potential danger, and he strokes his scruffy beard, staring ahead into the contained flames.

“We need your help,” you insist, “they’re going to come here— whoever that man was, he was one of them. He wanted to kill J— Mr. Daniels, and they’re all going to tear it apart here just to get to him.”

“Miss,” he starts, maintaining eye contact as he speaks lowly to you, “I understand your concern, but if this man… Mr. Daniels, is going to cause all this upset, I doubt we can’t just send him on his way.” Checking his pocket watch— this isn’t unordinary— he sighs.

Anger simmers in the pit of your stomach. The easy way out. You stare ahead out the window where it’s now raining, and then peek behind you to find the parlour nearly vacant. You lean forward to catch Branch’s attention, and use the only tactic you have left.

“Hundreds of people want to catch those men,” you remind him, “you could put them in your jail.”

His expression softens in realization, and you don’t find yourself caring much for his odd morals as a lawman— if glory shall convince him, glory it shall be.

“We need anyone who will help,” you press on, pulling the shawl tighter around your shoulders. “People with weapons. They’re dangerous.”

“I’m sure we all understand that...” he rises slowly out of his chair, removing his hat in a slight bow, “I’ll do what I can, miss. I’ll send word after I get them informed.”

“Thank you,” you sigh in relief, and Mrs. Adler wobbles over with her cane, ready to guide him out. You don’t think she’d seen you holding Jack on the porch, and the thought of him upstairs, as the doctor still works on his wound, makes another pang of nausea hit you.

Sheriff Branch speaks with her for a few minutes, and even without breakfast, most of the guests had still managed to go on with their day in town.

She appears promptly afterward with a strange look in her eye, but nothing compels you to ask her about it.

“Go on and get dressed,” she says, “you’re fit to work the rest of the day, yes dear?”

You don’t know what she knows. And now that you’re starting to care less about it, you don’t know how to behave.

“You’ll have to tend to Mr. Daniels, too.” Mrs. Adler continues, and a little rush of optimism swims in your chest, finding comfort in the permission to sit with Jack.

Coming forward, she pats your face, disappearing into the study as if nothing had happened, though it’s unsurprising. You doubt she’d expect much worse to occur— but you know it’s coming. With heavy, aching shoulders, you run up the steps, batting away another worried tear with rapid blinks.

The doctor is just exiting Jack’s room when you arrive at the landing upstairs, and he maintains a curt air as he greets you. A bottle of wound dressing and tonic in his hand, he passes them off to you and advises you to reapply it yourself tomorrow.

“He’ll be well enough to recover. Though give him time to wake up, it may not happen within the day.” He speaks in a level tone, transforming into an awkward lilt when he requests payment for his aid.

“Oh,” you nod, relief hitting your chest when you recall the money still scattered across your vanity’s desk.

Jack had wanted you to use it for yourself, but this seems fitting enough. There’s nothing else you can imagine yourself using it for on this doomed day. You fetch them, scooping them into your hands off the surface, and pass them off to the man with the large bag of medical instruments.

With the coins now in his pocket, the doctor announces he’ll visit within the week, and you’re hoping against hope there will still be another week in this town.

***

This isn’t who you used to be— you’re agonizing over it, and you’re oddly fond of that thought. You shot a man today, simply because you wanted to protect— something that was never your place or role to assume— and it terrifies you. The rational and irrational sides of your mind clash as you struggle into your proper clothes without the help of Jack’s hands. Who had witnessed that action? You tie the ribbon of your petticoat; what would happen now? Perhaps the man deserved it. You’d never have killed him; you’ll never kill anyone, for that matter, but you reason with yourself that it was right. You saved Jack from a worse fate, and there was no other way to go about it.

Tonic and dressing in hand, you take a deep breath before opening Jack’s door.

The sheets, the furniture— everything is clean with lack of use, all his time spent mainly in your room preventing this one from looking as cluttered. The floorboards creak softly as you step over to him, and the sight of him makes your throat tighten with another lump.

His heavily bandaged shoulder hides just under a gauzy sling, holding his arm at a right angle across his bare stomach. His lips part with every light breath, and his hair is a wavy dark mess upon his head, errant curls falling over the front.

Slowly, you sit by him at the edge of the bed, a mirrored contrast to the way he’d leaned over your body a mere two hours ago. The doctor must have stitched him up over an extra sheet; there’s barely any blood staining the blanket.

You brush his hair back, drawing a cover over his body before placing a tender kiss on his forehead, his cheek. “You can wake up, now.”

***

The sense of dread remains in all the worst spots for the rest of the day; in your head, pulling at your shoulders, squeezing your heart. You scrub at the bloody nightgown profusely, but with its white colour and soft toned ribbon, it leaves a pinkish residue that just won’t budge.

No one else seems quite bothered by what had happened. By dinner time, they’re still merry with their cards and drinks, and the gossip is short-lived. Every action you take is rough, as if to grind out the stress. The chopping, the cooking, the scrubbing. Jack’s absence makes it all the worse, and you wonder if he’d call for you if he was awake right now. If he would ask for your help, or if he’s debating whether to let you keep working. Night can never come fast enough. You check on him again in the evening to leave a plate of bread and water with him— something that won’t lose its heat— should he wake up hungry.

You’re half expecting Mrs. Adler to pull you aside and question your state, or your extreme worry about this morning, but she remains tucked away, attempting to knit without forgetting the number of rows she’s completed.

When the clock strikes ten at night, you brew a small cup of tea from the tiny stash at the back of one of the cupboards, alone for once in the kitchen. The lights cast a warm glow soon diminished when you tidy up, and the copper mug steams as you bring it carefully up the stairs.

Slipping back into his room, you pull off everything except for the chemise as your last layer, and resume your seat at the edge of the mattress, setting the mug at the night stand.

He’s still asleep.

“Jack,” you coo, taking one of his hands to lace your fingers together, holding it in between both of yours. “Jack…”

Leaning down, you hold your foreheads together, willing yourself not to cry another time today. You blink against his skin, only soothed by the steady sound of his breathing, until a sharp gasp erupts from underneath you.

Shooting up, you watch him as his face twists into pain, and he tries and fails to move his injured arm. His eyes widen, pupils blown, hissing at the wretched blast of discomfort.

“Shhh.” You let him squeeze you with his own hand until it makes your bones hurt, and he squirms over the mattress, desperately trying to catch his breath. “It’s okay, it’s okay.”

He hiccups, eyes glimmering with so many unspoken words.

“Hurts,” he manages to say, wet tears tracking his cheek.

“I know,” you brush one away with your thumb, and he takes hold of your wrist, making you still just so he can look at you. “I know it hurts, but you’re awake.”

Knitting his brows, he nods, and the only thing that soothes him now is the sight of you, safe, uninjured, and after a moment, he remembers the extent of what had happened.

He briefly startles, looking at you in wonderment, and then expels a giant breath of stress.

“I’m sorry, darlin’, you know I am,” he sighs, guiding his good hand up the cold skin of your arm. “I didn’t expect I’d be... ‘M sorry.”

“I don’t want you to be sorry.” Nuzzling your nose against his cheek, you don’t pry him for what he was about to say, but you feel the scruff of his jaw scratching at your face, and you scrunch your nose in response. A question still lingers in your mind, and you don’t see any other opportunity than now to ask it. “Who was he?”

“Isaiah. Not the best shooter, but he sure could punch.” Jack’s voice goes solemn as he tells you, his memory circling back to a dark place. “What about—” his throat closes up momentarily, “—the sheriff, I still need to get Sylvie—”

“I got everything settled with him. He’s going to help us.”

Looking at your earnest face, it’s the most cared for he can ever remember being. Pain blooms from his shoulder, but it’s dull, as if you’re taking it from him and replacing it with your devotion. Instead, pride overrides his soreness, and he forgets the worries of the day before in an instant.

“You…” he starts, coughing lightly again, sitting up with the support of one hand. “You made a good shot, darlin’.”

You shoot your eyes up, relief pouring inside at his slight smile.

“I sure wasn’t expectin’ my little lady to come to the rescue.” Jack squeezes your hand, “You… feelin’ okay?”

Sighing, you shake your head, and look to the dark window. It reflects the flicker of light from inside, your own eyes watching you back beneath the orange hue. “I never thought I’d be the one to cause anyone harm,” you say, glancing at him when you continue, “but he was going to hurt you, too. He did. I want you to be safe, Jack. More than anything.”

“Maybe I’m sweeter on you than I am sorry.”

“Stop,” you smile, petting at his hair again. He shifts, catching your wrist in his fingers to guide your palm to his mouth, kissing it gently with his plush lips. “I don’t think I could ever do it again, though. I’m not even sure what happened. The only thing that makes it okay is that he was going to take you from me.”

He makes a pensive noise, eyes swimming with something more grave than tears. “You won’t have to. I’ll be there.”

When he finally adjusts, you pass the tea to him, containing a dash of the healing tonic mixed into the water.

“Then you can start by drinking this.”

“I don’t like tea,” he states, the side of his lip rising, but he takes it anyway, understanding of its use.

“Too bad,” you say, “you’re going to drink it.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Offering him a little grin, you get up off the bed to sort out his few belongings scattered across the desk against the wall. The doctor had left his holster there, but underneath it, lies a manual-looking book, titled The Prairie Traveler: A Hand-book for Overland Expeditions.

Lifting it, you inspect a couple of the pages, finding small graphite annotations left in Jack’s handwriting in the margins, listing extra points on the tips written in the text.

You read over the table of contents to find the topics of each chapter, where it reads ‘Marching. Treatment of Animals. Water. Different methods of finding and purifying it,’ underneath the second chapter’s heading.

“Jack, what’s this?” you ask, bringing the book back over to him. He appears a smidge shy when you show him the cover, but he takes it from you, slotting a thumb between the pages.

“A survival guide. This was mine, I was gonna give it to you before I left this mornin’. You said you wanted to learn all that kind ’a stuff.” Jack peeks back up at you, his cheeks blushed pink and warm.

“Oh,” you blink, affection blooming in your chest, your hand coming to rest over your heart. “Thank you.” The words come out shaking as emotion overcomes you, but you don’t need more than those two to convey much more of your gratitude— you simply lean into him, letting the book fall into the mattress as you kiss him fully on the lips. He responds with a small whimper, but soon takes hold of the back of your neck to kiss you deeper, and you’re on all fours now as you lean over his injured body.

“You’re a thoughtful man,” you smile, and you sense him doing the same against your lips.

“Look in the front.”

Following his gentle order, you flip open only the cover to find a longer note written, and it dates back to only last week.

‘To my darling girl,

Hope this keeps you busy, it sure kept me busy as a boy. Left you some extra notes, but I’m sure you’ll find everything fascinating enough.

One day you and I might go on our own little expedition. Somewhere calm.

You know I’ll miss you more than anything.

Yours, Jack.’

“Jack…” you breathe, and before anything else comes, he’s talking again.

“I want to keep you safe, darlin’, I don’t—” he balls his fist with the fabric of your chemise inside, “— I was bein’ an idiot, thinkin’ I could do it on my own. Even they couldn’t make me leave you behind, and I… I know that, now.”

“Why didn’t you take out your gun?”

“I didn’t wake up today thinkin’ I was gonna kill someone, but seein’ as…” he trails off, before rounding back to his thoughts. “I might have to use it again.”

“Whatever happens, I’m with you.”

You crawl closer to him, tracing a line down his throat. “And I think…” You kiss the end of his nose, and he blinks at you as you go lower, kissing his chest over the gauzy sling. “You should rest your mind, for now.”

He inhales sharply, and you sense the shiver run down his spine. Then you bring back the words he’d said to you the first day he’d touched you, and slip your fingers down his belly.

“I want to take care of you,” you smile, “if you’ll let me. I don’t want you to worry about pleasing me like you always do— I want to please you.”

There’s that look again on his face, something disbelieving written in the furrowed brows, and he’s repeating the thought that he doesn’t deserve this.

“What do you—? fuck, angel...”

“I’m going to distract you. Do you want that?”

He nods, already squirming beneath you. You slip the button of his trousers open, freeing his hard length.

“Try to keep still,” you whisper gently, “I’m going to go slow. Make you feel good.”

Running his hand over your hair, he lets his head fall back as you give him the first stroke. The weight of him in your hand is pleasant, the firmness of his cock giving against you as you squeeze.

Eyeing the wet bead at the tip, you slide it down his shaft, getting it wet for you to stroke him easily, and he gasps at the warm pass of your fingers.

“Breathe, Jack, it’s alright,” you encourage him, slipping your palm back up the heft of him. He takes a deep breath in, out, in, and out again, and when he looks at your face full of nothing but admiration, he loses his rhythm.

“In,” you guide, your fist moving downward, taking as long as he does to take in the air. “Out.” When he exhales, the breath exits him quickly, his hips begging to buck up, but he’s not strong enough at the moment to do so.

“Do you want to come?”

“Yes,” he husks, the low timbre rumbling, “please, darlin’. Hurts still, make it better—”

A rich groan fills your ears when he shifts, a blend of his own pain and pleasure making it full force.

“Shhh,” you hush him this time for an entirely different reason than before, and he cracks a smile. Placing your free hand firmly on his chest, he covers it with his own, and looks up at you with his big, brown eyes, plump lips waiting for a kiss.

You give him another testing stroke, your hand then bobbing up and down along his length. He seems to relax the more you do it, tugging your hips closer on his lap. His cock twitches in your hand when you lean down to press your lips to his, and he responds as eagerly as you, a moan vibrating on your mouth.

“There,” you murmur, nuzzling against his face as you work him gently, mindful of his pain that you’re trying to erase, at least for one moment. “I won’t hurt you.”

“You’d never,” his lips curve, repeating your own words from the night before.

You keep his gaze as you slip your fist down his cock again, his eyes widening before they flutter closed.

“So... proud,” he whimpers, fingers digging into your hand, “brave girl, brave girl...”

You look down at the tip of his cock disappearing and reappearing in your hand, and you want so badly to put him in your mouth, but now is a time for simpler things, and he is already so pleased by just your palm, his throat forming a long line, shifting when he swallows.

“Does it feel okay?”

“It feels...” Jack hiccups, moving his body down the bed, “it feels—”

All of his stress bubbles up— not telling you for ages, getting caught too soon, the wound in his shoulder— and the pent up worry boils over before he releases with a slow groan, throat bobbing.

“Tha— thank you.”

His cum spills warmly over your fingers, and he relaxes into the pillow with another sigh. You raise the hand to your mouth to clean it all away with your tongue, and though there’s a needy throb between your legs, there’s nothing more you could want.

He beckons you to join him in laying, your head fitting into his uninjured side as you settle down onto the pillow, mindful of his tender muscles.

As you both catch your breath, his lips skim your temple, and he coos to you with a voice light as ever, comforted by just your presence. Your hand finds its way back to his chest, blanketed by his palm.

“We’ll be alright.”

Somewhere down the road, the sheriff is gathering men.

And when the Statesmen arrive, it won’t be just the two of you against them.

***

taglist:

@highsviolets @frannyzooey @danidrabbles @javier-pena @recklesswit @frankie-catfish-morales @kesskirata @xemmaloveskillianx @chickadee-djarin @apascalrascal @slay-runt @princessxkenobi @astroboots @pedros-mustache @the-feckless-wonder @mando-abs @leannawithacapitala @queenofthecloudss @writeforfandoms @herb-welch @fan-of-encouragement @libraryofrecs @fuck-goes-on @little-big-mac2 @quica-quica-quica @badassbaker @wardenparker @anxiousandboujee @randeerenae @aspiringmezzo @wyofabdoms @just-here-for-the-moment @beskarboobs @sweetangel0069 @lawfulgranola @jettia @spookycora @moodsare @bella-law @rosechvnel @agent-jbarnes @tuskens-mando

#jack daniels x reader #agent whiskey x reader #jack daniels #agent whiskey #jack daniels x you #agent whiskey x you #pedro pascal #pedrostories #kingsman: the golden circle #kingsman fanfiction #fic: the traveler #jack whiskey daniels

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lastbluetardis · 2 years

Text

Sacred New Beginnings (16/?)

Ten x Rose AU

This Chapter: Teen, ~5200 words

AO3 || Ch1 | Ch2 | Ch3 | Ch4 | Ch5 | Ch6 | Ch7 | Ch8 | Ch9 | Ch10 | Ch11 | Ch12 | Ch13 | Ch14 | Ch15 |

“Is it all right if I bring a guest along to dinner?”

James shoots off the text to his mum while he waits for Rose to finish her shower. It had taken every ounce of strength and resistance to not join her, but he really does want to take Rose on a date, and knows that they’ll only fall back into her bed if he continues to be in her presence while they are both unclothed.

His phone chirps in his hand, pulling him out of his fantasy of a wet, soapy, naked Rose.

Of course. Which guest?

James smiles to himself and replies, “I thought you might like to meet Rose.”

A beat passes before his phone rings.

“You made up with Rose?!” his mother squawks when he answers. “Oh, that’s wonderful, darling!”

He’s beaming like an idiot. “Yeah, I chatted with her last weekend. Told her how I was feeling. She wanted some time to think, then invited me over last night to tell me she might be feeling the same way.”

He’s trying so hard to avoid the “l” word, since his mum is a hopeless romantic, but it’s nearly bursting out of him to say that he’s actually falling in love with Rose Tyler. Like… real love. Not lust. Not a pre-agreed-upon hook-up so he and his partner would each have someone to take to their respective publicity events. But something pure and good.

“We’ll come ‘round at 6,” he promises as he hears the water shut off. “Bye.”

He hurriedly dons his clothes from yesterday, itching to get home so he, too, can shower. He’s lacing up his Chucks when Rose steps into the bedroom, dressed in bootcut jeans and a long-sleeve London jack shirt, her hair falling in loose waves around her shoulders.

“Nice shirt,” he comments.

She flattens her hands down the garment and asks, “Is this all right? I wasn’t sure what you wanted to do today.”

“I don’t have a plan,” he admits, shrugging. “Let’s just… drive around for a bit. See what catches our fancy.”

She’s more than agreeable, and, minutes later, they’re in the backseat of his security agent’s car, being driven to his house. The agent, Zach, is perfectly respectful and asks no questions, but James can see his eyes flicking to the rearview mirror time and time again to catch glimpses of him and Rose.

The ever-present paparazzi are camped out at the end of his property line, and Zach inches past them (though James has a morbid desire for his driver to run them all over) to pull into the garage.

James thanks Zach, then dismisses him from duty, promising to call if he needs anything, before guiding Rose into his house. It feels so much colder than her homey little flat, and James is desperate to leave.

But first, a shower. He feels absolutely disgusting, in his old clothes from yesterday with the grimy texture of old sweat and sex covering his skin.

“Make yourself at home,” he tells Rose, kissing her softly.

He takes the stairs two at a time and can’t get out of his clothes fast enough the moment he steps into his bathroom. A thrill of delight courses through him when he catches sight of a dull red mark on his collarbone, courtesy of Rose’s mouth from their morning romp in the sheets. She’d been on top, kissing him so deeply he lost all sense of himself. When she began nibbling and sucking on his clavicle, he hadn’t wanted her to stop, too consumed by the sharp pleasure zipping through him.

The mark will fade by tomorrow, but for now, James brushes his fingertips along it, grinning like an idiot and replaying those delicious memories.

He makes quick work of showering, all while racking his brain on what he and Rose could do together. They’d had so much fun together at the Renaissance Faire, so perhaps they can do something outdoorsy. Autumn activities lend themselves to being outside, and he thinks the weather will cooperate.

He pulls on his favorite pair of skinny jeans and a cozy striped jumper before going back downstairs. Rose is on his couch, leafing through his battered copy of Good Omens, which he had begun rereading after seeing it in her book collection in her flat. She glances up when he steps into the living room, and hastily sets his book back on the coffee table, as though she’s been caught doing something she shouldn’t.

“Did you start reading it?” he asks, jutting his chin to the novel.

“Yeah, a couple weeks ago. Didn’t get far though… haven’t been interested in reading lately.” She pushes to her feet and shoulders her jacket. “Ready to go?”

He rests his hand on the small of her back to guide her to his car, then they’re off on their adventure.

The first place they go is a drive-through coffee shop for breakfast and a sorely-needed cup of caffeine. Rose gets a chai latte, he gets plain coffee, and they share a selection of pastries.

“I was thinking we could go to a pumpkin patch,” James suggests through a mouthful of croissant. “I haven’t done any decorating, and Halloween’s this coming week. I always host a party. You’re welcome to come, if you want. My mates won’t take photos of us or anything, I swear.”

He would ensure that anyone who photographs him and Rose and sells it to the media find themselves banned from any future party he hosts.

Rose grimaces, though, and says, “Sorry, I already have plans for Halloween night. My mate Shareen is havin’ a party ‘round hers, and I said I’d go.”

Even though his stomach sinks, he smiles. “That’s fine. Sounds like fun. It’s my fault for telling you about it so late.”

Rose nods, but remains silent; she instead goes back to picking off pieces of her Danish.

“Is it all right to go to a pumpkin patch?” he asks, realizing she’d said nothing about his suggestion. “We don’t have to.”

“Yeah, it’s perfect.”

Why does it suddenly feel like they’re awkward teenagers? Why is this thing with Rose so easy when they’re in the privacy of one of their homes, yet so much more complicated out in broad daylight?

James shovels the rest of his croissant into his mouth, wipes the crumbs off his fingers, then reaches over to rest his palm on Rose’s thigh. She looks at him out of the corner of her eye, a smile tugging at the edges of her lips. She covers his hand with hers, letting her fingers slip into the perfect spaces between his.

“We’re a bit daft, aren’t we?” she says, stroking his pinkie with her thumb.

“A bit,” he agrees.

“It’s like… I dunno why I keep forgetting you’re famous.” Then she shakes her head. “No, not forgetting, that’s not the right word. But when it’s just us, it’s so easy to think of us as two normal people. Then I remember that everyone knows who you are, and I’m just… me. And it’s a bit intimidating.”

His chest aches, and he flips his hand beneath hers to properly hold it. He brings her hand to his lips for a series of kisses to her knuckles.

“I don’t want you to be intimidated by me,” he whispers into her skin.

“I’m not intimidated by you. But it is intimidating that the whole world knows my boyfriend, and sooner or later they’re going to know about me. I’m working on it; it’s just a lot to wrap my head around, y’know?”

He barely hears the rest of her words, too caught up in the fact that she called him her boyfriend. He is Rose Tyler’s boyfriend! Beaming, he kisses her knuckles again.

“Take as long as you need,” he says. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help. And by the way, you’re not just you. I think you’re the most magnificent woman in the world.”

The smile that lights up her face is brighter than every star in the sky. They’re at a stop light, and so James indulges himself by leaning over to plant a kiss to that smile.

He doesn’t have a particular pumpkin patch in mind for their outing; typically, he purchases pumpkins from the giant cart that’s in front of the grocery store. He and Rose have settled into a calm and comfortable quiet for their drive, enjoying the autumn scenery as he leaves the city behind and heads west into the countryside. If he’s going to take Rose to his mum’s house, might as well make their date in that general direction as well.

Right when he’s about to pull over and get out of phone to look for a pumpkin patch they can visit, he spots a sign advertising a farm, where people can pick apples and pumpkins alike, as well as purchase a variety of jams and seasonal fruits and veggies.

“Wanna check it out?” he asks, gesturing to the sign.

Rose nods her agreement, and he turns off the main road.

They drive through a small town that is bustling with Saturday morning activity. People are wandering down streets, looking through windows into little shops, their arms laden down with shopping bags. It’s a quaint little town he’s never been to but has heard of.

There are more signs directing him to the farm, and he eventually reaches a tree-lined dirt road that announces itself as his final destination. He parks his car beside the dozens of other vehicles that are visiting the farm, and tries his best to not let his sudden panic get the better of him. He draws in a deep breath and glances over to Rose.

“Shall we?”

James grabs a cap and scarf from the back seat, trying to make himself as inconspicuous as possible. Rose sidles up to him and hooks her arm through his.

“All right?”

“I don’t want anyone to notice me,” he admits. “And, by extension, notice you. My mysterious blonde.”

He nearly spits those last two words; Rose merely gives him a sympathetic smile and kisses his cheek.

“If they do, we’ll deal with it,” she promises. “I don’t want to have to hide our relationship forever. Feeling like a secret… I don’t like… it makes me feel…” She trails off and shakes her head. “If losing my anonymity means I can go on a date with my boyfriend wherever and whenever I want, it’s worth it. You are worth it.”

His throat tightens, and he gathers her close, wrapping his arms around her and tucking his face into her neck. He breathes in her warm, soothing scent and takes a moment to quiet his mind, to tell himself that everything will be okay as long as he has Rose by his side.

“Thank you.” He pulls back and cradles her cheeks in his palms to angle her face up for an achingly sweet kiss that makes him forget about everything except for her.

When they break apart, James threads their fingers together and leads her into the farm, marveling at the broad swathes of green grass where sheep, cows, and pigs graze lazily. The pumpkin field is huge, with families and couples meandering around searching for their perfect pumpkin.

It’s a typical late October day, with thick, pearly clouds above them that threaten a soaking rain later in the day. But for now, it’s perfectly chilly with a breeze that gives James an excuse to keep Rose tucked into his side as they wander up and down the rows of pumpkin plants, inspecting each one with great care and precision.

James delights in holding them up to his own head and making gruesome or silly expressions for Rose, and asking if she approves of the face he’ll carve on the pumpkin. Every time she laughs at him, his body thrums with pleasure and joy, and he keeps trying to outdo himself, to get her to laugh longer or harder with each subsequent face he pulls.

“You’re ridiculous!” she wheezes when he pushes his lips back towards his gums to make a snarl, while also going cross-eyed.

He grins, dropping the silly face and setting his fifth pumpkin into the cart an attendant brought over.

“I do my best,” he says, winking and clicking his tongue at her.

She pauses for the barest of moments, then pulls her phone out of her back pocket.

“Do that face again,” she requests. “I promise I won’t post this anywhere. It’s just for me.”

“I know. I trust you.”

He doesn’t stop at the one face—he runs through every expression that had made her laugh the most, delighting in the telltale shutter click of her taking numerous photos. Her eyes dance and her face is beautifully pink from her full belly laughs, and, soon enough, he joins in too. He steps up to her, arms open, and hauls her off her feet, spinning her ‘round and ‘round while feeling like they are the only two people on the planet.

When he sets her down again, she cups the back of his neck and pulls him in for a kiss that they try to keep chaste. They only moderately succeed, as he angles his head to free up his nose so he can catch her lips over and over again.

I’m so in love with you.

He is aching to say the words, because God help him, he’s no longer falling in love—he’s in love. Deeply and wholly. Irrevocably. He’s been falling in love with her since their first unofficial date at Bad Wolf Brews, and his feelings have only strengthened with each moment he shares with her.

But he can’t come out and say it. Not yet. He doesn’t think she’s ready to hear it. After all, it took her almost a week to accept the idea that he might be falling in love with her. He doesn’t want to scare her off.

Baby steps. He can do baby steps.

“What’re you thinking about?” she murmurs, stroking the nape of his neck.

“How much I love being with you,” he says, and he kisses her one more time. “I’m glad we’re together.”

“Me too.”

They pull away from each other at the clearing of a throat. James’s heart begins to race and his palms sweat as he turns toward the person who wants his attention. But it’s not a starry-eyed fan; instead, it’s an elderly woman with a kind, open smile.

“You two are just adorable together,” she croons in an accent that is an interesting mix of American and French. “I thought you might like a photo of yourselves. A proper photo, not one of those selfies that young people are always taking. My granddaughter Libby is always asking me to take photographs of her and her girlfriend. I’ve gotten quite good, if I do say so myself.”

“Yeah, that’d be brilliant,” Rose answers. He’s grateful, because his mouth is too dry to properly respond. “Cheers.”

Rose hands the woman her phone, the camera app already open, then slings her arm around his waist and rests her head on his shoulder. He comes to his senses and pulls her in close, relishing the solid warmth of her body next to his, and smiles softly at the camera.

“Want another pose?” the woman asks.

James shifts Rose to stand in front of him, and he wraps her in a tight hug from behind. She turns to look at him, and he kisses the tip of her nose before settling his chin on her shoulder.

“So precious!” the woman sighs, snapping their photo again. “If only cameras like this existed when I was your age. Imagine. A camera that fits in your pocket. I never would have believed you if you’d told me that forty years ago. Here you are, darling.”

The old woman hands the phone back to Rose.

“Thank you,” James says. “Seriously. Thank you.”

The woman waves him off. “Young love is a beautiful gift. Hold on to it as tightly as you can, and never ever forget a moment of it.”

A sad glint enters the woman’s eyes for a heartbeat, but she blinks and it’s gone, replaced by a warm albeit mischievous smile. “You seem very happy, James. Congratulations. Right. Toodle-oo.”

The breath has left his lungs, and he just stares at this old woman’s back as she hobbles off to a crowd of people. A small child rushes up to her, showing off a miniature pumpkin that fits in the palms of his hands. The woman doesn’t look back, and if he didn’t know any better, he would have thought he’d hallucinated the last sixty seconds.

“Well. That was interesting,” Rose quips, infusing a bit of levity into the moment. “Got yourself some granny fans, do you?”

There’s a twinkle in her eye as she jabs an elbow into his ribs. However, she must sense that he’s still a bit stunned, because she softens and says, “It’s nice to know there’s some decent people left in the world.”

“Yeah,” he croaks. He glances down at her, and their cart of pumpkins. “Shall we carry on?”

They end up purchasing a total of ten pumpkins, which they carry to the boot of his car before wandering to the apple orchard. The attendant there gives them a basket and lets them know it’s £3.25 per kilo of apples, and goes through a wooden, rehearsed spiel about proper technique and etiquette when picking apples.

“Thank you, and have a nice day,” he finishes, before turning his attention to the next set of visitors looking to enter the orchard. “Hello and welcome to…”

“Bundle of laughs, that one,” Rose mutters under her breath as they walk, hand in hand, to rows upon rows of apple trees.

“Applesolutely unbelievapple,” he chimes in.

She groans. “Oh, no you didn’t!”

He gasps theatrically, covering his heart as though wounded. “Rose Tyler! Do you not find my puns appeeling?”

“Applerently not,” she drawls.

He cackles, delighted, and grabs her hand before taking off running through the orchard. She shrieks, stumbling forward a few steps before catching her stride and matching his pace. He feels so free, like any other idiot in love as he sprints through the trees and past other patrons who glance briefly at them before going about their business.

James lets Rose pick most of the apples while he carries around the basket for her. They walk slowly, inspecting each tree and each fruit with care before adding it to their collection. He has no idea what to do with the two dozen apples they’ve picked, but he’s having too much fun to bring their morning to an end.

But end, it does. The same bored attendant checks them out and thanks them for visiting, looking for all the world that he wishes nobody would ever visit ever again.

“I applelaud your wonderful service today,” James says solemnly, snapping off a sharp salute. “Couldn’t’ve picked a better morning activity.”

The attendant merely blinks.

“Oof, tough crowd,” he mumbles. Louder, he adds, “Appleogies for taking up your time.”

He bows theatrically, then turns on his heel and guides Rose to the car. They only manage a few strides before Rose bends double, laughing so hard her face turns scarlet.

“Oh my God,” she manages, clutching her sides. “I don’t think that poor lad knew what you were even doing.”

“Well, his loss for not making the most of all the apple-based humor out there.”

They wander around the farm for a little while longer, perusing the produce and selecting some seasonal fruits and vegetables. The boot of James’s car is full by the time they leave.

It’s just past noon, and they stop for lunch at a nearby chippy. Rose treats, and though it pains James to have anybody spend money on him, he doesn’t argue. He instead finds them a secluded table beneath a tree that is still clinging to the last of its crimson-orange leaves. His eyes dart around, making sure nobody is paying him any attention, but he seems to be in the clear.

Rose returns with two baskets of crispy fried fish and golden-brown chips. His stomach gurgles at the heavenly scent.

“And I got us a fizzy drink to share,” she says, setting down a large cup with a straw.

They dig in, not speaking much, but not feeling awkward about it. It’s comfortable, and James can’t help but play with her feet beneath the table, tapping the toe of his trainers against hers as they eat their lunch. She smiles into her food every time their feet touch.

With a few hours to go before he’s expected at his mum’s, James wracks his brain to figure out what else they can do to fill the time. They could arrive early, but James selfishly wants Rose to himself for a little while longer.

“Wanna drive around?” he asks lamely as they walk, hand in hand, back to his car. “Admire the scenery? Sight-see? Get a bit lost and see where we end up?”

She agrees, and moments later, they’re in his car and off into the unknown.

James only sort of knows where he is; he has driven to his mum’s house countless times, so he’s been out in this direction before, but he has never been on the roads he’s currently on. He takes the same route each time, so it feels like he’s somewhere brand new as he cruises down country roads with Rose’s fingers entwined through his.

Music plays quietly from the stereo system, and every now and then, he catches hints of Rose singing under her breath. He pretends not to notice, hoping that one day she’ll be comfortable and confident enough to sing in front of him without caring about his opinion. Not that he even has an opinion… as he’d told her, music and art and dancing are all meant to bring joy, no matter how good or bad a person is at it.

“If you could be famous for anything, what would it be for?” he blurts, wanting to hear her more of her voice, even if she isn’t singing.

She glances sidelong at him. “Dunno if I would ever want to be famous. I mean… you don’t seem to like it much.”

He winces. “It’s not all bad. I promise. For the most part, I really love it. But there are also some days I hate it. You’ve unfortunately caught me at a low point.”

She gives his fingers a squeeze and says, “Maybe an actress? I dunno, I’ve always admired how some people can make me feel so much just from their expression.”

“If you could travel anywhere at all in the world, where would it be?” he continues.

“I’m not allowed to ask you questions this time?” she drawls.

“Oh! Of course you can. Sorry, your turn. I forgot myself. I just want to know everything about you, and it’s so refreshing to not talk about myself for a change, but obviously I want you to know me too, so please ask me something or else I’m going to keep talking like this and I swear I turn into an idiot around you ‘cos I can’t seem to ever stop talking.”

Rose bursts into gales of laughter, which soothes the mortification that’s burning up his neck. He has always been long-winded, but never so much as when he’s with Rose.

She pulls her hand away from his to give him a round of applause. “I think you’ve just broken the record for the longest sentence without takin’ a breath.”

Sheepish, he grins. “It’s a problem I’ve got. I’m working on it. Quite poorly, honestly.”

“It’s endearing,” she promises, and she leans over to give him a peck on the cheek.

If he weren’t actively driving, he would have turned to return the kiss properly. But he is driving, so he does the responsible thing of keeping his eyes on the road.

“I’ll answer yours first. Is it daft to say America? I’ve never been before, and it’s just so… big. And the cultures are so different depending where you are.”

James makes a mental note to invite her to travel with him to America the next time he’s scheduled to visit.

“It’s an incredible country. We’ll have to go someday, you and I. And not to the big touristy areas. I mean, if you want to go to places like New York or Hollywood, we can. But there are so many more interesting cities to visit.”

“It’s a date,” she says.

This time as she leans over to kiss him, he’s pulling up to a stop light, so he turns and meets her head-on. Lips crash against teeth in a heated, searing snog that sends heat throbbing into his belly and between his legs. God, he wants to pull her closer, to thread his fingers through her hair, to hear and feel her moaning and…

“Light’s green,” she murmurs, pulling back with a wet pop.

“Sod the light.”

But a horn blares behind him, and he reluctantly returns his attention to driving and swapping questions and answers with Rose.

When it’s too dark to effectively admire the countryside, James programs his mother’s address into his satnav and sends her a warning text that they’ll be a little early to dinner.

I can’t wait to see your face, darling. And Rose’s too! Oh, I’m so excited!!!

He smiles to himself and listens to the artificial voice that guides him along unfamiliar country roads.

“Would you ever want to live somewhere like this?” Rose asks.

“There’s not exactly a recording studio out this way.”

“I mean, couldn’t you like… build one in your house or something?” she asks, chewing on her bottom lip.

“I like the city,” he says simply. “I love how much there is to do, and while I hate the paparazzi, I love meeting new people as I’m out and about. I love finding new restaurants or pubs or shops, because cities like London are too big and ever-changing to know all of its secrets.”

However, he would be lying if he didn’t also admit that sometimes he wishes he could run away from it all and become a hermit for the rest of his life. But he knows those maudlin moods are temporary, and he would regret his solitude once the dark clouds dissipated.

“Don’t you get tired of the paparazzi practically living outside your house?”

He grimaces. “Of course. I wish I’d had a bit more foresight when I bought the house. It was something I bought early on, when I didn’t realize the entire world would one day know my name.”

“Why don’t you sell it and move?” she asks curiously.

“Dunno. A bit of stubbornness on my part, I guess. And it’s just… it’s home. I’m used to the paparazzi by now.”

She gives his hand a gentle squeeze and rubs her thumb along the back of his. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

He doesn’t argue further, because he’s had this conversation time and time again with his mother, and doesn’t particularly feel like having it with Rose.

“We’re nearly there, by the way,” he says instead, turning onto his mum’s street.

Rose goes still beside him, then her grip tightens. “Oh my God, I should have brought something. Wine. Dessert. Something. Are there shops nearby? I could bring her flowers. Does your mum like flowers? I can’t believe I didn’t think of this.”

His jaw slackens the longer she panics, until his brain catches up and he says, “Hey, it’s all right. You don’t have to bring anything, I promise. My mum is excited to meet you. She’s not going to think you’re rude. She’s going to love you. I promise.”

“Do I look okay?” she asks, fussing with her hair and scrubbing a tissue under her eyes where her mascara has smudged a bit.

“You’re perfect,” he promises. He pulls off the road and puts his flashers on even though there are no other vehicles around. “Rose. Look at me.”

She does, and he leans over to cup her cheek.

“You’re perfect,” he repeats. He guides her face to his fore a quick kiss, then he rests his forehead on hers. “She wants to meet you, not a bottle of wine or a box of chocolates or anything.”

She will love you because I love you.

He ducks to give her another kiss. “Everything will be fine. I promise. But, er… my mum cooked. Not sure what exactly she cooked. But the thing is, she’s not exactly… a cook. Can you, er, pretend to like what she made? She tries really hard, and I’ve never had the heart to tell her she’s not that good at it. I mean, it’s all edible, and it’s fine. Just not very flavorful.”

Now it’s Rose’s turn to kiss him. She does so, very sweetly, and nuzzles her nose into his.

“I promise to lick my plate clean,” she vows, her tone dramatically serious that it pulls a giggle from him.

“Thank you. Right. C’mon.”

He pulls back onto the empty street and follows it to the very end. Two jack-o-lanterns sit on his mum’s porch, with orange fairy lights strung all around the front of the house.

“Here we are,” he says unnecessarily, killing the engine. “Home sweet home.”

James jumps out of his seat and races around to Rose’s side of the car in time to close her door for her. Tension is radiating from her every pore. He cradles her cheeks, angling her face up for a whisper soft kiss. In her shoes, he would be just as anxious as she is, but he hopes she’ll be able to pull some enjoyment from the evening.

She kisses him back, holding the nape of his neck to keep him close while her other hand fists into his jacket. He melts into her, sighing and deepening the kiss. She smiles into his lips but reciprocates with just as much reckless passion until they’re snogging lewdly against his car without a care in the world. Their mouths meet and part over and over again while their hips move restlessly. He’s growing hard in his jeans, and he has almost forgotten that he can’t exactly sneak away for a cheeky shag, when a gust of bitter wind cuts through them.

“Blimey,” Rose grumbles, shuddering.

He isn’t sure whether she’s reacting to the kiss or the cold, so he merely croaks, “Yeah.”

He takes a step away and rubs the back of his hand across his tingling, kiss-swollen lips.

“I want to keep kissing you,” she admits, even as she stuffs her hands into her pockets and hunches her shoulders against the wind.

“Later?” he asks hopefully.

She grins, then leans up to nip at his bottom lip. Sparks jolt through him, scrambling his senses while he lets out a helpless moan. God, he wants her to do that again. He wants her to kiss him and never ever stop.

“Later.”

#ficandchips #dwfic #doctor who #ten x rose #ten x rose au #james x rose #romance #au #my fic #sacred new beginnings

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kjmsupremacist · 3 years

Text

baby, you’re my angel (chan/felix)

Mildly popular TikTok songwriter Felix meets Chan, famous on TikTok for his music and music reviews. They bond over their common ground, friendship blossoming easy and sweet. There’s two problems. One: Felix thinks he likes Chan more than just as friends. Two: Chan is almost fifteen years his senior.

Chapter 7 | prev next mlist

Characters: Felix, Chan, the rest of skz

Genre: college au, romance, fluff, smut, angst

Pairing: Chan/Felix

Warnings: swearing, age gap, smut, daddy kink, minor (offscreen) character death mention

Rating: Explicit

Length: 5.6k

just a friendly reminder that i dont condone age gap in real life, this is just fiction, im just having fun, etc :)

“Ready?” Felix looks up; Chan is fixing one of the lights, facing away from him.

“Yeah,” Felix replies, zoning back into the screen in front of him, sitting up a little straighter in the chair. It’s Saturday, and they’re in Chan’s studio. Chan had planned to do a live while he worked, but since he and Felix are putting a song together, they figured it would be nice to do the stream together.

Chan sits down in the chair beside him, turning towards him with a grin. “Then we’ll start.”

He hits the button and the chat fills immediately. Felix sees a lot of hearts, a lot of question marks, and a lot of capslock. He squints to read a few comments.

“Hey guys!” Chan greets. Felix looks up at camera and waves quickly, smiling. “Felix and I figured we’d sit with you today as we work on our new song. We’ve actually got a couple in the works, but we’ll just be focusing on one today so that we don’t spoil everything.”

“His idea, not mine,” Felix says cheerfully. “Let’s see… ‘Where are you guys, the background looks different?’ Chan, you haven’t filmed in the studio?”

Chan shakes his head. “Somehow all my videos have been at home,” he says, shrugging. “But, you know, we’re here now. Welcome to my studio!” He raises his arms up, looking around happily. “I’m renting it while I’m here in Sydney. I have some friends here, and they were able to reserve me a spot, which I’m really grateful for. So yes, hi new studio!” He waves at the empty room before turning back to camera. “What else? Oh, I’m sure some of you have already seen it, but we’ve both been invited to VidCon Australia once again, so for those of you who are attending, we’ll see you this summer.”

“Someone said, ‘Felix too?’ Excuse me,” Felix says, laughing. “I was there last year, too! I may not be as popular as Chan here, but I get views!”

“Before Felix gets too excited, why don’t we get to work?” Chan says lightly. Felix gives him a look and Chan laughs. “I know, but I’d like us to get something done today.”

“Fine, fine.” Felix settles back in his chair, pulling up his notes app so he can start offering up lyrics.

They work for a couple of hours, pausing to chat with the viewers. Felix gets to show off how much he’s learned when it’s Chan’s turn to record, consulting them when he’s giving critiques and walking them through some of the basics. By the time they say goodbye and end the live, Felix has a bunch of notifications from new followers.

“You’re staying tonight, right?” Chan asks as they pack up.

“Unless that’s inconvenient,” Felix replies.

“Of course it’s not.” Chan smiles at him. “What do you want for dinner?”

Felix smiles, too. “I don’t know,” he says honestly.

“We could cook,” Chan says. “But… I’m feeling lazy, and I kind of want something shitty and unhealthy.”

“Oh, yes please,” Felix agrees, laughing.

“Hungry Jack’s?” Chan asks, reaching for his phone. “Or Macca’s?”

“Mm, I don’t want burgers, though,” Felix says. “Guzman y Gomez?”

“Ooh, good by me,” Chan says. “Let’s order ahead so we can just pick it up on the way home.”

A half hour later sees them sat at Chan’s kitchen table, laughing into their burritos. Felix watches Chan fondly, tracing his gaze over the whiskers that form under his eyes when he smiles really big.

“I have a distinct memory,” Chan says, “of eating this shit when I was a kid, and I made my sister laugh so hard she shot a whole black bean out of her nose. I think the three of us almost died, we thought it was so funny. Like, my little brother cried he was laughing so hard. My parents couldn’t even be mad, even though the bean landed in one of the containers of guac.” He laughs softly, shaking his head. “Hannah swears to this day that her left nostril hasn’t been the same since.”

Felix exhales incredulous laughter. “I thought that only happened in cartoons,” he says.

“Nope, I’ve seen it with my own two eyes,” Chan says. “I can still picture it, arcing perfectly over her plate and the chip bowl.”

“That’s incredible,” Felix says earnestly. There’s that pang of strange curiosity again. He wants to know more about Chan; he wants to know everything. “What are your siblings like?” he asks.

Chan grins. “Pain in my ass, both of them,” he says. “But I love ‘em, you know? Hannah is seven years younger than me, Lucas is nine years younger. They were both born a few years after we moved here. I think I used to harbor a certain hatred for them because I’d gotten used to being the only one. But I think I probably would’ve been lonely without them, too.” He shrugs. “I like to say I was the rough draft. Which isn’t to say, like—I’ve got a really great life, you know, I get to make a living doing what I love, and I’ve been quite successful. But like—Hannah works as a choreographer for a big entertainment company in Seoul, and Lucas is actually in his last year of med school right now; he went to the States for university. He’s going into his residency this coming August.” Chan spreads his hands. “My parents have a lot to be proud of.”

“They definitely do.” Felix nods, thinking about his own siblings. Soon, that’ll be their lives, too—spread out across the world when they used to share a bathroom and fight over the TV remote. “Do you… still talk to them?” he ventures. He imagines little Chan, aged seven, eight, nine, an immigrant and the child of immigrants, watching jealously as his younger siblings steal attention that was once his. He imagines him a little older, walking between two faceless toddlers, holding their hands. It makes his heart wilt with tenderness in his chest.

“Sometimes,” Chan says, nodding. “It’s hard, because we’re in wildly different time zones, but I did call Hannah a couple days ago, actually.”

“I bet me and Hannah would get on well,” Felix says, laughing. “Middle child solidarity. She can tell me all your embarrassing secrets.”

“I’ll just ask Rachel about yours to get you back, then,” Chan says, chuckling.

Their laughter dies quickly, the reality of it leaving a heavy cloud hanging in the air between them. They won’t meet each other’s families, at least not like that. Felix will never ask Hannah to relay cringey stories from their childhood. That sort of interaction is reserved for significant others; Chan is supposed to be his friend, and maybe his mentor. Nothing else. And if either of their families found out, it would all be ruined. Their families would be furious, Felix’s especially. And the worst part is, they’d be right.

“Anyway,” Felix says after a moment, “I don’t think you should call yourself a rough draft. Did your siblings get invited to VidCon? I don’t think so.”

Chan laughs. “I know. But my life is a little silly, I think, in comparison to theirs.”

“You’re still making a living, and you’re still happy, right?” Felix asks. Chan nods. “So there’s nothing silly about it.” He takes the last bite of his burrito. “You’re living a lot of people’s dream, I think.”

Chan nods slowly. “Yeah, I guess I am,” he says, looking at Felix with an intense and unreadable sort of expression. “Thank you,” he says. “Really.”

Felix smiles back. “I mean, it’s true,” he replies with a dramatic little hand flourish.

They’re both a little tired, or maybe just worn down from the mental gymnastics of that conversation, so the rest of dinner is relatively quiet. They shower together once they’re done, exchanging gentle kisses, and then start working their way towards bed. Chan lingers behind in the bathroom to pee, and Felix sits on the edge of the bed, waiting for him while he towels off his hair.

His gaze falls on the book, lying face-down and open, on Chan’s bedside table. The spine is cracking a little, and Felix sighs. He’s been trying to get Chan to use bookmarks, even if it’s just a random piece of paper or an old receipt. He sees a blank piece of paper on the table beside it and smiles; clearly, Chan was trying, but must have forgotten the last time he put the book down. Felix picks up the book, carefully slotting a finger between the pages to keep Chan’s place, and then plucks up the paper.

Only it’s not paper. It’s a photograph. Felix lowers the book back down the way he found it, feeling the smooth face of the photograph with his fingertips. He wonders too late if it’s personal; he flips it over, and there is Chan, looking much younger, in a full suit and tie. Next to him is a beautiful woman that Felix doesn’t recognize. She’s wearing a wedding dress. Chan is kissing her cheek.

Cold fear washes over Felix’s skin and makes it prickle; confusion swirls in his stomach until he feels like he’s on a boat lost at storm. There has to be some explanation—why Chan hasn’t mentioned her, why he still has the photo, why, why, why—right? It can’t be what it looks like, because if it’s what it looks like—Felix feels sick. Fucking a guy so much older than him was one thing, but one who’s married? That’s a different story altogether.

“Lix?” Felix realizes he’s just been sitting there, frozen in shock. He feels the bed dip behind him. “What’re y—oh.”

Felix turns, praying his voice will remain steady, trying to keep his tone quiet and conversational, even though all he wants to do is scream. He holds up the photo. “Who’s this?” he asks. It comes out hoarse, almost a whisper.

“Ah…” Chan settles onto the mattress, crossing his legs in front of him. “I knew I’d have to bring it up eventually. I just—didn’t know how.”

“Tell me it’s not what I’m worried it is,” Felix begs.

“It’s not,” Chan says immediately. He holds his hand out for the photo; Felix gives it to him. He doesn’t miss the way Chan looks at it, warm and full of love, and around that, smothering like a heavy blanket, sadness. “This… this is Sana. My late wife.”

Felix’s heart plummets to the bottom of his stomach, as his fear and anger dissipates, only to be replaced with guilt and sympathy. “Oh,” he manages. “I—I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Chan says. He’s still looking at the photograph, at Sana. “You didn’t know. I should’ve told you—a while ago.” He sighs, big and deep. “She… she was a year older than me. We met when we were teenagers. We were in the same maths class, and we hated it so much. I asked her out during her last year of school, and we stayed together through university. Once we were out of school and had stable jobs, we moved in together, and then I proposed. She said yes.

“She passed away when she was twenty-seven, and I was twenty-six. We’d only been married about two years. She… had a genetic blood disorder that increases the chance of clots, and we just—we didn’t know. We didn’t know, and she had a stroke, and that was it.” Chan looks up, and his eyes are glassy with tears. “It happened during the day. I was at work; I had a shitty little desk job back then. She was staying home that day because she’d been feeling under the weather. She was just—she woke up headachy and dizzy. We thought it was just a weird day, or maybe a cold. When I came home, she was already gone.”

“Chan.” Felix doesn’t know what to say. He offers him his hand, and Chan takes it. “I’m so sorry.”

Chan shrugs. “I mean, there was nothing we could’ve done. It was just—just bad luck.” He squeezes Felix’s hand. “She was the love of my life, you know? And I miss her, every day. I thought, when she died, that I would never be happy again. I definitely thought I’d never be close to anyone ever again. I thought that was it.”

He tilts his head. “But then you came along. And you know—the first video of yours I saw was your cover of Frankie Valli’s ‘Can’t Take My Eyes Off You’, which I know you mostly covered because it was popular on TikTok, but—that was her favorite song. And I guess it was like, I don’t know, I felt like she was telling me I had to live again. At first, I thought it was just a sweet coincidence, that someone who had a shared background happened to be the one to cover that song, but now—I don’t know. It means a little more, I guess.”

Felix’s brows crumple, despite how hard he’s fighting to keep a straight face. It’s Chan’s pain, not his, but it touches him all the same. “That’s really sweet,” he says.

Chan smiles. He sets the picture aside, and then turns back to Felix. “It’s kind of dumb is what it is,” he says. “It’s been almost ten years. I mean, it took me like five years before I felt like I could smile again and mean it. I even—I mean, it was bad for a while, you know? But I had to stay. Lucas was only seventeen, he was still in high school. It’s just that I was so young. I wish I had been able to move on sooner, but I—I just couldn’t.”

Felix frowns. “You were so young, and you experienced something no one, especially at that age, should ever experience,” he points out. “It’s not your fault.”

Chan nods. “Yeah.” He pauses. “Anyway, I think this is all to say, thank you. Because even though I found a way to be happy again, and even though I was content, I didn’t think I’d ever have anyone in my life again in this kind of capacity. No matter how… unconventional or brief. But then there was you. It’s easier now, with you here. And even on nights when I’m alone, it’s easier just knowing that somewhere, you exist. You’ve shown me that I don’t have to spend the rest of my life lonely. So thank you.”

“I wasn’t doing it on purpose,” Felix mutters, embarrassed, and Chan laughs brightly and pulls him in for a hug.

“I know,” he says softly. “That’s the best part.” He sighs. “Grief is weird like that. One second, you’re sure that you’ve made all the progress you can make, and the next—something’s changed again, without anyone meaning it to, without your permission. Things get better on their own accord.” He huffs out a small breath of laughter. “I guess that’s why hope exists, right?”

“Yeah.” Felix holds onto him tight. He feels so stupid now; all his worries are trivial in the face of a heartbreak like this. How could he ever bring up his little troubles to Chan, knowing he’s gone through something like this? Felix doesn’t get to ask Chan to flip his entire life on its head just for him. He doesn’t get to ask Chan for anything. “Sorry for—snooping, I really didn’t mean to. I was—I thought you were using it as a bookmark, only you left your book open…”

Chan laughs. “Oh, it’s alright. You didn’t do it on purpose. It’s not like you went digging through my drawers or something.” He pulls back, reaching up to push some hair off of Felix’s forehead. “And even if you did, I don’t think it would matter. This was the only big secret I was keeping. I don’t have anything left to hide.”

Except me, Felix thinks. You don’t have anything left to hide, except for me.

☼ ☼ ☼

Felix wakes first the next morning. He looks over at Chan, limbs flung haphazardly across the bed, hair messy and all curly from drying overnight, outlines of his features barely visible in the low light. He pushes himself up out of bed and pads, shivering, across the hardwood to the bathroom. The weather is getting colder, and even though Chan’s building has heat, it’s like his bones can feel it, even when he’s indoors.

Maybe I’m getting old, Felix thinks as he flushes the toilet and washes his hands. It makes him giggle.

When he returns to bed, Chan is stirring. His eyes find Felix as he settles back under the covers. “Hi,” he whispers.

“Hi,” Felix replies.

Chan reaches up to cup Felix’s jaw, stroking his thumb over his skin. “Sorry,” he says, “for not telling you about Sana sooner. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Felix shakes his head. “It’s alright. It’s hard to talk about.” Chan hums. “I do have a question, though.”

“Sure.”

“If you… if you started dating Sana when you were still a teenager, then did you ever, um, with another guy? Before me?” Felix feels clumsy. It’s not that he’s questioning Chan’s choices or his identity, it’s more just that Chan seems like he knows exactly what he’s doing in bed, and Felix doesn’t think any amount of porn can teach you that. And he’s not really sure how to ask Chan how do you fuck so good without being rude.

Chan laughs. “I had a very not-serious boyfriend when I was a little younger,” he says. “And then, I don’t know, a few years ago I tried putting myself back into the dating scene. I dated anyone I was interested in—gender isn’t really a factor for me—but never for long. There was no connection, and always the looming pressure of commitment, you know? Dating over thirty gets scary. Everyone wants a ring, and I was just trying to figure things out. It wasn’t worth it, so I stopped.”

“Oh,” Felix says, nodding. “I mean—not that it matters to me. I was just curious, ‘cuz, um, you seem like you’ve had practice.”

Chan laughs again, this time loud and with his whole body. “I’ll take that as a compliment, then.”

“Mm,” Felix agrees, grinning. He leans close to kiss Chan, quick and chaste. “Hey, do you have all the stuff for your Hard Conversation Breakfast? I think we deserve a reward for the hard conversations we’ve had.”

“I think I do,” Chan says, nodding. “And I completely agree.” As if on cue, his stomach rumbles. “And so does my tummy,” he adds, giggling. “C’mon, let’s see what we can find.”

Felix makes their coffee while Chan cooks (near-black for Chan, and lots of sugar and cream for Felix). He watches Chan out of the corner of his eye as he waits for the water to boil. Things make more sense now—why Chan seems so solitary, why it felt like Felix didn’t quite understand him. But he understands him now, or at least he’s pretty sure. There’s an ache sitting heavy in his chest, one he doesn’t know how to name. It’s like wanting, and it’s also like despair. And mixed in, without his permission, is hope.

Oh god, Felix thinks, the realization hitting him so hard that he nearly stumbles on his way to retrieving their mugs, oh god. I’m in love.

He clenches his jaw as he pours the coffee, trying to focus on not spilling. But inside, his mind rages. There’s the sweet euphoria that comes with all loves, certainly, but it’s drowned by his fear and the knowing that Chan could never love him back.

He wishes he’d thought of it later, later today after Chan drops him off, where he can lay it all out and process it in peace. As it is, all he can do is try to hide how bad his hands are shaking as he carries their full coffee mugs to the table, as he pulls out utensils and lays them out in front of their seats, as he turns and asks, “Need any help?”

Chan flashes him a glance, smiling gratefully. “No, thank you,” he says, and Felix aches.

As much as he tries to act normal, there’s not much Felix can do against his own heart. I love you, he thinks, watching Chan cut his sausages into bite-sized pieces before handing his plate over. I love you, he thinks as Chan slides into his chair and gives a happy sigh at the sight of his coffee. I love you. Maybe if he thinks it hard enough, Chan will understand.

“This is perfect,” Chan says, gesturing at the coffee cup. “You know me well.”

Felix smiles. I love you. “I’d hope so,” he says. “I’m glad I got it right.”

“So what’s our plan for today?” Chan asks.

Felix shrugs. “Feels like a good day to spend doing nothing.”

“I agree completely,” Chan says, nodding. “Want to find a shitty drama to watch?”

“Oh, I meant nothing like go right back to bed after we eat,” Felix says.

Chan regards him suspiciously over the rim of his mug. “Sounds like you do have an agenda after all.”

Felix offers him a sly smile. “Maybe. Or we can just cuddle, I’m flexible.” And he’s not just saying it to be cute—he just wants to be close to Chan. He doesn’t really care in what way.

But Chan just laughs. “Nah, you know what they say about great minds thinking alike and all that,” he says. “So I say fuck and then cuddle. We can have it all. Hm?”

“Yeah,” Felix giggles, chasing a piece of egg around his plate with his fork.

So they leave their dishes in the sink and do exactly that. Felix snuggles down under the blankets as Chan runs to the bathroom and gets a couple other things in order. He flops down into bed beside Felix a few moments later, leaning close and pressing kisses to Felix’s jaw.

It’s almost unbearable. Felix breathes him in, the earthy vanilla that is Chan to him now, running his fingers over the strong muscles of his arms, tucking his chin in a little so Chan has no choice but to kiss him on the mouth instead. And Chan kisses him. And Felix aches.

“Baby, you’re hurting me,” Chan whispers, shaking his arm, and Felix realizes he’s dug his fingers in, so hard he can barely feel his fingertips—clinging, without meaning to, because he doesn’t want to let him go.

“Sorry,” Felix mumbles, releasing him quickly. “I didn’t realize.”

“It’s okay,” Chan soothes. “You want me close is all. I can do close.” He kisses Felix’s forehead, wrapping one of his arms around Felix’s waist. “I’m not going anywhere.”

That’s not true, Felix wants to say. But instead he lets Chan smother him in kisses, give him so much affection he’s drowning in it. It doesn’t matter. Felix doesn’t think it’ll ever be enough. He throws an arm over Chan’s shoulder, scratching lightly down his back while Chan bites a hickey into his chest. He’s got one of his legs slung over both of Felix’s.

“Chan,” Felix says breathlessly. “Oh my god, Chan.”

Chan untangles their limbs, pushes himself up and on top of Felix, spreading his legs so he can sit between them. He smooths his hands down Felix’s stomach, taking the hem of his t-shirt in his hands and pulling up. Felix helps, sitting up a little so Chan can undress him. Next go his shorts and underwear. Chan makes it fair; he tugs his own shirt off next, along with his sweats and underwear, and then they’re both naked, skin brushing skin. Felix looks at Chan, watches him as he runs a hand down his thigh, watches as he looks up, sees Felix looking, and smiles.

“Toss me the lube?” he asks, nodding at the bottle that he left by his pillow.

Felix scrabbles around for it, tossing it underhand to Chan, who catches it easily. Chan pops the lid, lubing up his fingers and then pressing one to Felix’s entrance. He bends over Felix’s body, pressing gentle kisses to his stomach as he pushes his finger in. He looks up at Felix as he moves his finger, slow so Felix doesn’t get overwhelmed too quickly. Felix runs his hand through Chan’s hair, fingers getting tangled in his soft curls. Chan hums, closing his eyes and leaning into Felix’s touch.

Something feels different, and Felix isn’t sure that it’s all in his head. Chan rests his cheek against his stomach and fucks first one finger, then two, then three, in and out of Felix, stretching him with practiced hands. It’s almost the same, but the air feels different. There’s something heavier, more fragile, resting between them. Chan uses his free hand to trace random patterns into Felix’s skin. The intimacy of the mundane seems dizzying.

Chan rearranges himself, folding in half and mouthing at the head of Felix’s cock. Felix’s grip tightens in Chan’s hair, and Chan takes this as the go-ahead that it is, sinking down on Felix’s cock while he crams his pinky finger in beside the other three. Felix gasps and moans and tries not to buck his hips up into Chan’s mouth, trembling when Chan finds his prostate.

As soon as he knows he’s loose enough to take Chan’s cock, he’s pushing Chan away. “Fuck, stop, stop, or I’ll come,” he pants. “I don’t wanna come yet, stop.”

Chan acquiesces, releasing him and sitting back on his heels, searching for the lube bottle, which has gotten lost in the crumpled mound of the duvet. “Could just make you come again,” he points out, but Felix shakes his head.

“Too sleepy for that,” he replies, and Chan nods.

So Chan slicks up his cock instead and eases himself into Felix, all the way until he bottoms out and their bodies are pressed flush to one another. Chan spreads his legs so that he has a knee on either side of Felix’s ass; Felix tucks his knees up and locks his ankles behind Chan’s back as Chan tips forward and settles himself right on top of Felix, nose against his neck and one hand cradling the back of his skull. Felix lets out a soft moan, one of his hands finding Chan’s cheek.

“Good?” Chan asks.

“Good,” Felix replies dreamily.

Chan rolls his hips, one slow, fluid motion and Felix shakes, pleasure washing over his body, making his skin hot and his eyes sting with unshed tears. Chan’s deep inside him, and all Felix can do is stutter out moans as Chan continues to fuck him just like that.

Chan lifts his head up a little so he can kiss Felix properly, and Felix takes his jaw with both hands and holds him there, kissing hungrily, whining into Chan’s mouth.

“Fuck, baby,” Chan murmurs, knocking their foreheads together as they break apart for a moment. “So eager today, what is it?”

“Want you, daddy,” Felix replies plaintively. “I always want you.”

“But I’m right here,” Chan says. “You already have me.”

“I know,” Felix whispers, and kisses him again before he can say something stupid, like it’s not enough, or I want you but not like this, or I want you in ways I’m not supposed to want you, that I never meant to want you, I love you and I want you to love me too—all true, all damning. Because that’s the thing, the instant this becomes anything more than hooking up, it’s over. And Felix doesn’t want it to be over; he doesn’t want it to ever be over, he wants to keep pretending that it’ll last because he doesn’t know what he’ll do when this is gone.

I love you, he thinks as he kisses Chan fiercely, messy and hot. Chan lets him, just keeps fucking him like that, circling his hips until Felix’s brain slows down, until he doesn’t have to think about any of it any more because he can’t, doesn’t have the space to.

The sun is rising higher in the sky behind the blackout curtains, casting blinding lines of light across the floor and the bed where there are cracks. The room is warm and full with its quietness. Chan holds Felix close to his body, even when they get sweaty, even when Felix’s cock smears precome across his belly.

“Baby,” Chan breathes. “So fuckin’ good.”

“Daddy,” Felix whimpers back. Even just a month or two ago, he would have laughed at the idea that slow, lazy sex would get him like this, would make him feel anything other than a little bored. The Felix from January would have rolled his eyes at the thought.

But so much has changed since then.

Chan gives him another kiss on his jaw, and then pushes himself up a little so that he has more room to move. He reaches down for Felix’s cock; Felix shivers when he takes it in his hand, stroking him in time with his thrusts, and speeding up little by little, then back down again so Felix doesn’t get overstimulated. It’s so good—Chan knows his body so well now, knows the signs that it's starting to turn from pleasure to discomfort, and relents, waiting for him to settle back down into the mattress before picking up the pace again.

“Beautiful, baby,” Chan says softly, and Felix chokes out a moan. “You’re so beautiful.”

“I—I’m—” Felix tries, he tries to speak, but it’s hard when Chan is lulling him to a sort of lust-filled stupor. “Daddy, ‘m gonna come.” It comes out unsteady, syllables just barely fitting in around his breath.

Chan thumbs at his slit in response with a smile. It’s not as sharp as Felix thinks he meant it to be, the only thing that betrays his fatigue. “Gonna come?” he repeats. “Lemme see, baby.”

Felix gasps, rocking his hips up into Chan’s fist, and comes with a little whimper, watching helplessly as his cock spills his sticky white release over Chan’s pretty fingers, dripping down onto his stomach and mixing with the glistening pool of precome that had gathered there. Chan toys with his slit again, and has the audacity to laugh when the pressure makes some of it shoot up Felix’s chest.

“Like you’re squirting,” Chan murmurs, clearly pleased. Felix only moans shakily as his orgasm subsides and leaves him feeling weak and punched-out, limbs uncooperative and unstable.

Now Chan leans in again, even though Felix is messy. He presses his tongue to a drop of come on Felix’s chest, and cleans him up like that while he fucks him, harder now as he chases his own release. His lips and tongue feel so good against Felix’s skin that it almost distracts him from the slight discomfort of overstimulation.

“Daddy,” Felix slurs, toes curling from the way Chan’s still hitting his prostate. “Daddy, daddy, hurts.”

“I’ll be quick,” Chan forces out, muffled against Felix’s chest, “I promise—”

Felix lets out a soft surprised noise as he feels Chan’s cock twitch inside him, flooding him with wet heat. Chan gasps out moans, pumping his cock in and out shallowly as he rides out his orgasm, breath hot on Felix’s skin.

Chan pulls out as soon as he’s done, dropping his full body weight onto Felix, which Felix doesn’t really mind. He does mind the fact that he can feel Chan’s come leaking out of him, but that can wait, too, he supposes.

Still, he says, “Your sheets are gonna stain.”

Chan huffs. “I have stain remover for a reason.”

It’s a pretty fair argument, so Felix just hums and wraps his arms around Chan, rubbing his back.

“You’re right, though,” Chan says after a moment. “This isn’t going to be comfortable for much longer.”

He pushes himself up and off of Felix, clambering to his feet and offering Felix a hand to help him up, too. They strip the bed; Chan takes it to the laundry machine while Felix goes to clean himself up.

By the time he’s emerged from the bathroom again, Chan is already almost done putting down fresh sheets. He’s fluffing the pillows, and the crease between his brows betrays him—he’s lost in thought about something. Felix can probably guess what.

And for one moment, Felix looks at Chan and sees him in a new sort of light: thirty-five year old Teacher Bang, a melancholy widower who makes music because it’s what keeps him alive. Who’s still around looking for a reason to stay because he doesn’t have anything else, because he stayed so his little brother wouldn’t lose him, and then by the time his brother wasn’t so little anymore, it had already become a habit. Who is kind and friendly by nature, but incredibly lonely because he doesn’t know how to do anything about it.

But then he turns, and catches sight of Felix, and he becomes Felix’s Chan again, his Channie-hyung. The years melt off of his face at the hint of his smile, growing when Felix smiles back. The hope shines in his eyes, bringing with it a bright warmth. And all those other things are still there, under the surface, but they’re not him. They’re just a part of him.

“What?” Chan asks softly, and Felix realizes he’s rooted to the spot, one step out of the bathroom, staring.

I love you, Felix thinks. “Nothing,” he says instead, forcing himself to move, to walk to the bed and help button up the duvet cover.

“Okay.” Chan accepts it with a shrug, giving him a kiss on the forehead when he’s close enough to reach. He scoots down under the covers and holds out his arms to Felix. And Felix aches.

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dreamsmp-au-ideas · 4 years

Text

I was going to actually post this before asks closed (didn’t get the chance), but Teddy Bear Anon, you are one of my favorite people and a magnificent creature. You get my vibe.

About Bad canonically being Sapnap’s dad I feel like that has so much extra angst potential when we consider the rest of the found family. Like. Sapnap, Tommy, and Fundy all have dads who started with the best of intentions but for one reason or another ended up slowly becoming a danger to them. I imagine Tommy and Fundy one day showing up with a cake and telling Sapnap “We regretfully welcome you to the shit dad club” and Sapnap is torn between being upset still and laughing over the absurdity of the situation.

Bonus points if Tommy made the cake using a recipe book that Niki gave him, the last gift Niki ever gave to Tommy. Tommy was originally a really bad cook/baker but after the egg really started to take over he went full survivalist. Leaning to cook was necessary but learning to bake was something he did as a way to raise everyone’s spirits. He’s never gotten the flavor quite to match with Niki’s perfectly but everyone agrees he’s gotten pretty decent in terms of skills. He and Fundy in particular will sometimes just spend an entire day in silence baking and then quietly eat their creations while reflecting on the friends they’ve made and lost over the course of L'manberg’s lifetime. When the group got back to the past and Niki made cookies for Tommy and Fundy the pair very nearly started crying.

Tommy is in an interesting position as a character since he did commit a lot of minor crimes and acted as a general nuisance but he was also still a child. (A very traumatized one considering I canonize SMP Earth with its unlimited lives but even more wars. Including against God. Tommy fought God just let me have this.) He acknowledges the moments when he went over the line and has tried to apologize. In particular at some point before the egg fully takes over he pulls aside Jack and tells him that he’s sorry for the way he acted when he was still in exile, taking one of Jack’s lives and all. Jack and Niki in particular are an interesting subject to address and a painful one for immune!Tommy to think about when he sees younger Niki because the three never fully tossed out the hatchet but it was obvious in the eyes of someone like Sam that both of them were growing more and more hesitant to hurt Tommy. It was made worse by the fact neither were even marginally immune, and it didn’t take long for the egg to get to them.

He never stopped being chaotic. Tommy at his core is just that kind of person. He did, however, grow up enough to act in a more mature manner. Started to recognize what’s too much. In particular he became a lot less violent and willing to lash out after Sam Nook in essence reparented him. He’s still an absolute wild card of a person, which in the eyes of Sam and Sapnap is a good thing. For this au I think we should actually address Tommy having severe ptsd and during the building of his hotel/the early days of the egg before it becomes a noticeable threat it shows. He’s a lot more subdued. Shows of aggression all carry a kind of desperation and his typical jokes feel flat. Lashing out at people slowly becomes more of a defense mechanism to see if someone’s going to leave or betray him, to test the limits of how nice they’re willing to be. After all, nice people have only ever been nice to Tommy when they wanted something from him. His eyes, especially after L'manberg is blow sky high, are well and truly gray. The first time Tommy genuinely laughs after filling Sapnap’s room with chickens is considered celebration worthy to them. His pranks take on a more hermitcraft-esque feel to them which honestly makes them more funny.

By the time they get to the past Tommy has recovered, but he still carries the kind of maturity that like Teddy Bear mentioned is reminiscent of age swap Tommy. When he gets especially stressed though, Immune!Tommy will slip into moments where he acts as tired and done with the world as age swap Tommy. With that said, most of the time he just acts like a more mature Tommy. Nothing could ever completely erase his unique vibe which Ranboo has gone on record as describing “Willing to fight God deaf, blind, and backwards just to prove a point."

Immune Fundy and Tommy get on really well once Fundy manages to catch up with the rest of the group. It gets to the point where everyone from the past is kinda shocked since smp Fundy and Tommy do not get along. At all. Literally the first night Fundy’s back someone goes to wake them up and they find Fundy asleep on top of Tommy which is a wild experience since this Tommy is a goliath who often refuses to take off his full Netherite max enchant armor. He really becomes a "looks like he could kill you but is actually a cinnamon roll” kinda mans.

Also, yeah, this is Dream’s retirement arc. He is literally just sitting in the corner watching Tommy dote on his younger self and Tubbo before completely pile driving two of the most powerful people on the server straight into the dirt. At some point Tommy sits down with past Punz. He tells this Punz that their Punz died protecting him and Tubbo and that Tommy never got to properly thank their Punz so he’s going to thank this Punz. Tommy then gives Punz an entire stack of Netherite. If we’re gonna go ahead and agree on Phoenix Tommy then Tommy is fire proof, meaning he probably spent a large amount of time in the nether to avoid the egg crew and get rare supplies. Meaning he also probably did a lot of mining just to distract himself and it resulted in him being loaded. Tommy used to have a fear of tnt and explosives but he seems like the type of mad lad to say “exposure therapy” and make a massive cavern in the underbelly of the nether.

I think it would also be really interesting to dedicate like, a couple of chapters to other people’s perspectives. I kind of want to set the time they arrive in the past partway through the Pogtopia arc since I like mildly unhinged but not completely gone Wilbur. Plus then it also makes more sense for Techno to be there. Just prefer the aesthetic really. I want to have Wilbur see this version of Tommy and come to a sudden “oh” moment. I want to have a moment where Tubbo looks between his Tommy and this new Tommy, seeing himself nowhere to be found, and has enough what the fuck moments to become aggressively protective of his own Tommy. Especially if immune!Tommy ever admits to the past Tubbo why he is the way he is, what he faced under the thumb of the people he trusted. Which, out of everyone on the server, Tubbo would be the first one from the past to actively learn.

I am fully on board with Tommy knowing how to sew. That should just automatically be canon in literally ever AU. Tommy for all intents and purposes is still Phil’s child for me. Survival runs in the family the same way that chaos does, so he’s got a ton of basic survival skills that he just doesn’t show off because it’s still Tommy. He would have been completely fine in exile if it wasn’t for Dream. Whenever someone ruins their clothes in the Immune group they automatically go to Tommy and at first the past versions are very confused (except for past Tommy and Tubbo obviously) and then Tommy’s just “Sapnap this is beyond ruined it can’t be saved, let me make you something new” and within a couple days he makes Sapnap a completely new outfit. Like maybe Sapnap fell into a lava pool because Blaze Sapnap Supremacy and his clothes are beyond saving and everyone is beyond baffled when Tommy just acts like this is a weekly occurrence. He’s memorized Sapnap’s measurements and style tastes and already had a new outfit in the works for him that Sapnap immediately adores upon it being presented to him. It takes about a week for past Eret to learn that Tommy stress sews new clothing and he cannot think of a better model. Eret has never had such a full closet. Eret has everything from three piece suits to ball gowns now. Eret lives in terror of the days where Tommy disappears god knows where with Fundy and the two reappear with a new wardrobe for the entire god damn server.

Speaking of disappearing I really like the idea of part phoenix and part tanuki Tommy for a couple reasons. Being a Tanuki he’d have access to enough magic to hide his hybrid traits, which if they’ve been present for long enough would be a necessity to him. Additionally think about Fundy and Tommy building a den under Church Prime that slowly turns into a maze. Think about it. It starts off simple and then they both start digging more and it gets deeper and deeper and more complicate and the two just refer to it as their den and the only ones who are fully aware of the connotations of that word are Sam, Sapnap, and Ranboo who remember the absolute hell that was trying to navigate the original. Just Fundy and Tommy bonding over the fact they are literally the only creatures on this server that have this catacomb memorized and at the end of the catacomb is their saferoom which connects to rail way that the two spent a month straight on. It goes at least 25k blocks from spawn and it’s a final emergency resort in case they can’t stop the egg and the Immunes needs to regroup and essentially try again (if they keep bringing their younger selves with them then hopefully they’ll finally get an army large enough to stop this, but everyone really hopes it doesn’t come to that.)

I’m working on the first chapter of my fic right now actually if I’m gonna be honest and phoenix Tommy is absolutely without question canon to it but I’ve still been going back and forth on if I want him to be part tanuki as well or just blessed/favored by one like Teddy Bear mentioned. I’m also tucking away the whole thing about the magma blood for later use. Phoenix Tommy just makes sense. They used to call him Zombie Kid for a reason back on SMP Earth, he just literally does not die ever unless he decides he does.

~Snapdragon & Firefly

#dream smp #dream smp au #immune au #tommyinnit #fundy #sapnap #eret #the eret #awesamdude #dream #dreamwastaken #wilbur soot #submission #snapdragon & firefly #long post

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tinyinvadr · 3 years

Text

Hi!!! Doing a bit of an overhaul on my intro since I really haven’t updated it much.

Name: invadr (real name’s a secret and invadr is just too iconic)

Age: 22

Pronouns: They/Them

Current Interests: Psychonauts, The Amazing Digital Circus, Project Sekai, Vocaloid, Animal Crossing, Undertale/Deltarune, Monster High, bunch of other stuff that’s also floating in the back of my mind waiting for a turn in the front, and of course, I still love Invader Zim.

Tiny: Yes. Definitely. Absolutely.

So, g/t has been a concept I’ve loved for as long as I can remember. I’ve always related to tiny characters, and watching them interact with other people and the world around them was something that I wished I could experience. But sadly, I was not born as a fairy or a borrower, so all I can do is imagine it!

But yeah, I was really excited when I discovered the existence of the g/t community a few years back and realized I wasn’t the only person who liked this concept, and slowly but surely, it changed my life in a pretty positive way! I’ve met some really awesome people, written some (mostly unfinished) stories, and found a place where I can be unapologetically myself.

Anyway, this has been requested before, so here is my…

Writing Masterpost

Invader Zim

Borrower!Recap Kid Series

This was a series of connected one shots about Recap Kid as a borrower living in the Membrane household. There wasn’t really much of a story, but this was the first thing I wrote for g/t Tumblr.

The Kid in the Wall

Accident

Skoolday of Doom

Sick Day

Hug a Giant Day

They’ll Be Back

Hug a Tiny Day

Don’t Face the Music

Tiny Alien

This was a fic that I only ever wrote one chapter for. It’s an AU where Irkens are tiny, and Zim crash lands on Earth but loses his memories, so he ends up befriending Dib because he doesn’t remember he was sent to Earth to destroy it. So it’s pretty much The Iron Giant but with a little guy instead of a big guy. But there’s only one chapter, and I honestly don’t think I’ll finish it.

Tiny Alien

The Lone Lumin

An OC fic about my character, Bek. She is a Lumin, a race of tiny aliens that glow, and her planet was conquered by the Irken Empire. She’s been on the run for a while, and ends up taking refuge on Earth, disguising herself as a human by transforming her ship into a robotic mech suit. She, of course, goes to skool and meets Zim, and the moment she finds out he’s an Irken she wants him dead. Didn’t get very far with this one either, no idea if I’ll ever go back to it.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Into the PAK

A very angsty fic that I only posted on AO3. It also only has two chapters, but maybe it’s for the best because I was very depressed when I wrote it. Dib is a miserable college kid and Zim discovers his whole life is a lie, and through a series of events, Dib gets shrunk and ends up watching Zim’s memories through a recording inside his PAK, and he learns about Zim’s past and they finally acknowledge that they have similar trauma and bond over it.

Into the PAK

Borrowed Family

A revamp of sorts of my Borrower!Recap series, although now it follows a more linear story. I fell off writing this one and now that I’ve gotten into TADC I probably won’t go back to it anytime soon, but out of all my IZ fics, this is the one I’d be most likely to return to.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Original Works

Robyn and Jack

An unfinished original story I only wrote three chapters for. It’s about a kid who runs away and accidentally ends up in another dimension where giant beings live. Basically, a representation of my tired adult self adopting my rambunctious child self and the two of them helping each other become better people.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Petal in the Audience

One of my longest works besides Borrowed Family, and even though it wasn’t that long ago since I last worked on this story I honestly kind of forgot about it. Kind of a shame ‘cause I liked it, just not sure what I should do with it going forward. Most of the chapters are on Tumblr but I moved it to AO3 and continued it on there since it wasn’t getting much traction here. Anyway, it’s about Petal, a teenage borrower who has grown up watching the friendship between the two human siblings who live in her house and their friend who lives in the neighborhood and frequently visits. Petal sees them as her friends even though she hasn’t revealed herself to them for safety reasons, though in reality, her relationship to them is more like a spectator watching a show. Of course, that all changes when she ends up meeting them for real.

Petal in the Audience

Project Sekai

I only have two unnamed one shots for Project Sekai, one of which was a request from my good friend @whatifitwasgttho. I do have an idea for a fully fledged story set in a fantasy AU, but I haven’t had much time to flesh it out, and now that my TADC brain rot is in full force it might be a while before I work on it again. I do have a lot of ideas for this story, though, and I really hope I can share it here someday.

Shizuku & Minori

Rui & Mizuki

The Amazing Digital Circus

Hide & Shrink

This story is set the day after the pilot, and Caine’s adventure of the day is a game of Hide & Seek, but with a twist! Pomni is tiny now, and for some reason, Caine can’t change her back.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Psychonauts

See You on the Other Side

A one-shot that takes place during the Lungfishopolis level, but Lili’s there and she’s tiny. I saw the g/t and I ran with it.

See You on the Other Side

Psychoborrower

A full fic that I actually completed! This one centers around my OC Flint, a psychic borrower who ran away from home in order to prove himself to his parents and become a Psychonaut. He’s just gotta overcome his fear of humans and bunnies first. Easier said than done.

Prologue

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Epilogue

Flint’s First Week

A prequel one-shot to Psychoborrower about Flint’s first week at camp. AKA SashaMilla becoming parents fic.

Flint’s First Week

Psychoborrower in the Rhombus of Ruin

Set directly after Psychoborrower, Flint sets out on his first official mission, accompanied by the greatest team he could ask for. That is, until they get separated. And they all start hallucinating.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Psychoborrower 2

Flint and Raz are finally achieving their dream! They’re going to the Motherlobe! They’re going… in the internship program? Not what they had in mind, but it’ll have to do. Besides, an evil plot is unfolding behind the scenes, and it seems it’s up to them alone to put a stop to it.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

#g/t #giant/tiny #giant tiny #g/t writing #tadc g/t #invader zim

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katytheinspiredworkaholic · 3 years

Text

Correspondence, Chapter 03

Pairing: HotchReid

Summary: An AU where Reid never joined the FBI, but got roped into consulting for the LA field office while working and teaching at Caltech. Hotch gets his email referred from a fellow agent, and they start to work on cases together -- until they start talking on a regular basis. Regular becomes frequent, frequent becomes constant. They know nothing about each other, but they don't really mind.

Rating: Mature/Explicit (eventually)

Chapter CW/notes: Mentions of alcohol, a very long conversation happens where Hotch is a little buzzed. Big, BIG focus on their age difference, and unintentional misinformation. Spencer has no idea Hotch thinks he’s older, or at least not OLD older, and gets a little panicky/clams up -- and yes I realize Hotch could just background check him and find it out but he respects the man enough to not do that. The chapter is linear, it just encompasses a lot of time passing so hopefully that’s not too confusing. Set in season 6, self beta’d.

Word Count: 5025

Masterpost Link

Ao3 Link

Chapter 03

Early September 2010

And so, it begins.

The dynamic shift, the vast change in how Hotch and Dr. Reid had been corresponding for the past few months. Evolving from something so professional and academic to something… looser. More freeing. More room for error, of course, but the risk turns out to be more than worth it for what they gain.

The texts are sporadic, at first. Short interactions, here and there, all stemming from that first, longer conversation about Jack. Hotch follows up the very next day, after he gets to talk to his son in the morning over pancakes. Jessica hovering nearby the whole time. She had apologized for her harsh words, and commended him after the fact how he’d approached Jack on the subject and led the little boy into a conversation rather than a lecture like his teachers had done. Because, as Spencer had mentioned -- there was no need for one. Jack already had the situation handled.

[]6/4, 12:39[] You were right.

[]6/4, 12:39[] He invited the kid that was bullying him over for a playdate. Trying to win him over by killing him with kindness.

[]6/4, 12:43[] My kind of kid.

[]6/4, 12:44[] You’ve taught him well, Hotch.

And that was it. That was all it took to kick off what turns into a frequent occurrence. Slowly, as time passes, their quick texts turn to conversations that naturally revert to work. It’s where they spend most of their time, after all, and what they had bonded over in the first place. But unlike in their emails, it isn’t just about the cases or profiles or statistics required to crack them. It’s much more opinionated than that, erratic in it’s content and frequency. Commentary on Hotch’s team, ideas on the cases they work, case studies and research projects and sometimes even just office gossip that somehow always makes its way to Hotch’s attention despite everyone trying to keep it from doing so.

Or just Dr. Reid observing their antics. This is the beginning of the tonal shift, and Hotch can’t help but think… it just might be a welcome one.

[]6/12, 10:03[] Your tech analyst always sends me rainbow font emails.

[]6/12, 10:07[] Yes, she’s doing that with everyone on the team. It’s Pride month and she’s being supportive.

[]6/12, 10:11[] She considers me a part of the team? How sweet of her.

[]6/12, 10:12[] You are, and as far as the bureau goes you might as well be.

[]6/12, 10:13[] I doubt I could sneak you into payroll, though.

[]6/12, 10:21[] I bet Ms. Garcia could.

[]6/12, 10:28[] Don’t. Say. Anything.

[]6/12, 10:29[] But yes, she could.

It turns into a small reprieve, for Hotch, in the constant deluge of bureaucracy and violence that fills his work day. The single moment he allows a sliver of himself to appear through the cracks of his armor he has to wear to guard himself from it all. To be the stoic leader the team needs, the unmovable tree in the storm.

Only in his quick, typed under the table conversations he has with Spencer does he allow himself the slips of humor. Barely there traces of a smile. Finding the smallest spots of light in his dark days, in his work that can surround and consume to the point of suffocation. Hotch thrives in it, he always has -- while others have drowned. But he doesn’t mind finding this small self-indulgence. Making the decision for himself that he can joke and poke fun at his work and not feel guilty about it. That, for once, he can allow himself this.

Until one day, Spencer returns the favor -- and starts talking about his own work.

[]7/21, 16:17[] If I leave all of my Ph.D. applicants in a ditch in the desert, is that still murder?

[]7/21, 16:30[] Technically or hypothetically?

[]7/21, 16:34[] Different question, would you be my legal council if I snap and it happens anyway?

[]7/21, 16:37[] Of course.

[]7/21, 16:38[] But as your attorney, I have to advise you that we never had this conversation, and murder is wrong.

[]7/21, 16:40[] Hypothetically.

Spencer takes a little longer to open up, but when he does it is through this window into an academic world Hotch had never planned or thought he would ever be privy to. He begins to reveal pieces of it, bit by bit, until Hotch starts to form a picture in his mind of what shape this professor’s life really takes. Making deductions based on his speech patterns, what goes on throughout his day, his word choices, and profiling the man through text message without even meaning to.

He tries to put a stop to it as soon as he realizes this. Dr. Reid isn’t just a consultant anymore, he is his friend -- and Hotch will always do his utmost to not profile his friends. But it’s a little too late for some aspects that can’t help but stand out as time goes on. Such as the inkling that the other man probably isn’t senile with a cane and a stooped back, like Hotch had first thought. Certain parts of his day allude to someone who is a bit fresher to the academic scene -- instead of spending decades on a college campus.

But Hotch sets that aside, to be scrutinized at a later date, and instead turns his focus into enjoying what Spencer has to offer him. As his friend. The stories he shares freely, now that they’ve spent all this time breaking down the barriers. He regales Hotch with his own daily problems, grievances, as well as the little bright spots that he just wants to share with Hotch so that it can lighten up his own days. Which were much more bleak, and crowded with danger and horrid things.

Hotch lives for those messages.

[]7/28, 20:42[] So I have a godson.

[]7/28, 20:44[] He’s four, and he just came to visit last week with his mother. Have you and Jack ever done science experiments at home?

[]7/28, 20:46[] Because I have some that are definite crowd pleasers. Do them right, you can call them ‘physics magic’. I can send you the instructions, it’s well worth it.

[]7/28, 20:47[] I’m not sure how helpful I would be in a scientific area, but I’m always willing to try.

[]7/28, 20:49[] I’d require video evidence of it, then.

[]7/28, 20:50[] But they are so fun, I’d forgotten how much.

[]7/28, 20:51[] No children of your own?

[]7/28, 20:54[] Never found the right person, but I always spent so much time on my degrees that I hadn’t really thought about being a parent.

[]7/28, 20:55[] My Godson really brought it to light, though. I love having him here.

[]7/28, 20:56[] I bet he loves when you come around, or when they get to visit you, too.

[]7/28, 20:59[] I work in a science lab, with lasers and telescopes bigger than my first apartment. My approval rating is pretty high when it comes to my godson.

Although Hotch finds that he doesn’t always start these interactions, the ones that lead to topics outside of work, he also isn’t against them in the slightest. They begin to start messaging at all hours, because of this; first thing in the morning, during their lunch break, whenever something pops up -- what used to be jokes that would just be kept to themselves, turn to conversation starters. And that development shifts the dynamic even more.

[]8/11, 10:31[] Coffee shops always make me feel old, and like I’m a grad student all over again.

[]8/11, 10:38[] You don’t have a T.A. to run and get you coffee?

[]8/11, 10:41[] Of course you would send out for coffee.

[]8/11, 10:42[] Well my order is two steps, not sixteen.

[]8/11, 10:43[] Tyrant.

[]8/11, 10:43[] Pretentious.

They start to tease, banter, and poke fun at each other. Comradery, friendship, and the more it goes on the more it seems to spiral towards something else. Something new.

But it’s these small moments, messages, conversations that can last a minute or an hour, that make Hotch’s chest feel so much lighter as the weeks go by. Hints of a smile easing onto his face, smoothing out and softening the edges in a way they haven’t in a long time. Garnering some attention from the rest of the team, or whoever is in the vicinity that felt brave enough to mention it.

“Who are you talking to?”

“Who’s the lucky lady?”

“No one,” Hotch would answer, schooling himself and pocketing his phone. “Just a consultant on a case.”

This is how it goes… for months.

They never speak on the phone. Never even hint at video calls. Never send pictures. (Although Spencer does make a mention once or twice about that promised video when Hotch finally gets around to attempting the ‘physics magic’ experiment he’d emailed him. Hotch secretly hopes that maybe, one day, Spencer will just get to show them in person. Instead of Hotch having to record it for anyone to witness.)

But they talk like clockwork. Play chess on the regular, allowing them to talk more fluently with a laptop to aid the flow of conversation. It starts with once a week, then twice a week, standing dates after hours that meld so seamlessly with their messages every workday. They keep it to the weekdays, at first, since Hotch is busy with Jack on the weekends. But that doesn’t last long. Suddenly, without warning -- it becomes every night as well. That shift is such an organic, natural progression, that it slips in without either of them making comment on it. A silent agreement, because mentioning it would mean admitting why they were pushing this in such a new direction.

They just… missed talking to each other. Two days was too long.

Now, it’s every day.

They text for hours; check in on each other at random throughout the day even when Hotch is on cases or Spencer is busy with his duties as the leading doctoral expert of Caltech. Times when they should be swamped, unavailable to anything other than their primary focus and work load, still littered with short messages. Before and after each flight, when Hotch gets back to his hotel at night, when Spencer has to lecture out of town and they just so happen to be passing each other during travel -- mere states away. So close, yet so far. It’s all the time, it’s constant, and it’s wonderful.

Spencer still helps with cases. Often, even more often than he ever helped the L.A. field office. But it’s not always through email, anymore. Sometimes it’s just easier for Hotch to shoot him a quick text. A detailed message in the middle of their everyday banter and dribble but no less out of place, knowing the good Doctor will answer him quickly. Time is of the essence when they are on a case, but they are always on retainer for each other. Waiting in the wings, ready to jump in with quick, snappy wit and bitten-back smiles, and Hotch feels so good. So light. Better than he has in years.

Happy.

Hotch is happy, finding a friend in Dr. Spencer Reid, even if sometimes that friendship seems to transcend layers he didn’t know were there. Developing into something else, something he hadn’t touched in a long, long time.

Months pass. Months. Like a blur. Like they’ve only just started this thing that’s anticipatory and comfortable and flexible in its medium and that is so easy -- everything Hotch needs in his life -- that he can barely imagine what his days and nights were like before this. Before Spencer.

But it’s months into this correspondence, this charged and bright thing, that he’s home late one night with a Scotch in one hand and a losing game of online chess long forgotten on his laptop screen. Lost in messaging Spencer, back to his phone instead of the chat feature of the chess game. Because texting is their comfort zone, now. He never thought it would be, had seen teenagers and adults attached to their phones like a lifeline and used to scoff about it, but he finally has begun to understand.

Because here he is -- not even looking up when he takes a drink -- lost in his conversation with Spencer. Making each other laugh, in a way he hasn’t in so long. Loud and high and afraid he might wake Jack down the hall so he stifles it with another sip of his Scotch.

[]9/8, 21:12[] If Jack wakes up, you know that’s it for us. He’ll never go back to sleep.

[]9/8, 21:13[] Then stop laughing so loud. I honestly can’t imagine you laughing enough to wake him.

[]9/8, 21:14[] Usually I don’t. I never laugh like this, but I used to.

[]9/8, 21:16[] Mr. FBI isn’t allowed to laugh, I thought. Didn’t they beat that out of you at the academy?

[]9/8, 21:19[] I was able to retain a smidgen of humor, it’s well hidden. You just seem to bring it out more than others.

[]9/8, 21:20[] I’m flattered.

[]9/8, 21:20[] You should be.

[]9/8, 21:21[] If my team saw me crack a smile I’d probably be forced to get a CAT scan.

[]9/8, 21:23[] Do you need one? I have an M.A. in Cognitive Sciences, I’ll be your second opinion.

[]9/8, 21:24[] Probably, but I’ll live.

[]9/8, 21:25[] Very stiff upper lip of you. They teach you that at the academy, too?

[]9/8, 21:26[] No, that would be Scotland Yard. I liaised there for a while.

[]9/8, 21:28[] Wow, you get around. Have you been anywhere else on your global exploration?

[]9/8, 21:31[] Hardly that, I just go where the bureau tells me. I’ve already been bounced all over the country before landing at the BAU. All you can do is keep the ‘stiff upper lip’ and adapt.

[]9/8, 21:31[] “Keep Calm & Carry On”?

[]9/8, 21:33[] Garcia gave me that on a mug last Christmas. I still don’t know what it’s from.

[]9/8, 21:34[] Your age is showing. Get with the times, old man.

[]9/8, 21:35[] You’re one to talk.

[]9/8, 21:35[] What?

Hotch bites back a smile, thinking about how for months he had been so sure Spencer was this elderly professor in his 60’s or 70’s that just happened to find their conversations interesting. That was… very apparently wrong, Hotch can see that now, but he hadn’t had any evidence to the contrary for the entire time they corresponded those first few months.

He could have done a background check on the professor at any time, is sure Garcia already has one saved in a file ready to send him at his first request, but it’s more fun this way. The not knowing, the learning about each other piece by careful piece. Even the smallest bits of information, such as age.

He bet Spencer would get a kick out of his first impression of the man, though.

[]9/8, 21:37[] Oh come on, you know.

[]9/8, 21:39[] No, I actually don’t. Congratulations, you’ve stumped the super genius.

[]9/8, 21:39[] But really, what do you mean?

[]9/8, 21:42[] I always just assumed you are at least ten years my senior, maybe even fifteen. How are you more with the times than I am?

[]9/8, 21:43[] I work at a University. I am surrounded by hormones and the dribble of youth.

There’s a slightly lengthy pause after that exchange, enough Hotch starts to pay closer attention through the buzz of liquor settled over his skin pleasantly.

[]9/8, 21:49[] How old do you think I am?

[]9/8, 21:50[] I don’t know, is it rude if I answer?

Hotch is not laughing to himself, he promises.

[]9/8, 21:52[] Why do you think I’m older?

[]9/8, 21:53[] This feels like a trap.

[]9/8, 21:53[] It’s not.

[]9/8, 21:56[] Well, honestly just from your academic achievements. Not everyone has that kind of time. And all your departments you run, you have to have a pretty level head and knack for maturity to keep that all in order. Especially doctorate students.

[]9/8, 21:58[] Thank you, I think.

[]9/8, 22:00[] I bet you’re the coolest old man on campus, though, don’t get me wrong.

Hotch does outright laugh after he sends that, manages to keep it a little bit quieter, and commends himself on having the upperhand in the conversation for once as he stares at his phone for a few minutes, awaiting an answer.

If he had to guess, Hotch supposes he’s held on to that stubborn image of Spencer being a stooped old professor out of habit. But the more the two have talked, after he'd gotten to know the man and his written verbal expressions and just the way his life runs day to day, it’s pretty easy to see that that is not correct. Spencer could be someone around Dave or Jason’s age, but more likely even younger than that -- closer to his own.

And that… is an intriguing thought that sparks something in his chest. He smothers it with another sip of Scotch and realizes that it has been a solid five minutes of silence. With Spencer not even typing out a response.

[]9/8, 22:06[] Was it something I said?

[]9/8, 22:07[] No, I’m just… contemplating my answer.

[]9/8, 22:07[] Answer to what?

Hotch hasn’t drank that much, but he doesn’t believe he asked a question at all. He scrolls back through their conversation and doesn’t see one. Spencer has asked a good handful, though, all about Hotch’s perception of his age.

Interesting.

[]9/8, 22:09[] Respond, not answer.

[]9/8, 22:10[] I’m all turned around now.

[]9/8, 22:12[] Flustered in your old age? Now I’m flattered.

This is almost like flirting. Skirts the edges of it, and Hotch feels more emboldened to try the more Spencer tap-dances around what is obviously Hotch’s incorrect assumption of his age. He had had no idea Hotch thought he was older, that is apparent, and it’s throwing the other man for a loop for some reason Hotch can’t ascertain.

[]9/8, 22:15[] I’m not old.

[]9/8, 22:15[] I’m not even older than you.

[]9/8, 22:16[] And how do you know that?

[]9/8, 22:17[] Just trust me on this.

[]9/8, 22:17[] Well, how old are you?

Another long, lengthy pause that Hotch waits for with baited breath. He knows that Spencer is there, that he’s staring at his phone and trying to decide the best way to answer without really answering anything. It’s only a matter of minutes, but that is a long time for them. When they are deep in a conversation like this.

Hotch isn’t laughing to himself anymore, but he’s more pleasantly confused than worried. He really has no idea what is making Spencer so hesitant.

[]9/8, 22:22[] Spencer?

[]9/8, 22:25[] I’m not going to tell you.

[]9/8, 22:26[] What, you want me to guess?

[]9/8, 22:28[] You’ll never guess.

[]9/8, 22:29[] That sounds like a challenge. How many guesses do I have?

[]9/8, 22:31[] None. Listen, I don’t want you to know. I shouldn’t have said anything.

[]9/8, 22:33[] I’m afraid it’s going to change your perception of me, and we’ll stop talking like this.

[]9/8, 22:34[] Just keep imagining me with wrinkles and a cane, I’m okay with that.

That drops the small smile right off his face.

Hotch is… surprised by this turn of events. What could be so shocking about this that Spencer thinks they would stop talking to each other? They’re corresponding every night. How could he possibly stop on a dime like that?

It doesn’t make any sense. And that’s not the alcohol talking.

[]9/8, 22:37[] I honestly don’t see how that would be possible.

[]9/8, 22:39[] I’m not going to stop talking to you just because you aren’t the senior professor I imagined running Caltech with an Iron Fist.

[]9/8, 22:40[] Now you’re projecting.

[]9/8, 22:40[] You saying I’m too strict?

[]9/8, 22:41[] Tyrant, I think was the term I chose.

[]9/8, 22:42[] Pretentious.

[]9/8, 22:44[] But Spencer, unless you are somehow underage with five Ph.D.’s, there’s no reason for us to stop talking.

[]9/8, 22:47[] You would not believe how many people treat me like I'm underage, to this day. So that doesn’t inspire confidence.

Hotch pauses with his glass halfway back to his lips, only a few sips left in the glass. Staring at his phone and struggling to make sense of what Spencer is saying. Hotch had been trying to joke and tease with him, but now the word ‘underage’ feels like a glaring beacon of a word on his screen.

He’s very suddenly more than a little nervous, even through the haze of alcohol. He is 45 years old, no matter what he keeps telling Spencer -- there is a limit to this being appropriate or not. What that limit is, he’d have to consider when he’s more sober, and it makes him feel like he should be reigning in the flirtatious notes that keep worming their way into the conversation.

But it’s not actually possible for him to be that young, and everything he’s learned about the man indicates he’s closer to his own age. Was he in his 30’s? Even that felt too young for what Hotch had (subconsciously) profiled -- no, it has to be something else.

No matter what, he didn’t want to keep getting Spencer worked up like this about it. His age hadn’t bothered Hotch before that night, so maybe if he drops it they can revert back to how they’d been spending their late evening hours before this turn in the conversation.

[]9/8, 22:50[] But I’m NOT underage.

[]9/8, 22:51[] If that needed to be said.

[]9/8, 22:53[] Can you buy alcohol by yourself?

[]9/8, 22:54[] Yes.

[]9/8, 22:54[] See this is what I was afraid of.

[]9/8, 22:55[] Relax, I was trying to tease you.

[]9/8, 22:57[] You don’t have to tell me, Spencer. I’ll just keep picturing Sean Connery, or John Steinbeck in the later years.

[]9/8, 22:59[] I see you have a type.

[]9/8, 23:00[] Well, who do you picture when you think of me?

[]9/8, 23:01[] Hugo Weaving, Matrix era. Or Richard Feynman.

[]9/8, 23:02[] Well now I feel typecasted. Who’s Feynman?

[]9/8, 23:02[] An American Theoretical Physicist from the 40’s-60’s.

[]9/8, 23:03[] Ouch. How old do you think *I* am?

[]9/8, 23:04[] I’m afraid to answer that.

[]9/8, 23:04[] O.u.c.h.

[]9/8, 23:06[] You’ve been borderline flirting with me, and you just said you thought I was in my 60’s! What was I supposed to think?

[]9/8, 23:07[] If you’re looking in that age bracket, I’m sure I can get you the Biology Department Head’s number.

[]9/8, 23:07[] He’s 72 with rheumatoid arthritis.

[]9/8, 23:08[] You are hysterical. So funny.

Hotch is smiling wide down at his phone again, feeling lighter and glad he got them back on track.

But…

He can’t help but think back to what he just tried to drop entirely. Blame the Scotch, or whatever drive to know that makes him dig down and root out information in cold cases in his spare time, Hotch doesn’t think he can let it go. Not when it was something Spencer hadn’t meant to be a secret in the first place. Not when, knowing that it has created misinformation between them unintentionally, results in Spencer shying away and hesitant to tell Hotch anything more about himself.

Not when he’d said ‘flirting’, because that had been what Hotch was doing, and he can’t even describe how disappointing it would be to quit while he was ahead. When the build up has been so gradual and easy and everything he’d been looking for and could never seem to find.

Now, this slight disruption is sticking in his mind, sharp like a thorn in his side. Always there, making itself known, and he wonders if he is lucid enough to try and draw the information out of Spencer via interview tactics -- or if the brilliant man would see right through any of his attempts.

Probably. Who was he kidding? Spencer had more degrees and college hours under his belt than Hotch could manage in a lifetime. Best to do this the old fashioned way, then.

[]9/8, 23:10[] 38.

[]9/8, 23:11[] Oh. Really? That’s kind of young to be Unit Chief, congratulations.

[]9/8, 23:11[] No, not me. You. I’m guessing 38.

[]9/8, 23:12[] Oh.

[]9/8, 23:12[] Incorrect.

[]9/8, 23:13[] I don’t even get a hint?

[]9/8, 23:13[] Nope.

[]9/8, 23:15[] We’re not playing a game. I’m not telling you.

[]9/8, 23:15[] So you won’t guess my age, either?

[]9/18, 23:17[] Chicken.

[]9/8, 23:17[] 45.

Hotch near throws his phone across the room. Almost makes a quip about how reading his file is cheating -- but he knows Spencer just made a stupidly accurate ‘educated guess’ because he knows fucking everything.

They really should just put him on the payroll. Hotch is being selfish keeping the man all to himself.

But God, is he enjoying it, too.

[]9/8, 23:19[] There’s no way you profiled that with that kind of accuracy.

[]9/8, 23:20[] How do you do that?

[]9/8, 23:21[] Black magic.

[]9/8, 23:22[] I’ll get it out of you one day, I swear.

[]9/8, 23:23[] And as a man of your word, I believe that you truly believe that.

[]9/8, 23:23[] Full of jokes tonight, aren’t you?

[]9/8, 23:25[] I live to amuse.

[]9/8, 23:25[] And make you smile.

[]9/8, 23:27[] You are one of the few that do.

With a careful pause, nothing left in his glass, a thought perched on the edges of his mind that is already watery with cognitive dissonance, Hotch starts typing before he’s even fully made the decision.

[]9/8, 23:30[] You really think my flirting is borderline? I was going for subtlety, but I must be rusty.

[]9/8, 23:32[] Actually, I just thought I was projecting.

[]9/8, 23:23[] You were married, I didn’t want to presume.

Oh.

The consideration is touching, and sobering even in the dimness of his home office, but it draws the softest of smiles back to Hotch’s face when he begins to type out his answer.

[]9/8, 23:35[] Thank you, for thinking of me first.

[]9/8, 23:37[] But Haley and I separated a long time before she died. We were actually divorced before she went into WICSEC. I miss her every day. But I did try to date for a while, before that.

[]9/8, 23:39[] No luck? I would have thought the FBI badge would at least garner some interest.

[]9/8, 23:40[] I’ve been told I’m intimidating.

[]9/8, 23:41[] I don’t think you are.

[]9/8, 23:42[] You will if you ever meet me. I’ve made underlings cry before without speaking a word.

[]9/8, 23:44[] The Hotchner stare. Have you coined that?

[]9/8, 23:45[] I should. It’s got a ring to it.

They banter and causally slip a few more… flirtatious comments in, and Hotch realizes it really isn’t that much different than before. That he had indeed been flirting with the man long before he knew his age. Which was odd, he didn’t typically go for older men and women. But now that he’s aware Spencer is younger than he thought, possibly even his own age (he swears he is, would put money on it if he could), somehow there’s more of a charge in their correspondence, a warmth and buzzing elation that has nothing to do with his Scotch. Especially now that it’s long gone.

It’s all Spencer, and how they compliment each other, and Hotch finds himself near giddy with that information.

He tries, towards the end of the night where it tips over into the early hours of the morning, to imagine an image of Spencer again -- and finds that he doesn’t even care to. He’s enamored with the man and his wit and the way he makes Hotch laugh without trying. How he looks, his age, it doesn’t matter. Not really. Not to Hotch.

But he is still curious why Spencer won’t reveal it. He can’t be that young.

[]9/9, 00:43[] You really won’t tell me?

[]9/9, 00:45[] Maybe one day. When I’m feeling brave.

[]9/9, 00:46[] Well, I’ll be there. Waiting.

[]9/9, 00:46[] 32.

[]9/9, 00:47[] You’ll never guess.

[]9/9, 00:48[] There’s only so many numbers.

[]9/9, 00:50[] Goodnight, Hotch.

[9/9, 00:51] Goodnight, Spencer.

(tbc...)

Tagged List: @spencehotchner @ssa-sarahsunshine @gothamapologist @reidology @marsjareau @dragon-snaps-fandom @emmyraebird @just-an-emo-rat @aaron-hotchner187 @dk18077 @more-heid-pls @fakin-it-til-i-make-it @merpancake

#I've read and rewritten this chapter so many times I'm starting to hate it #but it's super important so I hope it lives up to expectations #we get to all the good stuff after this #but the development here is something I've spent WEEKS trying to make realistic so #I hope you all enjoy it <3 #Chapter updates are Saturdays at 5pm EST #if you want in on the tag list just message me <3 #HotchReid #Heid #katyswriting

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inktrailing · 3 years

Text

fic housekeeping

Current WIPs. I haven’t done this in awhile (7 months) and that’s kind of a gut punch since purgatorio was at 32k the last time. Hrrrrg. but this is 211k total of ducifer now

Only one of these really has an official summary which is why nothing is included lol.

between the daylight and the deep sea [s9, loosely | 5 Acts, multichap] Relationships: Dean/Lucifer, Background Adam/Michael, Background Sam/Amy Pond, Dean & Original Characters, Sam & Eve, God & Death Words: 75,974

Some Tags: Future Fic (undeclared number of a few hundred years), King of Hell Dean, Knight of Hell Lucifer, Viceroy of Heaven Castiel, Duke of Purgatory Sam, High-Powered Dean, High-Powered Sam, mantles of power, Fae Courts, Fae Politics, Avalon, Background Canon Characters

Notes: Hi I love this story but I’m currently in a spot where I have to edit and then do a full read-through (and probably recording so I can listen to more than a very-slow processing text-to-speech reader). So that’s. A lot. And I need more than one day off to do that (so maybe next week). It’s doing nicely! But jeez I have like the entire middle of Act III to write.

purgatorio [s7/s8 | 2 parts, multichap] part I: bury me in the glow Relationships: Dean/Lucifer, Dean/Castiel, Dean/Benny, Benny/Castiel, Benny/Lucifer Words: 89,547

Some tags: Survival, agonizing slowburn for all relationships :|, polyamory, Lucifer trying to be a good brother, archangels really don’t belong in Purgatory, Low-Powered Lucifer, Pacifist Castiel, Medic Castiel, magic, blood magic, unhealthy amounts of blood magic, monsters, beasts

Notes: p1 is 75 chapters for sure. It’s mostly done except for some parts here and there and polishing. p2 got saved by LARPing.

part II: cut the cord Relationships: Dean/Lucifer, Dean/Castiel, Dean/Benny, Benny/Castiel, Benny/Lucifer, Sam & Dean, Sam & Castiel, Castiel & Meg, Dean & Charlie, Sam & the Trans

Some Tags: Still Slowburn I’m Sorry, PTSD, Depression, Anxiety, Selective Mutism, Nightmares, Angst with a Happy Ending, LARPing

how to form soulbonds and lose friends [s11/12 | 2 parts, multichap | soulbond | Relationships: Dean/Lucifer, Lucifer & Heaven, Dean & Heaven Words: 29,726

Some tags: developing soulbonds, grace sharing, thought sharing, mental links, horror elements, sentient Heaven, sentient grace, mantles of power, Slowburn

Notes: p1 is mostly done, or at least I know where it’s going. p2 is a bit more up in the air than I would prefer.

once it falls apart my head’s in the clouds (catifer) [s13 | multichap] Relationships: Dean/Lucifer, Lucifer & Jack Words: 14,003

Some tags: Crack Treated Seriously, Secret Relationship, Non-Linear Timeline, Established Relationship, Slowburn, Low-Powered Lucifer, Shapeshifting

Notes: I got the beginning, middle, and end lmfao. I just. Y’know. Would like everything else to exist. Also yes, it’s slowburn smack in the middle of an Established Relationship fic. :)

been asleep for most of my life [s15 | multichap | soulmate AU] Relationships: Dean/Lucifer, Adam/Michael, Castiel/Crowley, Dean & Castiel, Lucifer & Crowley Words: 11,248

Some tags: Post-Canon, Slowburn, Chuck Shurley’s A+ Parenting, emotional world tour, Established Adam/Michael, Heaven-Hell Peace Treaties

Notes: Primarily, more than anything, I have to finish my rewatch of the show (I’m in s14), as Netflix keeps reminding me. I’ve been dragging my heels for really no reason other than time and energy, because I only really got mad with s15 towards the second half of the season iirc.

LOOK I DON’T KNOW WHY I’VE BEEN SO ABOUT MANTLES OF POWER. But every time it’s been different so whatev I do what I want, per usual. I’ve been working on this post for too long I’m going to bed.

#fic housekeeping #ducifer

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thatringboy · 4 years

Text

Sea of Thieves - TWST AU

Based off of @ihavebecomeapenguin‘s Role Swap AU where the First year gang and their respective dorm heads all swap years! This is my second attempt at writing this fic, so I hope you enjoy!

Word count: 2,130 (another record???)

Warnings: Cursing, fight scenes, Azul Angst because this is chapter three

Getting the leader of Savanaclaw to agree with their plan was easy enough for Yuu Prefect. Jack seemed to have the idea in his head that he was obligated to help the Ramshackle student because of how the recent overblot incident went down. Yuu didn’t dislike the help they were receiving, but Jack’s insistence that they slept in his dorm while Yuu fought to get Ramshackle back from the Octavinelle leaders was a little much.

However, convincing their new friend Leona would be a much more difficult ordeal.

“That has got to be the stupidest plan I’ve ever heard.”

“Well I don’t see you coming up with any ideas! I’ve only got a few hours left!” Yuu leaned against the door as Leona flipped the page on his magazine.

“It’s not really my problem, Herbivore.” He sighed and adjusted how he laid on his bed. “What could I do?”

Yuu stood up straight. “What’s wrong with you? You were all up for raiding the vault before, what’s changed now?”

Leona shut the magazine and tossed it aside, crossing his arms and sitting deeper into his pillows. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just tired of getting my ass handed to me by walking sushi!”

Grim snorted on Yuu’s shoulder, but the Prefect was not amused. “It’s a shame, really,” they began, “Think about how people will react when they hear that the second prince of the Afterglow Savanna turned his back on his friend. What would your nephew think of that?”

Yuu knew they struck a chord deep within Leona. He was on his feet in an instant and if looks could kill, Yuu would be dead where they stood. The beastman scowled at the human before him. “Fine, but we do this my way. Your plans suck.”

Yuu’s face formed a mischievous smile. Azul Ashengrotto had crossed a line and by the Seven there would be hell to pay. Oh yes, everything was coming together nicely.

~~~

Riddle paced back and forth and twiddled his thumbs while Trey cleaned his glasses again.

“I have a bad feeling about this--”

“You always have a bad feeling.” Trey put his glasses back on.

“No, seriously! What if Trappola-Senpai finds out that we’re gone? What if we’re too late? What if Leona doesn’t agree to help the Prefect? What if we’re caught out of bed? What if--”

Trey held up a hand. “Riddle, please. Everything is gonna be ok. Just breathe and let the chips fall where they may. Speaking of which...”

The mirror to Savanaclaw lit up and four people stepped out. Leona and Yuu approached the Heartslabyul first years while Ruggie and Jack hung back, already filled in.

As Yuu explained the plan, Riddle’s nervousness slipped away. That is, until his part in the operation was explained.

“You want us to do what?” Riddle’s eyebrows shot up.

Leona smirked. “What, you scared or something?”

“N-No!” He turned bright red. “I just don’t know if I have the skills to pull this off.”

Trey put a hand on his shoulder. “You’ll do fine.”

“Thank you, Trey.”

Grim gagged, the anemone on his head wobbling. “Ew! Get a room, you two!”

Leona reached over and flicked the blue appendage. “Shut up, be glad they’re here.”

Yuu rolled their eyes. “So, then everyone knows their parts? Good, then we can get going. The sooner we finish this, the better.”

The first years nodded and passed around the potion that would allow them to breathe underwater. Jack and Ruggie disappeared back into their dorm’s mirror while Yuu and company approached the dark mirror.

In a second, they found themselves in the Coral Sea near the Alantica Memorial Museum. As per usual, a merman guard was posted outside the door. The group looked around for the infamous Leech twins and swam towards the building when they saw that the coast was clear.

Yuu might have had their iconic resting bitch face plastered for their friends to see, but the fact that no one had tried to stop them yet worried the Prefect. Trey swam ahead of the group and approached the guard while the others took cover behind a rock. Yuu could hear Trey spit out a convincing lie about wanting to explore the Museum, only to be denied by the guard. Of course, this was expected and Trey struck up a conversation between the guard, giving a small signal that it was okay for his friends to make a break for the door.

They swam behind the guard while he was distracted and pulled at the entrance, only to discover that it was locked. Leona rolled his eyes and pushed up his sleeve, activating his Unique Magic.

“I am hunger, I am thirst, I am that which steals your tomorrow. Now kneel before me, Kings Roar.”

The door handle turned to sand and he pulled the door open, earning a glare from Riddle. They swam inside the door while Trey continued to keep the attention of the guard. Yuu had to admit Trey’s ability to lie on cue was unsettling, but not unwelcomed.

Finding the picture Yuu risked their dorm for wasn’t a hard task. However, they’d forgotten that the only other reasonable person was still outside sweet talking the guard, so you can imagine how Yuu felt when Riddle took his magic pen and smashed the glass casing around the photo without a second thought.

An alarm went off somewhere in the building and it occurred to Yuu that the last time they were here, there were two guards. A Merman in armor swam around the corner and almost called for backup, but Leona gave him a swift kick to the head and knocked him out.

Maybe hanging around with himbos isn’t such a bad thing. Yuu thought to themself. They almost laughed at the mental image of calling Leona a himbo, but remained focused on the situation at hand. The four swam back out of the Museum and signaled for Trey to wrap up the conversation that he was way too invested in.

They made their escape and began to swim back to the mirror spot, but two dark shadows in the water blocked their path. The Leech brothers eyed the photo in Riddle’s hand with amusement and smiled, calculated toothy grins. Floyd’s voice ripped through the cold water and sent chills down the spines of the first years.

“That doesn’t belong to you, Shrimpy-Chan~”

~~~

Azul watched the first years sneak through the mirror and instructed the twins to give them an hour to retrieve the photo. What he hadn’t seen was the Savanaclaw leadership watching him from their respective mirror.

The Octomer returned to the Mostro Lounge and felt that the establishment lack a certain atmosphere, but then remembered that the Leech twins were off preparing to collect on his most recent contract. He kept himself busy and waved the twins off when they departed, but found his tasks boring when they left.

The Lounge didn’t open for a few minutes, but Azul could see a line forming outside. He grabbed a first year from Scarabia that he had enslaved was helping out that day and positioned him to be the host. The doors opened and Azul noticed that a large amount of customers were from Savanaclaw, but thought nothing of it.

He returned to the VIP room and checked his phone for messages before sitting down behind his large desk. Azul looked over the papers on his desk and noticed that jade had dropped off collateral on a recent contract. Azul spun around in his chair like a supervillain - which he privately enjoyed doing - and stood to open his vault. He had barley cracked the door open when a first year from his own dorm stepped into the VIP room looking distressed.

“What could possibly be so important that you come in here unannounced?”

“It’s a mad house out there, Senpai!” The first year was out of breath,

“Excuse m--”

“There’s too many of them, we can’t keep serving them!”

“Show me.”

Azul followed the first year out to the Lounge’s restaurant area and stopped. Those students from Savanaclaw who were crowding the door? They had taken up every seat! They were yelling and cursing out his waiters and throwing glasses and sending back food they deemed inedible! And of course, the smug faces of Ruggie Bucchi and Jack Howl leaned against the door frame without a care in the world.

“Mister Howl, what is the meaning of this?” Azul tried his hardest not to scream in frustration.

“That’s Howl-Senpai to you, tentacles!” Ruggie snickered.

“I haven’t the slightest idea what you mean.” Jack had a smug expression.

Someone called Azul’s name from the kitchen and yelled that they needed assistance. Jack’s smile turned sinister. “That sounds urgent, you wouldn’t want to upset your customers, would you?”

Azul’s face burned red as he struggled not to explode on them. After all, he had a reputation; one bad day couldn’t ruin that. But he did find it suspicious that this happened as soon as the twins had left. Azul returned to the kitchen and kept his eye on the Savanaclaw leaders until he stepped behind the swinging door, narrowly running into a Heartslabyul student carrying a tray of tea.

Once he was gone, Jack nodded to Ruggie and the second year made a break for the VIP room. Phase one was complete.

~~~

If this was any other circumstance, Yuu would say that the eels swimming around them was majestic. However, in this moment, Yuu struggled not to show fear.

“What should we do with the little Shrimpy and Koebe-Chan and Lionfish and their little friends, Jade?” Floyd’s nicknames for them made Riddle flush.

“I don’t know, what if you gave them a squeeze?” Jade swam a little too close to Leona and almost got slashed across the face by long nails. Yuu looked to the Heartslabyul duo and nodded. The two had their pens out in a flash and went back to back. This part of the plan required concentration and almost perfect timing. If one of them messed up, they may just become fish food.

Floyd caught on to what they were doing. “Hah! What, is little Koebe-Chan going hit me with his little necklaces?”

Riddle turned even more red, but surprisingly didn’t lash out. Yuu looked over for a second and noticed that Trey was holding his hand to keep him calm. Yuu turned their attention back to Jade as Leona swiped at him again. Leona attempted to fire a bolt of magic at him, but Jade was too quick, easily avoiding and laughing at the attempt.

Yuu grabbed Leona’s sleeve. “Floyd’s magic! We can’t touch them!”

Leona swung his head around, smacking Grim in the face with his ponytail, and snarled at Trey and Riddle. “Hurry up, goddamnit!”

Riddle broke his concentration and glared at Leona. “I’m doing my best you useless pussy!”

Trey and Yuu made eye contact and knew that the plan was falling apart. Trey rolled his eyes and pointed his wand at Floyd. “Oh for the Seven!”

He activated his Unique Magic and suddenly Floyd’s smile fell. His multi colored eyes widened with rage and Trey gulped. “Riddle, now!”

Riddle spun around and pointed his pen at Floyd as well. “Don’t tell me what to do! Off with your head!”

The all too familiar clicking sound could be heard and Floyd grabbed at his neck. Riddle’s iconic neck lock was holding onto the merman and based on the violent thrashing from Floyd, it wasn’t budging. Floyd glared daggers into Riddle and lunged at him with a loud shriek, but Leona had crossed the distance between them and booted him in the side of the head.

“Floyd!” Jade rushed to his brother’s side and was relieved that Floyd was only knocked unconscious. He looked at the first years and down at the neck brace on his twin. “Just... go.”

They didn’t hesitate to swim back to the mirror spot and teleport back to Night Raven College. When they had finally caught their breath from swimming so fast, Riddle look down at his hands.

“I.... I just used my magic to harm an upperclassman. Leona, you kicked an upperclassman in the head!”

“Yeah and I’ll do it again.” Leona picked between his teeth with his pinky finger. Yuu looked at Trey. “So, how did you do that? The plan was for you two to cast that combo spell that Crowley showed you.”

Trey rubbed the back of his neck. “Well, I panicked and realized that my Doodle Suite might have been able to make Floyd-Senpai’s shield just not work.”

“Genius, even for a human like you!” Grim jumped onto the green haired boy’s shoulder with a smile.

“Thank you?”

“Don’t take that as a compliment!” Riddle squinted his eyes at Grim. Leona pulled out his phone and was amazed that it wasn’t dead. “So, Jack and Ruggie-Senpai should be done by now, should we head over to the Lounge?”

Yuu sighed and realized how tired they were. “Let’s.”

~~~

When he managed to get the last beastman out of his restaurant, Azul almost collapsed against the door. He got to his feet and almost stumbled back to the VIP room, but stopped dead in his tracks. His blood turned to ice and his glasses fell off his face. Azul made an undignified sound and spun around, discarding his glasses in his haste. He tore down the hall back to the Lounge, leaving the VIP room and the open, empty vault within.

Azul threw open the doors to the Lounge and saw Ruggie leaning against a wall, cleaning out his teeth with a toothpick.

“What have you done?!” Azul’s voice was nothing more than a hushed whisper.

Ruggie ignored him. “You know, I tried takoyaki for the first time today, it wasn’t as bad as I thought it would be.”

Azul turned a furious red. “You mangy beast! Where are they?!”

“Is that any way to talk to a classmate, Azul-kun?” Jack stepped out from behind a corner, a large stack of yellow papers in his hands. “I thought that you would have more tact.”

The Octavinelle student glared daggers into Jack’s soul. It was a little unsettling. The beastmen could just feel the anger seething out of him. Footsteps could be heard approaching the three.

“I can’t wait to see the look on that Octo-punk’s face when we give him the stupid photo!”

“I’ve never said anything bad against an upperclassman before, but I hope he looses it!”

“Like how you lost it with Floyd?”

“Shut up, or I’ll forcefully remove that anemone myself, you little beast!”

The first years turned the corner Jack was standing behind and stopped. Yuu held up a preemptive hand to stop any wise comments about Azul’s clearly enraged behaviour. With their other hand, they held out the photograph. “Here, so you can’t say we didn’t pull through our end of the deal.”

Azul just stared at the photo and began to laugh softly. “You... You think you’ve won? You steal my contracts, you destroy my Lounge and you bring me my photo to rub it in, huh? I see the twins have failed yet again.”

“Yet again?” Called a voice from down the hall. The students present turned their heads to see the human forms of the Leech brothers coming their way. Floyd still had Riddle’s neck lock on and held an ice pack to his temple.

Jade’s eyes looked Azul up and down. “It seems you’re the one who failed here.”

Azul scoffed. “Oh please, I gave you one task: keep them from returning the photo to me! You couldn’t even do that!”

Floyd stood up taller and took the ice pack away from his head. “You know, I don’t like that tone you’ve got. Makes me want to squeeze it out of you.”

Azul seemed to mentally backpedal. “Well, what I meant to say was--”

Jack waved the contracts in the air to get the mermen’s attention. “Do you want these or not?”

Azul’s anger turned to desperation. “Yes! Hand them over this instant!”

“No I don’t think I will.” Jack sneered. Yuu realized that he was just toying with Azul. They almost felt bad for the second year dorm head, but at the same time, he had enslaved over two hundred students simply because they wanted a cheat sheet for finals. Jack looked over the documents in his hand and passed them to Leona. “Do what you want, I just wanted to see him squirm.”

Leona gladly took the contracts and Yuu realized what he was about to do. They made no move to stop him, but Jade’s eyes opened uncharacteristically large.

“I am hunger, I am thirst, I am that which steals your tomorrow. Now kneel before me, Kings Roar!”

The golden contracts crumbled into sand between his fingers. Azul shrieked again and fell to his knees, watching as Leona kicked the pile of sand at his feet to solidify that the papers were gone. Yuu looked to Grim and saw that the anemone on his head was gone, however the next sound Azul made got them to return their focus on the situation.

“You... you monsters!” Azul slowly got to his feet.

“Yeah what?” Grim grinned. “You gotta be a bit more specific.”

Leona rolled his eyes and turned to go. “C’mon, I’ve got practice to get to. I don’t wanna throw a pity party for that mess.”

Riddle raised his pen and the neck brace around Floyd vanished. He rubbed his neck and smiled at Riddle. “Thank you, Koebe-chan! No hard feelings for trying to eat you?”

Riddle made a disgusted face that Trey snorted at. Azul watched them start to leave with horror in his eyes. “No, wait! Fix this mess! Grim, I helped you pass your exam!”

“You also used me as a sponge!”

Floyd pursed his lips and crossed his arms. “You’re acting pretty lame right now, you know that right?”

Jade nodded and shrugged his shoulders. “Desperation isn’t a good look for you.”

Azul looked around for something, anything to make the situation better. Yuu sighed. “Azul, you did this to yourself. Now, if you excuse us--”

Azul got to his feet with a strange expression on his face. “Wait wait wait wait wait wait wait! I can turn this around! Just watch, I’m not boring at all!”

The door to the Mostro Lounge creaked open and a timid looking Scarabia student stepped out, patting his head where Yuu assumed an anemone had been resting. Azul reached out his hand and a small ball of light flew out of the chest of the poor student and into Azul’s. He stood up with a crazed smile and looked around the group as the Scarabia boy collapsed.

“See?! I may not be what I once was, but I am still leagues above you all!”

Leona groaned and spun around on his heels. “Okay, now you’re taking this too far--”

He was interrupted by Azul’s laugh and a snap of the second year’s fingers. Ruggie pushed Leona down and the ball of light Yuu assumed was Ruggie’s magic flew to Azul. Jack pulled out his staff and growled as he watched Ruggie faint.

“You’ll pay for that, Ashengrotto.” He snarled.

Azul’s laugh grew dark and menacing. “Oh really, Jack-Senpai?” the title oozing off of his tongue like poison. “Why don’t you just lighten up and Dance with me!”

Jack dropped the staff and became rigid, but soon regained control of his body. Azul turned to Floyd, who’s eyebrows were furrowed in concentration. All of the commotion had drawn the attention of the other Octavinelle dorm residents, all of which fell prey to Azul’s greedy glare.

Yuu watched in horror as Azul absorbed the magic of every student who had unknowingly stepped into their worst nightmare, but it wasn’t over. Yuu looked Azul up and down and saw his purple gem becoming more clouded by the second.

Riddle noticed this too and raised his pen to stop the nonsense, but Trey tackled him out of Azul’s line of sight. It occurred to Yuu that if Azul got is hands on the magic of their friends, the fight would turn from bad to ugly.

Of course, as per usual, the coming tide was already among them. Jade dashed to put himself between the first years and the crazed Azul, but got smacked to the side by a large black tentacle that had formed from Azul’s cane.

The overblotting version of Azul stood over the first years, but while their friends saw the anger in those cold blue eyes, Yuu recognized loneliness and fear. This was by far the worst case of overblotting Yuu had seen when comparing the Heartslabyul and Savanaclaw incident together, and they had no idea what to do now.

#twst role swap au #TWST #twisted wonderland #TWST AU #twisted wonderland writing #my writing #ThatRingBoy Blue #Riddle Rosehearts #Trey Clover #Leona Kingscholar #Ruggie Bucchi #Jack Howl #Azul Ashengrotto #Jade Leech #Floyd Leech #Yuu Prefect #Grim #twisted wonderland Grim #twisted wonderland characters

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