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quaranmine · 1 year

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The Incandescence of a Dying Light (Chapter Seven)

In which the past, present and future are examined, footsteps are retraced, and Grian and Scar get on the same page.

Chapter Seven: 8,517 words

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hello everyone! i don't have many beginning notes for this one. no real CW outside of what is typical for this fic, although there is a mention of alcohol at one point. enjoy!

June 1989

“Grian? Thorofare to Two Forks, please pick up. We need to talk.”

It’s this that greets Grian when he walks into the door of his tower. He normally brings his radio with him when he goes places, but this time the red light had been blinking for low battery so he had left it on the charger. Grian’s not sure how long Scar has been trying to reach him.

The desk and the radio charger is right next to the door, so Grian reaches out with one hand and starts to shrug off his backpack off his other shoulder in the same motion.

“Scar?” he says. “I’m here now, what is it?”

“Oh good,” Scar responds. “G-man, I think we’ve got a bit of a problem now.”

“A problem?” Grian says. “What do you mean?”

Grian’s been off work for the past two days, and has been looking around the Pinnacles Trail all day. Frustratingly, he’s been unable to find any evidence of where Mumbo was camping. This shouldn't be too surprising to him, though. Mumbo went missing in June of last year, and nobody throughout that summer season found his bike. The pair of hikers who discovered it this year said they only did because the metal flashed in the sunlight. With the bike gone, there’s no metal to catch his eye.

Therefore, Grian shouldn’t be surprised that he’s having difficulty finding anything, nor should the concept of not finding anything be new to him after living like this for over a year. Regardless, it has been an exceedingly frustrating day.

So the next thing he does after picking up the radio is start undoing the laces on his boots so he can peel them off for a bit of relief after the long day. With his shoes off, he walks across the lookout to his bed and sits down in the middle of it, drawing his knees up.

It’s that gloomy thick darkness of twilight, where the shadows of the trees seem palpable and the sky is dark blue. Scar’s lookout is a little twinkling jewel in the distance.

“We have a problem,” Scar repeats.

“Yeah?” Grian says. “Are you gonna tell me?”

“Someone said no to me when I was talking to them,” he says.

He sounds so dramatic. Grian flops backward, head landing on the pillow with a soft fwoosh. There’s something about laying on his bed talking on the phone radio with Scar that reminds him of being a teenager. Right now that’s just the slightest prickle of deja vu though, being lost in the mix of everything else he’s feeling.

“You’re calling me because someone told you no?” Grian responds, with a small huff of laughter.

“Nobody ever says no to me, Grian!”

“I say no to you literally everyday,” Grian says. “I said no to you like eight times yesterday alone.”

“Ugh, that’s not what I meant,” Scar says. “Shut up. I can’t speak. I meant like–I was chatting around earlier today, you know? Like I do. I was asking more questions. And I got totally shut down!”

“Huh?” Grian says. “Shut down how?”

“My boss reprimanded me for asking too many questions,” Scar says.

“Reprimanded?” Grian says. “What does that mean?”

“It means I’m not supposed to ask after this case anymore. Ugh, I think someone at the main office mentioned that I had called him! He told me I wasn’t allowed to talk to these people, I was overstepping the chain of command and it wasn't my job.”

Grian’s brow furrows. “How is that the case? You’re literally my supervisor, surely that counts for something.”

“I’m a seasonal employee who sits in a tower five months out of the year. I’m decent enough at it that I have a job waiting for me every summer and a little trust that I can make sure a new lookout knows what he’s doing,” Scar deadpans. “That’s all. I’m not even really a manager.”

“Oh,” Grian says. “You always seem to know so much.”

“Because I’m nice to people, Grian,” Scar says. He sounds like he’s fuming–not at Grian, but just out into the world. “I’ve always been able to just make friends and rely on that. But apparently I’m not nice enough because one of them told my boss I was asking about this!”

He sighs on the other end of the line. Grian can nearly hear the wheels turning in his head. “Maybe I can figure out why I got reprimanded, I just need to be nicer. That ranger Sarah has always been really friendly to me after I helped her with her kid that one time…”

He trails off. Grian feels just the slightest bit of rising anxiety wash over him. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?” he asks. “Maybe you should wait. I can keep searching by myself, it’s fine.”

“You didn’t even know where to look by yourself,” Scar says bluntly. “We need information and neither of us will get it just by wandering the wilderness.”

Scar’s words sting a little, but Grian cannot argue with him. The most progress they’ve made so far has been since the hikers found Mumbo’s bike and Scar made some calls for him. He wants to do everything by himself, but he knows he’s an outsider here. Scar has worked here for years and knows the ins and outs of everything.

Hell, Grian’s not even 100% sure how the American government works and he’s literally working a federal job. He’s not even entirely sure how the field office in Cody fits into the greater structure of the agency. He wasn’t taught these details in England. He needs Scar, even if it’s just to tell him which rules he needs to break.

“What were you asking about?” he says. “Today, when you got in trouble.”

“I just–I figured I would ask around some more, you know? But I guess I’ve been doing a lot of asking around the past few days. But there’s something wrong about this, Grian. Someone made a mistake somewhere. Mumbo should never have been given a permit for a closed trail.”

“But he was.”

“Yeah, and someone had to notice that at some point. It would be glaringly obvious to anyone with a case file. You and me, we’re piecing it together as we go. But someone else has it on paper.”

“But they never said anything about it to me,” Grian says. “Not even as the official point of contact.”

“Exactly,” Scar says. “And they focused their resources in one area, but we found Mumbo’s stuff somewhere else. Why didn’t they expand the search, if they knew that there was a chance that conditions on the trail might have influenced his plans?”

Conditions on the trail might have influenced Mumbo’s plans.

This is the conclusion Grian and Scar have come to, one that pointedly ignores any concept of foul play: that Mumbo was originally on the Cloud Lake Trail. With a permit in hand, he probably assumed that the closure sign was old or irrelevant. But the trail was closed for a reason, and he probably ran into an issue with it at some point and was forced to divert to a new route.

Grian just doesn’t know which new route–he somehow went between Cloud Lake and Pinnacles without moving his car to a new road, but there’s nothing on the map to connect them.

Therefore, he must have gone off-trail, or found an old or faint trail that was unmarked on the official maps. Parks occasionally retired paths and destinations, or reworked old trails into new routes.

It had taken Scar a lot of convincing to get Grian to even partially accept this concept. It’s a strange dissonance for him. He has always factored in Mumbo being off-trail in his search plans, but that was simple. If he was on-trail, someone would have found him already. But in his mind, Mumbo’s off-trail escapades came to life more like a My Side of the Mountain story–cleverly making shelter and surviving off the land. Maybe Mumbo’s not exactly living in a hollowed out tree or training a falcon to hunt for him, but he’s got to be doing something right?

He doesn’t want to accept that this was probably part of the story from the beginning. It’s reckless and dangerous to leave an official route behind. It’s a downright stupid move no matter how it’s cut, and it grates against Grian’s good sense.

“I think you’ve just figured out the reason why you got reprimanded yourself,” Grian says weakly. He stares at the ceiling, counting the beams that go across it. He should get up and turn on a lantern since it’s getting darker, but instead he continues to lay there in the gloom. “Someone made a mistake they shouldn’t have.”

“Yeah,” Scar says softly. Contemplatively. “I’m asking about something they know but won’t admit.”

“And what do they know?” Grian says. He has a sort of sinking feeling in stomach. There’s a wall-hanging across the room with the seal of the Forest Service–a badge with a tree in the middle, flanked on either side by a F and S–and he stares at it now. “Not where he is, surely.”

“I don’t think so,” Scar says. “But I think they know someone made a major mistake and it cost them. It’s like they had the information about the trail and the permits but responded to the search like everything was normal. It was more complicated but they treated it like it was simple. They should have expanded that search knowing that he might have had to turn around.”

“Nobody mentioned it last year,” Grian says. His chest constricts.

It isn’t fair. Grian has known this for a long time, but knowing it doesn’t do anything to prepare him for how it washes over him right now. It’s a wave of sadness, frustration, anger. It isn’t fair that this happened to Mumbo. It isn’t fair they’re still trying to untangle the mess a year later. In another way, he feels like it isn’t fair to him specifically to have to experience all of this. What has he done to deserve it? But he feels selfish for that thought because it’s Mumbo’s life at stake, not his.

“Do you know what I actually got told this morning? Right before he told me he couldn’t help me anymore?” Scar asks. “I should’ve realized something was off when my friend said this to me, because it’s like they just took the edges off of the truth and sanded it smooth.”

“What?”

“I wanted to know why he got permitted for a closed trail, and what they thought about his things being discovered in a different area. He told me they were ‘operating on information that was inconsistent with reality and conducting an investigation of it.’”

Grian pulls his lips into a hard line. “That’s government-speak if I’ve ever heard it.”

“That’s ‘I don’t want to get sued’ language,” Scar says.

“Is that why they never said anything to me?” Grian says. “Because they’re consulting their lawyers first? Is that why I’m supposed to expect a phone call this week?”

“A phone call?” Scar says. “Your tower doesn’t have a line.”

“Maybe they know that,” Grian mutters darkly. By this point, he’s sure the main office knows that Grian-the-fire-lookout is the same person as Grian-the-emergency-contact. It might have gotten lost in the paperwork when he was hired, but not since they started searching for Mumbo again.

If they try to call him, and he’s not there to answer it–not at home in Denver to pick up the phone when it rings, and not in possession of a telephone line in his tower–can they just write it off? Put a little note scrawled in pen by his name that said “failed to contact”?

“Or maybe they’re that much of a mess,” Scar says.

“It’s a coverup,” Grian says.

“It’s miscommunication,” Scar says.

Grian closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. “I think it’s both,” he whispers.

»»———-　　———-««

Grian is out in the woods again. It’s becoming a natural state of existence for him.

It’s a beautiful day out. The sky is a clear deep blue, dotted with just a few puffy white clouds. The setting is, as always, striking. He’s walking a trail right now, a worn and meandering one that switches back and forth between being a highway and being lost in the bushes.

The valley is wide, and occasionally the foothills at the edges of it rise to the point where he, in the center, can no longer see the taller mountains beyond it. It is like this that mountains continually shift in presence–the horizon moves as you do, and perspective always reigns supreme.

It’s why his lookout is perched on one of the highest mountains in his sector. It’s the only place where he can see everything at once, and even then there’s still valleys and canyons hidden from his view. Scar takes over in those instances–from his viewpoint to the north, he can see from an angle Grian can’t. There’s a lookout to Grian’s south called Chimney Rock, staffed by an enigmatic woman he’s only heard a few times on the main radio. She’s presumably trusted to cover him the other direction.

Today, however, Grian is not perched on a tower. Today he’s in the middle of it.

His path through the valley was mostly easy, with the most difficult thing being the two creek crossings he had to make as the trail abruptly couldn’t make up its mind about what side of the valley it was on. The meadows are green and the trees in sparse, grouped-together sections, as is typical of the landscape.

Now, the trail forward is more obscured. He’s heading up over a short ridge and into the thicker forest of the slopes.

He stops to check his map again, leaning up against a rock in a way that takes the weight of his pack off his shoulders. He’s packed light, but prepared. He plans to be back at his tower by the end of the day, but out here it’s never a guarantee. Best to be prepared for extra time, no matter how far you’re straying from home.

This trail isn’t on the map. It takes him a bit to orient himself with the compass and the topography map, but he does. The benefit of being a lookout is that he’s achingly familiar with these hills. He’s memorized every contour of them.

Tracing their lines from a ground perspective requires a mental shift, but he can find his way just the same. He traces the way the lines on the map get tighter here, and knows he’s going up. At some point earlier in the day he’d left the little dotted line of the marked trail and continued on here.

As he walks, it becomes more obvious that the trail isn’t marked. It’s a slog straight uphill; a normal trail would zig and zag so that the elevation gain would be more gentle and the erosion less severe. This path is in shockingly good condition, though, and he only has to step over one tree that has blocked it. It is freshly fallen, possibly from the storm a few weeks ago.

Someone, or much more likely something, uses the trail frequently.

He reaches backward to pull the radio out of his backpack’s side pocket. It’s an awkward angle, but keeping it there means it’s always accessible and audible. “Scar?” he says, in between huffs of breath. “Are you there right now?”

The other end of the line is silent, with just a little static now and then. The radio is rarely ever truly silent, but the little noises and static it occasionally makes has worked itself firmly into the background of Grian’s life.

He continues to walk, making it to the top of the ridge and beyond. He’s not familiar with this part of the woods anymore. He hasn’t walked here before, this year or last year. He checks his compass again and confirms his route.

A few minutes later he tries Scar again. “You there?” he asks. “Because I think I’ve found it. The other trail.”

Scar finally responds then, voice fainter than usual. “G-man, you’re cutting out a little,” he says. “I’ll call you later. Unfortunately duty calls right now.”

With that, he’s gone. Grian sighs and replaces the radio back into its side pocket. He’s a lot further away from Scar than normal, and there’s countless ridges and hills in between them. The signal must be weaker than usual. It’s just him out here again, but maybe it always is.

He continues to walk, pulling his map out every few minutes to confirm his directions. He’s not the most experienced wayfinder–he’d never had to even try before last year. He and Mumbo liked to hike when they were back in Denver, but all the closest trails to the city were normally well-traveled and popular. Even on the longer hikes further into the mountains, in less developed parts like wilderness areas or national forests, there was still normally the chance of meeting people every time, and a marked trail on an official map. He never used to worry about getting lost.

Shoshone National Forest is a different beast altogether though, at least this far into the Forest. The popular trails in this section of the park all branch off of Highway 14, in easy access to the public. But in the midst of the mountains where his lookout lies, the trails are often empty. He sees hikers every week, but not every day. If you want to go anywhere to lose yourself, it’s here.

Grian does not want to lose himself–the irony of it would simply kill him–so he pays strict, almost obsessive, attention to the map and his compass. He draws the trail as best he can in pencil, retroactively adding his steps to the blank map.

This hike is not meditative. It is not calming. He grows angrier with each step.

The silence and stillness and aloneness gives him far too much time to think. It gives him time to think about what they’ve figured out–about the Forest Service, specifically. It’s unconscionable.

Someone made a mistake and it’s being covered up. Someone made a mistake and Scar got scolded for asking about it. Someone made a mistake and nobody’s even told Grian about it, he had to figure it out himself.

Someone made a mistake, and it’s seeming clearer and clearer that Mumbo paid the price.

Grian cannot be the only one to know this trail exists. It’s far too clear and easy to follow. It isn’t marked, and it’s steep in some places, but it isn’t rocky or impassable. It probably started out as a game trail, but Grian thinks back to the stream he crossed twice and wonders if it gets use from fishermen as well in the park.

And since Grian cannot be the only one who knows this trail exists, it feels like a downright crime that it was never searched the year before. Nothing about the search that was carried out last year felt like it was abnormal. But if Grian is interpreting this correctly, and understanding Scar correctly, then all of this confusion about the trail closures and permits should have meant the search was conducted differently.

Last year, Grian never made it to Cloud Lake because he was asked to help in different areas. Mumbo never made it to Cloud Lake either–he couldn’t have, because the trail was impassable. Someone must have known this. Someone would have pulled his permit when the missing report first came in. Someone made the call to decide that Mumbo wouldn’t have gone somewhere else if his destination was unavailable. Someone made the call to search only the area around the first trail, and not consider any alternate routes.

Someone isn’t admitting fault.

After approximately three miles, Grian comes to a junction. There is no sign here, and in fact someone has recently gone and put a log over his trail, silently blocking it from the main path and signifying the true way forward. Grian steps over the wood, and stands in the middle of the trail.

Grian has solved the missing piece. He knows where he’s at. He’s on the Cloud Lake Trail right now, and he walked here on an unmarked spur trail from his sector. He’s reverse engineered part of Mumbo’s route: if he walks back the way he came, he’ll eventually come back to the valley and meadow at the bottom of the Pinnacles trail.

The discovery is one he’s been building to all day, and it’s not a relief. Rather it just swirls more dread into the angry mix of emotions in Grian’s head.

He whirls around and kicks the log as hard as he can. It rolls slightly away from him, and the sudden pain in his foot seems to reverberate up the rest of his leg. “Ow,” he cries, and stumbles back a few steps, breathing heavily. Then he just sits down in the middle of the trail, a motion that could better be described as abruptly falling down instead of a controlled descent. His water bottle clangs against a rock.

He can’t see anything from where he is except the woods.They stretch on and on, broken only by the pale dirt of the paths through them. They’re dark and so, so green–every plant is taking advantage of the season’s warm weather to grow as fast as it can before the snow comes in the fall again. Bright spots of light from the sun straight above him dapple the trail.

He wants someone to pay for this, he realizes. He wants real answers, and not ones that he has to hunt down by himself, boots on the trail, for miles at a time. For some reason, his hands are shaking. He can’t stop staring into the trees.

It just isn’t fair. It isn’t fair.

It’s never fair. Does he expect it to be fair? Maybe not. His adult brain knows better. But something about the situation is gnawing at and unraveling some deep-seated sense of justice he’s carried as a child. This shouldn’t have turned out like this, because it’s fundamentally not fair. It isn’t right. He’s stuck on the concept and it doesn’t budge from his head. Not fair, not fair, not fair…

Tomorrow he must go back to work in the tower for another shift of ten days “on.” The reports each morning about the weather get a little worse, and Grian’s pretty sure a new burn ban will be firmly in place by the first of July, which is just around the corner. All of this adds together that his shifts this week will be longer than average. He’ll rack up overtime pay, and holiday pay trying to keep an eye on idiot campers.

Tomorrow he has to go to work again, which means he needs to start tracing back his footsteps right now so he can make it back before dark. He doesn’t move.

Tomorrow he has to go back to the tower, but he has a new plan for when he’s off in ten days. He’s sick of struggling against the current to piece together information, and his discussion with Scar only proved that Scar cannot be his only source of information. No, if he wants something to get done, he’ll have to do it himself, just like always. He’ll just take a little trip into town for the first time all summer and make a visit to the main office. And he won’t leave until he gets a real answer.

»»———-　　———-««

December 31, 1988

It’s rather cold outside right now. It’s not the type of cold that is any problem for a quick duck in and out of the house, or a run down to the train station. But it’s certainly too cold to just sit outside, and the dampness from the rest of the day just makes it seep into his bones.

That’s just typical for a winter night in England, though, and there’s a part of Grian that relishes it, even as he wraps his coat tighter.

This is the first time he’s come back since he left with Mumbo, and he was starting to wonder if he ever would. Stepping onto that plane was like crossing a wide gulf between two worlds, and he’s still not sure how he feels about it. Happy, to an extent. Relieved, to an extent. But also scrutinized, and worried over, and lacking in privacy in almost every way.

So tonight he’s sitting out on the roof, trying to avoid the New Year’s Eve party going on in the rest of the house. The tall but narrow row house in this Greater London suburb has a handy dormer with an abutment below it; it’s easy to sneak out of and sit on. He’s three stories up. The streetlights are fuzzy and impressionistic from the fog.

He did not, in fact, plan to come home for a visit any time soon. But Pearl had other plans for him, and she was quite good at making sure they were implemented. She implemented this plan for him by mentioning it every single day of her trip, and then calling him approximately once a day after until he broke down and purchased a plane ticket. She even sent the money for it, and for once in his life he accepted it, mostly because she would have started another daily tirade if he didn’t.

He came a few days ago, and he’s flying out tomorrow so he can make it back in to work on the 2nd. He’s had a mostly pleasant time, and seen a lot of friends he hadn’t seen in a while. The party tonight though was proving to be too much though. Everybody there wants to know how he is (bad), what he’s doing now (not much), how’s Colorado (gorgeous, but bad), how’s the job (bad), how’re you holding up (also bad.) It’s endless and exhausting.

He’s been dragged from one spot to another ever since he arrived, and tonight’s party is no exception. When he arrived, he’d mingled for a while, drank half a beer to look polite, and then ditched his cup among the others on the kitchen counter, fated to be lost and eventually poured out at the end of the night when nobody could return it to its owner.

He can hear music below, muffled and soft. There’s a few other people on the street who seem to be having their own festivities, but most of the action is centered in the house Grian’s currently sitting on top of. This is, of course, because Grian’s luck is that he is always in the spot with the most going on, and the most to avoid.

He’s jolted out of his musings when the low sound of the music below abruptly increases. Someone’s opened the window. A blonde head sticks out of it, and although the silhouetted light behind him obscures his features, Grian immediately knows who it is.

It’s Tim.

“Grian?” he says. “Whatcha doing out here dude?”

“Getting some fresh air,” he says. It’s rude to say avoiding you, and it isn’t really true to begin with. He likes seeing his friends. He just doesn’t like being smothered by him.

“Mind if I join you?” Jimmy asks.

And although Grian isn’t rude enough to say he’s specifically avoiding Jimmy, the idea of being rude has never really stopped him before in their interactions. In fact, it’s a game the two of them know well. So he just groans in response, throwing his head back in theatrical annoyance. “Go away Tim,” he says.

Jimmy does not, and takes this opportunity to start to climb out the window to sit next to Grian. He stumbles a bit and loses his balance in doing so, and Grian throws out a hand to steady him.

“Had one too many?” he snipes.

“Oh, come off it,” Jimmy says. “I’m not even drunk.”

Grian has seen him drunk, and Jimmy is right–it isn’t right now. Grian couldn’t pass up the opportunity to throw the jab though. He might be a little tipsy though, and it doesn’t take all that much to make roof-climbing a dangerous game even with the abutement’s gentle slope. Jimmy settles next to Grian a moment later, seated safely.

“I was looking for you earlier,” he says. “You just disappeared, dude.”

“It got stuffy,” Grian says.

“Well, it’s cold out here,” Jimmy says, scrunching up his nose. “Aren’t you cold? I’m cold.”

“You’ve been out here less than a minute.”

“Well, it’s damp.” Jimmy cuts his eyes to the side, right at Grian and perhaps even through him.

It occurs to Grian that perhaps sitting on a third-story roof in the damp and cold to avoid a party isn’t the most normal thing he could be doing right now. “I’m fine,” he says. Best to preemptively cut that off.

“Hm,” Jimmy says. “You don’t look fine.”

“Well, I am,” Grian says. “I told you I just needed some fresh air. You didn’t have to come out here to sit with me. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

“You didn’t use to be the sort to hide at a party,” Jimmy says. “What’s up with that?”

“No, I am,” Grian says. “Just not with people I know.”

Most people mistake him for an extrovert. It’s understandable–he’s fun, friendly, even a smidge devious. But you don’t get there with Grian without breaking the ice first, and when he’s done for the night, he’s done. He finds himself being “done” earlier and earlier these days.

“You know us though,” Jimmy says, with just a bit of a pout. It feels like he’s being purposefully obtuse, but knowing Jimmy he’s just actually missing the point. Knowing him doesn’t mean Grian doesn’t need a break. Caring for his friends doesn’t mean he isn’t overwhelmed.

There’s really no other way to respond, or explain it to him than to just say, “Of course I do.”

He knows Jimmy. He knows him. Doesn’t he? He does, right? They knew each other, past tense, and they know each other now, but the great yawning hole in Grian’s middle says that he’s a different person now. He’s changed, and perhaps not for the better. He doesn’t really feel like he fits the mold of the person they expect him to be anymore.

And that’s what’s most exhausting about being here. Colorado feels empty without Mumbo, but being back in England feels a little bit like putting a shoe on the wrong foot. It’s almost right, it’s so close, it tastes and feels and smells like home, but it doesn’t quite fit. The Grian that left England isn’t the same one that came back.

It’s okay though. He leaves again tomorrow.

And for tonight, he’s sitting on worn shingles with one of his oldest friends, who knows him but not quite. Jimmy seems to radiate heat into the cool night, and Grian stops himself from leaning in closer.

“Nobody’s really got a chance to talk to you,” Jimmy says.

“We’ve talked plenty,” Grian says back. “We were together all day yesterday, you know. And this morning.”

“But not about anything…” Jimmy waves a hand in the night air. “Not like about how you’re doing, dude.”

“What is there to say?”

“A lot?” Jimmy says. He seems confused. “Because, like, we wanted to give you a little space when you came back–” Grian wants to laugh a little at what their definition of space is. “–but we still don’t really know how you’re doing with all this.” He frowns. “And now you’re leaving again tomorrow. I wish you would stay longer.”

“I have to go back to work,” Grian says. “I’ll be back again soon.” It’s another neat little lie. He knows he can’t stay away forever, because eventually the pull in his heart will grow strong enough to pull him back home again. But he’s not sure when, exactly, that would be. Saying soon is putting too fine a point on it.

Space is so much easier to maintain than closeness. There’s no effort, no maintenance required. No vulnerability. And although his apartment in Denver is empty and quiet and far from everybody he loves, it’s a predictable constant he can return to time and again. He’s not sure if he’s happy there, not after what has happened. But it is easier.

“I guess we’ll have to come to you,” Jimmy says. “Pearl told me about her trip, it sounded nice.”

“Yeah,” Grian says, and begins to fiddle with the edge of his jacket sleeve. “It was.”

Jimmy’s eyes cut back over to him. Grian can feel his gaze, but he does not look up. “She also said you need help.”

Ugh, stupid Pearl. Stupid Pearl and her stupid worrying and her stupid talking about him to other people. Of course she got home and immediately started updating everyone on what she learned.

“Well, she came. She helped. And now I’m fine. Like I said.”

“I don’t believe you,” Jimmy says. His face crumples a bit, and he starts to stammer. “I just–I just don’t know–I just don’t know how you would be,” he says. “It’s so–it’s awful. All of it. I mean, Mumbo, he’s–he’s dead and I know how close you were and–

Everything comes screeching to a halt in his brain.

“Excuse me?” he says, cutting off Jimmy mid-sentence. This time he does finally look up at Jimmy, and he squirms a little under the unexpected harshness of Grian’s gaze.

Jimmy blinks. “I’m sorry, I just said–”

Grian does not wait. “Mumbo is not dead,” he bites. “You do not know that.”

“I’m sorry,” Jimmy says, but the confusion is playing out across his face in a way that says he’s much more concerned with trying to defuse the situation than with what he’s said. “I just, I guess I assumed–”

“People like you assuming is why he’s still out there!” Grian says, raising his voice just shy of a shout. “They called off his search because he was presumed dead. They didn’t know that. You don’t know that! They just assumed.”

He tightens his hand into a fist, feeling the very tips of his fingernails start to press into his skin painfully. “And now it’s winter, and he’s still out there. Do you know how cold it is?”

“Grian,” Jimmy says, and his voice is painfully cautious. “It’s been months.”

“That’s exactly why it’s so bad,” he snaps.

It makes Grian’s stomach turn to just think about. It’s months of him being alone out there, and of everyone–everyone–failing him completely. He’s not going to be another person to fail.

Jimmy repeats himself. “It’s been months,” he says. “Come on, Grian, he’s been gone for months now.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?” he cries.

“I think you kn–I thought you knew,” Jimmy says brokenly. “You were grieving! You still are–I just, I thought we all knew. Stuff like this just….”

He trails off. He doesn’t want to say it. He doesn’t want the burden of having to say it. Grian would prefer it if they just stopped talking here, but of course Jimmy finds a way to go on. “Stuff like this doesn’t turn out well. It’s been too long.”

“Too long,” Grian says, with rising incredulity. “Too long? You just, what, gave up on him when too much time passed?” He turns away, shaking his head. “I’m the only one who still believes in him. None of you care.”

“That isn’t what I mean,” Jimmy says. He’s rocked back from being apologetic and pitying to being firmly on the defense. It’s a place Grian is more comfortable in. He’ll play offense forever where Mumbo is concerned. Jimmy continues bitterly: “I liked Mumbo too, you know. You weren’t his only friend. Of course I hoped they would find him. But…”

“There doesn’t have to be a but,” Grian pleads. “There’s still a chance. You gave up, Tim. How could you?”

“But is there a chance?” Jimmy asks. “You said it earlier, about the cold. And, and, it’s water. Food. Shelter. I just…I want there to be a chance, of course I do, but I don’t think there is one. I’m sorry G, I’m really sorry.”

“He’s smart,” Grian says. Stubbornly. Blankly.

It’s starting to mist now again, and the lights along the street reflect on the damp stones, painting them in soft gold. The bright lights and shadows against the curtains in the other houses on the street makes it feel like a different world. Most of the people are concentrated in the house that Grian and Jimmy are sitting on top of. He’s never felt so disconnected.

“He was smart,” Jimmy agrees, but it’s just not quite–

“Stop saying ‘was’,” Grian says. “Stop it! He’s smart, he’ll figure it out, I know he will.”

Jimmy runs a hand through his hair, looking way too ragged for this early in the night. “I’m doing an awful job of this,” he says. “I never–I didn’t wanna tell you this. But I thought you knew and needed help. I still think you need help.”

He feels like something inside him cracks a little. “Do you all really think he’s dead?” he whispers. “All this time?”

Jimmy’s silence is enough.

It still feels like a betrayal.

He’s known for a long time that Mumbo is presumed dead. After all, he was the point of contact for the entire case. He helped search. He received every update the rangers or sheriff could give him, and passed it on to everyone else.

The news had just slowly gotten more hopeless. The first few days were a frenzy of activity, between rangers and search and rescue people and volunteers and helicopters. They were the crucial hours. But crucial hours dwindle, and as they do the strategies change.

Eventually, he is told that rescue is now unlikely, and the main goal is a body recovery. He is told that the case will remain open until there is conclusive evidence pointing to his death. He is told that there isn’t a timeline for when they might get that.

Grian wants to deal in absolutes.

Mumbo is neither dead or alive at this point. There’s a maybe, and then a probably, and then a we assume, and he isn’t dealing with any of that. If there’s no evidence that he’s dead, then there’s no evidence he can’t be alive either. Grian intends to prove that.

“I can’t believe you,” he says, and then even louder. “I can’t believe you all gave up on him.”

“Grian, it isn’t giving up! It’s just–”

“Realism? Pragmatism?” Grian asks. “Well, I’ve had enough of that.”

Jimmy looks absolutely miserable. “I hope you’re right,” he says. “I hope there is a chance. I want to believe you.”

“Then believe me,” he says, like he’s issuing a challenge.

Jimmy sighs, and looks into Grian’s eyes. “Come on, G,” he says. “Let’s go back inside. It’s getting wet out here again. I’m freezing.”

He stands up, and reopens the window clumsily. The music gets louder again, and Jimmy crawls inside, his gangly limbs making the process more difficult. On a different night, Grian would have laughed at him.

He offers a hand out the window to Grian to help him inside. His brown eyes are soft, and his forehead is creased from where his eyebrows are knit upward. It drips concern.

Grian rejects the offering.

“I’ll come inside when I want to,” he says, and then mutters to himself, soft but still purposefully loud enough for Jimmy to hear: “I’m glad I’m leaving tomorrow.”

»»———-　　———-««

June 1989

“I can’t believe you’ve never seen Star Wars!” Scar cries.

This is the end of a long spiel that Grian has been listening to for several minutes. Scar’s quite good at going on tangents, and most of the time Grian doesn’t really mind it. He often finds them enjoyable. It’s nice to listen to someone who is excited about a topic, and even when he sets the radio on the table and drifts in and out of paying attention, it makes for a good way to pass the time. It chases away the dark thoughts that try to settle in his brain when he sits still for too long.

Today, however, he is looking for the pause that indicates Scar has finished speaking so that he has the opportunity to cut in again. The fatal flaw of the radios is as it always has been: that he cannot reply so long as Scar has his button pressed. Today, he’s hoping to end this spiel early, so that he doesn’t have to listen to a recap analysis of every movie in the trilogy.

He snatches the radio up off the table when he realizes Scar has, in fact, paused after that final indignant conclusion.

“Scar, I literally told you that I have seen it,” he says. “I’ve seen Star Wars.”

“Wait,” Scar says, baffled. “What? But you didn’t get my reference earlier!”

“I saw them all like twice,” Grian says. “I didn’t memorize them!”

“Okay, but, carbonite is a pretty basic reference, dude,” Scar says. “Like it isn’t my fault you didn’t understand that! What was I supposed to think about that?”

It is now that a piece suddenly clicks in his head. This is something he’s come to get used to when dealing with Scar, and normally he can put two and two together but today’s linguistic misadventure had left him stumped.

“I don’t know what word you thought you were saying earlier,” Grian says with a laugh, “but it definitely wasn’t carbonite.”

“You’re supposed to be able to read my mind by now, G,” Scar says. He’s unruffled by the accusation of mispronunciation. “Otherwise what’s the point in the two of us talking all day?”

“You like my company?”

“Mm, no, that’s not it,” Scar decides. “This is, uh–a social experiment! Yeah. What happens to two guys when they’re stuck in the wilderness together all summer. Maybe our brains will fuse or something if we only ever talk to each other.”

“Seems unethical,” Grian says. “I’m in. So what’s the control?”

“The control?”

“The, uh, normal part or whatever of an experiment. They use it to compare the variables against.”

“Oh,” he says. “I guess that could just be whatever we do in the off season. When we’re like, released back into civilization with the normal people who don’t go into the woods all summer.”

And that’s like, a funny thought of course, but what really stands out in that sentence is that he truly has no idea what Scar does when he’s back in civilization. Scar’s been a lookout for eight years now–he knows that part. But the job only runs until October 1, and there’s seven other months out of the year completely unaccounted for.

“Wait,” he starts. “What do you do in the off-season? You come back to this job every summer, right? What about the rest?”

“Oh, I do a little of this, a little of that,” Scar says. “Find my way back here by the end of April to start the next fire season.”

“What does that mean?”

“I do a lot of things,” Scar says. “Odd jobs. Traveling. Selling things. I’m free as a bird.”

“But where do you live?” Grian says, trying a different question.

“Wherever I want,” Scar says. “But, well, I’m from Washington. I go back there a lot. But Jellie and I, we’ve got a camper, so I just like to set up shop wherever I want. I’ve got a friend in Chicago that I visit sometimes, but I’m always trying to coax him to come out here and visit again in the summer. I told him he’s got to at least bring his telescope this time for stargazing.”

“That seems nice,” Grian says. “I mean, you sound like a retiree, but that seems nice.”

“Hey!” Scar cries. “Are you calling me old?”

“Just sayin’,” he hums. “You are older than me.”

“Only by a few years,” Scar pouts. “Besides, a retired guy would go somewhere warmer for the winter. I’m just stuck up here in all this snow.”

“Why don’t you go somewhere warmer?” Grian asks. “If you’ve got that freedom? Isn’t that, like, difficult to have a camper in the winter? Everything would freeze. Seems dangerous to drive in the ice too.”

“I like it up here,” Scar says, suddenly sounding very stiff. “I make it work.”

“Oh,” Grian says, pulling back just instinctively. “That’s fine. The snow’s pretty. What type of odd jobs and work do you do? Or do you just…try to live off of this salary the rest of the year?”

“Definitely not,” Scar says with a chuckle, stiffness melted in an instant. “I really enjoyed landscaping. But that type of work is harder for me now, and besides, the winter season isn’t the best time of year to get work like that. So I sell a lot of things, you know, door-to-door type of things.”

“Oh my god,” Grian says, groaning. “You’re one of those annoying salesmen. I hate those guys.”

“Annoying?” Scar says. “No, no, I’m perfectly charming.”

“I don’t know why I didn’t guess that,” Grian says. “It’s like your perfect job. You literally never stop talking.” He sort of waves a hand around his head, in a whooshing gesture. “It’s all coming back to me now. That uncanny resemblance to the guy who sold me my last car.”

“A car salesman? G-man, you wound me,” Scar says. “Those guys are liars and cheats.”

“And you aren’t?” he says. “No, please tell me you aren’t.”

“Only to the people who deserve it,” Scar says, and his wicked grin almost transports directly over the radio waves.

“I’m scared to ask who deserves it.”

“I can tell you who doesn’t,” Scar muses. “Little old ladies love me. ‘Cause, like, going door-to-door selling something in January is a little strange, right? They’re like whoa, what are you doing out here, it’s so cold! So I just get invited inside at every door and offered a cup of coffee. Then they get a discount for their hospitality!”

“A discount?” Grian says.

“Well, I only make them pay what it’s actually worth,” Scar says, sounding clear and confident and, concerningly, just a little bit proud of that.

“You’re the worst!” he cries. It’s a little overdramatic, but on purpose. “They probably all think you’re ‘a nice young man’ or something and you’re just scamming them the whole time.”

“So close,” Scar says brightly. “Actually, they call me a nice handsome young man. And I don’t scam the little old ladies, I give them the normal price.”

“You’re insufferable,” Grian says. “That just means you’re scamming every other house. I feel like I need to balance out the universe now. You’re an old man, you literally travel around in a camper like you’re on a retirement trip.”

“Well, a man and his cat have to have something to do the other seven months of the year, don’t we?” Scar says, bemused. “Anyway, what are your plans this winter? What do you plan on doing after this?”

“I…” Grian trails off on the thought. “I haven’t thought about that.”

There isn’t really a next on his radar. It’s just quitting his architecture job, trying to work out a deal on his apartment’s rent for the next few months, driving to Wyoming for the summer, living in the fire lookout for a few months, finding Mumbo, and then…nothing else. They live happily ever after? Mumbo gets the help he probably needs at this point, and then everything resets back to normal?

He’s never even entertained a thought that he might need to figure out what he’s doing next, because finding Mumbo will work. He’s made so much progress so far this summer. Why does he need to have something lined up when he knows his goal is in sight?

Scar seems like he’s frowning a bit. “Well, you’ve got a few months,” he says. “It’s only the end of June. That’s enough time to work out something for yourself in October. You can get a job lined up for the off-season.”

“No, Scar. There just–I don’t have anything else,” he says, feeling a tinge of desperation on the words.

“What do you mean?”

“I’m just going to find Mumbo, and that’s it.”

Truthfully, he doesn’t even intend to see the rest of the summer out. He isn’t supposed to even be in this lookout come October–he’ll have found Mumbo by then. He’s going home after he completes this goal. But telling Scar that up-front just seems mean, and unnecessarily stressful.

“But what if you don’t…” Scar trails off, pivots, and rearranges his sentence. “But you still need to have an idea of what you want to do next.”

“There isn’t a next,” Grian says. “Just that.”

“I guess this means you aren’t coming back next year,” Scar says softly.

Good lookouts get invited back year after year–nearly always to the same towers as before, unless another area needs it more. Scar’s been at his for years. If Grian wants his place, he already knows it’s here for him, barring any budget changes from Congress to render him obsolete. He bites his lip, and stares back out the window at the mountains. It’s been a while since he did an in-depth scan for smoke, so he starts to perform one now. His eyes zig-zag across the hills, starting high and ending low.

“I wasn’t ever going to,” he responds.

And he thinks Scar knows that, on some level, because the next thing he says is: “I guess I just hoped you would.”

“It’s only about finding Mumbo,” Grian says. “I’m really sorry, Scar.”

Because it has nothing to do with Scar–it isn’t personal. This plan was in place before he even met him, and that’s a shame, but it’s just how it is. It’s just about returning Grian’s life back to the way it’s supposed to be. It’s restoring balance in the universe, bringing Mumbo home, and nothing else. There isn’t anything else.

“It could be about something else too,” Scar says. He’s speaking in a delicate, tentative way. “Being up here. It could be about something else too.”

“What else is there?”

There’s a long pause, and he knows he’s causing problems once again. It’s one of his new social “skills” from the past year. It’s a stupid question to ask; its answers are obvious. What is there? Well, there’s nature, peace, calm, fulfillment. There’s friendship. There’s friendship with Scar specifically.

After a long moment, Scar speaks again. “Just make sure to come visit me next year,” he says. “You always know where to find me.”

<< Chapter Six | Masterpost | Chapter Eight >>

#hermitcraft #grian #goodtimeswithscar #jimmy solidarity #hermitcraft fanfic #quara fanfic #hc_firewatch_au

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scheodingers-muppet · 2 years

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Welcome back to "Jace has Stranger Things and Taylor Swift brainrot." On today's episode: Red. I'm going kinda out of order, but I honestly think I'll end up doing every album so if you want to see a specific album, let me know

State of Grace: Steddie. "I never saw you coming" "You were never a saint, and I've loved in shades of wrong" They both can be mean and tough, but they were so soft around each other almost immediately

Red: Stancy, from Steve's POV. The relationship was honestly toxic, but it was filled with adrenaline and most likely Steve's first real love. Losing her was hard, since he loved her so strongly. I'm also a "Steve's emotions are too big for his body" person so I might be projecting

Treacherous: Lumax. Max grew up without a strong sense of what a healthy relationship should look like. Her stepdad sucked and was likely awful to her Mom. She's scared of what love and letting people in her bubble mean. Then you add the fact Billy straight up told her to avoid Lucas but she couldn't resist. Then Lucas warning her that getting involved with him could be dangerous. It's not safe on paper, but she loves him

I Knew You Were Trouble: Stancy, from Steve's side. I promise not all the breakup songs will be Stancy. But the line "the saddest fear comes creeping in that you never loved me, or her, or anyone" paired with the fight, her inability to tell Steve she loves him, the strain with Jonathan in season 4. It just fits so well

All Too Well: Mike and El. "Any time now, he's gonna say it's love. You never called it what it was, til we were dead and gone and buried, checked the pulse and come back swearing it's the same." "You kept me like a secret but I kept you like an oath" and Mike literally keeping her a secret at first. "I'm a crumbled up piece of paper" as an analogy to the letters. "Maybe we got lost in translation" and El feeling like she isn't even the same species as Mike. "The idea you had of me, who was she? A never-needy ever, lovely jewel whose shine reflects on you" Need I continue?

22: Season 3 Elmax at the mall. Just being teenage girls, the way they deserve. Also, imagine them having a sleepover, dancing around screaming this song while Hopper's at work one night. Adorable

I Almost Do: Jopper. I think the idea that Joyce waited for Hopper, for him to mature or whatever it was, and finally had to stop waiting. It tore them both apart, but I think Joyce would have had a similar reaction to this song; through Lonnie (or however you spell his name), Bob. Everything

We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together: Lumax. My on-again-off-again OTP. Another big slumber party song. They will get back together though, let's be honest

Stay Stay Stay: Platonic Stobbin. I just know Robin would be horrible in an actual fight, she'd get so ready for someone to leave and just snap at them. Steve would try to make her laugh once they sit down to talk it out to relieve the tension. In Steve's eyes, everyone he loves leaves, but Robin stays

The Last Time: Byler. Will has had to beg Mike to give him some attention lately, like in season 4 with the letter fight. "The is the last time I'm asking you this, put my name at the top of your list" "You break my heart in the blink of an eye" "This is the last time I say it's been you all along"

Holy Ground: Platonic Stancy. Like, they've both moved on and have each other as friends in their lives. I love the idea of Steddie and Ronance, with Steve and Nancy dancing together at their weddings

Sad Beautiful Tragic: Jancy. They only started hanging out because of tragedies. Their relationship has only existed because of horrible things, but they found beauty in it. "Distance, timing, breakdown, fighting" and "Could you just try to listen?" with the fight in season 3 and them living on opposite sides of the country in season 4.

The Lucky One: Steve. "You had it figured out since you were in school, everybody loves pretty, everybody loves cool" Everyone is quick to tell him he's got it good since he has a rich family and was Mr. Popular, but he's lonely. "Your lover in the foyer doesn't even know you." "You don't feel pretty, you just feel used" "You wonder if you'll make it out alive"

Everything Has Changed: Lumax!! "All I've seen since 18 hours ago is green eyes, and freckles and your smile in the back of my mind" "All I know is a simple name and everything as changed" from Lucas's pov. "All my walls stood tall, painted blue but I'll take 'em down and open up the door for you" "All I know is a new found grace. All my days, I'll know your face" from Max

Starlight: Robin. I think Robin would love space and the stars. We know she loves music, and I think she'd like to dance too. Also the line "worrying so much about things you can't change. You'll spend your whole life singing the blues if you keep thinking that way" fits her so well. And the line "He's talking crazy, dancing with me. We could get married, have ten kids and teach them how to dream" reads to me as Robin playfully joking about Steve's old crush on her, and I think the two of them would totally hang out on Robin's prom night, but Steve would still make her dance because everyone deserves an awkward prom slow dance

Begin Again: Max, not necessarily about a relationship though. This song makes me think of Max's damaged relationship with men and the party helping her heal that. Billy was abusive, her stepdad sucked. We see Steve be that protective figure where Billy was the opposite. Hopper would totally also take her under his wing and show her what a father figure should be. The boys in the party treat her as an equal. They think she's fierce and funny and beautiful, but they treat her as a person too. She's not used to that; the men in her life haven't been good to her. But they're showing her how worthy she is

The Moment I Knew: Byler. I love Mike, but he's severely dropped the ball for Will. Will was so excited to see him in season 4, but he's hardly paying attention to him before everything happens. Add the fact that season 4 should have been over Will's birthday

Come Back... Be Here: Steddie. "I told myself don't get attached." "I don't want to miss you like this" "If I had known what I'd known now, I never would've played so nonchalant" "I can't help but wish you took me with you" "This is falling in love in the cruelest way" "This is falling for you and you are worlds away"

Girl At Home: Honestly, Murray. Why? I Don't know. But it's him.

Ronan: Hopper (I'm sorry) I think we often forget he lost his daughter, and not only that, he blames himself. The little memories we see show how much he loved her.

Better Man: Max about Billy. She wanted to love him but he was so horrible to her and we see in season 4 how she does miss him. "Talking down to me like I'd always be around, push my love away like it was some kind of loaded gun" "I wish it wasn't 4 am standing in the mirror saying 'you know you had to it' I know the bravest thing I ever did was wrong"

Nothing New: Nancy. "Girls go out and have your fun' then they hunt and slay the ones who actually do it" Nancy tried to be a teenage girl and lost her best friend, blames herself for it, got slutshammed to the whole town, and became a monster hunter. She deals with the most sexism, both from other characters and the fandom. "what will become of me once I lost my novelty" "how can a person know everything at 18 and nothing at 22?" "She'll know the way and then she'll say she got the map from me" about Holly or Erica, and feeling so conflicted because these girls look up to her but she feels like a mess who shouldn't be a goal to reach. Especially for Erica, since she got roped into the Upside Down stuff so young.

The other vault songs don't really match in my opinion, so this is all for today

#stranger things #steve harrington #eddie munson #nancy wheeler #lucas sinclair #max mayfield #mike wheeler #el hopper #will byers #jonathan byers #joyce byers #taylor swift #chief hopper #red taylor’s version

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mercy-burning · 3 years

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Good Little Helper

Pairing: Season 5! Spencer Reid x fem!Reader Summary: Reader gets assigned to be Spencer’s personal assistant of sorts after he gets shot in the knee. Category: SMUT(18+) Content Warnings: fingering (female receiving), blowjob, praise kink, dirty talk, blink and you’ll miss it cumplay Word Count: 4.7k

MASTERLIST

NOTE: So, remember yesterday when I posted about how I wished new ideas would stop distracting me from everything I’m currently working on? Yeah. This wouldn’t leave me alone, and I couldn’t work on anything until I got it out of my head, so here! Have a fic! (It was supposed to be a blurb, but I got a little long-winded so now it’s too long to be a blurb oops 😙✌) Also, I apologize for any editing mistakes, I just wrote this out in one go, so hopefully it’s alright!

***

Being assigned to assist Dr. Reid with practically his every need after he was shot in the knee wasn't exactly how I expected to spend the past few months.

And that's, like... a huge understatement.

In fact, when Agent Hotchner came up to me in the break room and said he'd like me to do the job, I dropped my coffee and shattered a mug. I could tell he was a little impatient with me, even through his kind reassurances that it was quite all right as he helped me clean it up and waited for an answer.

In the end I'd said yes to the job, though the more I thought about it the more I wondered how much lust and naivete had clouded my judgement when I did.

Because there was absolutely no way I was going to be able to survive weeks, possibly months, as Spencer Reid's assistant. Not only because he was intimidatingly intelligent and there was almost nothing I could offer him in decent conversation, but also—and more prominently—the fact that I was pretty sure I was in love with him.

Maybe that was a stretch. I definitely had a stupid major crush on him that felt more like we were in middle school, but I could barely look at him without going warm all over. In fact, I think we had only ever made eye contact once and I averted my gaze immediately, afraid I'd give myself away. If I'd have held it any longer, I was positive I'd have burst into flames.

He'd tried talking to me once, a few months after I started working at the Bureau, and it was only to ask if I'd send some files over to their tech analyst, Penelope Garcia, but when I tried answering, I stumbled over my words and ended up only getting out a squeaked, "Uh huh," before taking the files from him and scurrying off.

I almost cried that day.

Basically every time I was in his presence, I was a total wreck. Even more so than I was on any other given day.

Being his assistant did get fairly easy pretty early on, though. I mostly just stayed out of his way while he worked, and if he need anything that he could've gotten himself if not for the injury, it was my job to get it for him. I worked on my own paperwork most of the time, and he was always busy working on geographical profiles and whatever else, we only ever really had to talk when he asked for something. And that only required a, "Sure," on my end, so I could just get up, get what he needed, and then go back to work.

Still, it didn't help that sometimes I'd get distracted.

He was very distracting.

I usually waited until I was sure he was so busy in work that I wouldn't get caught. And that's when I'd peek over my computer or hide behind a book and stare at him. I know that sounds creepier than it is, but if you had to spend almost every hour of the day with him, you'd have done the same. Even though for months he was put on rest from the field, he always showed up looking more like a college professor than an FBI agent. Which, I suppose suited him more anyway. Regardless, it was a damn fine look. His hair was decently long and extremely pretty, and when he got the cane?

I was a goner.

It was at that point, though, when I started to realize that he probably wouldn't need my help anymore. He'd been allowed back into the filed by then, and even when I went with them on cases it still felt like I was more out of place than usual. Sure, I'd picked up on some minor skills that aided in profiling and otherwise, but at the end of the day I was still only a desk clerk. Sooner or later, I knew there would be a time where Agent Hotchner would inevitably tell me that I'd done a good job and could return to my menial day job.

So, even though Dr. Reid and I had gotten into a pretty regular, non-awkward rhythm, I was being a little more squirrely than usual.

And of course, he noticed.

"Y/N, are you doing alright?" he asked, looking up from his stack of paperwork. That was another thing we'd ended up doing— late into the night after everyone had gone home, we stayed late in the conference room and quietly filled out paperwork.

I barely looked him in the eye when I answered. "O—Oh, mhm. I'm fine."

"Oh... You just seem... a little different today."

On any other day I would have freaked out on the inside like a teenager, excited that he'd noticed me at all enough to notice a difference in my behavior. But that was his job after all.

"Actually, you seem rather... sad."

I did look up at him this time, and the soft glow of the table lamp lit up his features— features that looked me over with concern. I could feel my face grow warmer with every second I looked at him, until I quickly looked back down at my paper and shook my head.

"N—No, I'm okay. Promise. Just a little tired, that's all."

Usually he would have left it at that, given we didn't ever really have longer conversations than that that didn't pertain to whatever case the BAU was working on. But he pushed further, and I swallowed.

"Are you sure? Because... You can tell me if there's something wrong. I'm a good listener..."

Did I dare tell him what was really plaguing me? That I was scared I wasn't going to be able to spend time with him every day, thus most likely giving away my crush? That is, if he hadn't already figured it out by this point... Truthfully it wouldn't have surprised me.

The thought made me go warm again, and still, I kept my head down.

"I'm sure..."

And then I did something I probably shouldn't have. I looked back up at him, just a quick glance, but under his intense gaze I crumbled, flitting my eyes back down and playing with my hands.

"Is it... because of me?"

Afraid suddenly that I'd made him feel bad, I straightened a little. "No! No, not at all I... Um... I—I guess I'm just... A little sad that I'm probably... not going to be of any help to you anymore. You know, now that you're healing up."

A small smile flashed over his face, and I inwardly melted.

"Oh... In that case I... I guess I'm sad, too."

"Really?" I asked softly, my heart jumping.

"Mhm," he answered back in earnest. His features were softer than they'd ever been, eyes wide and kind, smile inviting... "You've been a great help. And you're fun to be around."

I couldn't help but smile shyly at his confession, completely bewildered that he'd think of me as someone he'd enjoyed being around, though I'd offered just about nothing interesting to any conversation we'd had. "Y—You don't mean that..."

"I do."

"C'mon, really? I... I—mean... coming from you that's... that's too generous."

He laughed a little. "How do you mean?"

"I... Well, y—you're you... I mean, you're... smart, and nice, and cu— uh,... n—nice..." I stumbled hard on that last one, squeezing my eyes shut at the thought of almost calling him cute to his face... And then I realized I'd called him nice two times... in a row.

I hadn't even realized he'd gotten up and walked over to me until I felt his cane gently tap my leg. I jumped, looking up at him and almost crumbled again right then and there. He stood over me, tall and clearly amused, and I wanted to just curl up and hide where no one would ever find me.

I also didn't want to be craning my neck so far up to see him, so I stood up, sending my chair rolling back a foot or two. The added height was better, but he was still fiarly taller than me, and with the way were standing so close to each other?

Maybe I'd made a mistake...

"I—I'm sorry," I stammered.

Still amused, Spencer tilted his head a small amount. "What for?"

"I... I don't know, m—making this awkward?"

"It's not awkward."

"It... It's not?"

He shook his head, quiet for a few beats before he nearly whispered. "What were you going to say?"

I paused. "I... What?"

"Before... You said I was smart. And nice... And... What else?"

It sounded like he was trying to get me to confess something, and quite honestly I couldn't tell if it was for humiliation or amusement or clarification purposes. I mean, it was probably safe to assume he wouldn't go out of his way to humiliate me, but... it still made me nervous.

"I—I didn't... I..."

"Y/N... Tell me?"

I'd been cornered. Quite literally, too, as my lower back hit the edge of the table. My hands shook anxiously at my sides as I contemplated what to say. The truth? Embarrassing for me. A lie? I was no good at telling lies, and I'd still end up embarrassed, because he'd be able to tell.

So, after a very long silence in which he waited on me to answer, I blurted out, as quietly as possible, "Cute."

The word sounded juvenile coming from my mouth. Right now, standing under Dr. Reid's intense scrutiny, it didn't even feel like the right word to describe him. Not that it wasn't true... But it just wasn't an elegant enough descriptor for him.

And that alone probably proved just how different we were. How out of my league he was...

"That's what I thought you were going to say," he mused, slightly breaking me out of my self-deprecation.

I would have asked him something then, anything to keep myself from looking like even more of a fool with a childish schoolgirl crush, but all words escaped me entirely. All I could do was look up at him, slowly growing warm under the intensity of his eyes and praying he wouldn't think of me as silly.

Though, it wouldn't have mattered, because he kept talking anyway, his body taking up even more space around me as his arms came around to well and truly trap me against the table.

"You're right, you know... I'm almost completely healed, and pretty soon I think I won't need an assistant anymore."

I was scared that maybe I was wrong before, and he'd actually humiliate me now, though the look in his eyes suggested otherwise. I wasn't sure what to make of all of it. SO I just stood there, trying to breath steadily as Spencer studied my face.

"And I meant it... That makes me sad. You know why?"

I shook my head, afraid to make a sound.

His head dipped lower, close enough that I could feel his breath on my mouth as he spoke. "I probably won't get to see you every day."

"Y—you want to see me?" I couldn't help but ask.

He scanned my eyes, amusement and something else lingering there as he did. "Yes."

And then he kissed me.

It was a short distance, but it felt like we went far. And I hadn't even registered that I whimpered into his mouth until he returned it with a low groan that boiled my insides and absolutely melted me. I was helpless against him as he pressed himself further against me and used his hands to keep my back steady.

The whole time my mind was swimming with dizziness. It felt like my body was covered in butterflies from head to toe, particularly strong where his hands pressed into me and his cane rested firmly along the inside of my thigh.

I leaned forward when he pulled away, because I was afraid that he was saying goodbye. But one of his hands came up to my face and my eyes fluttered open, immediately taking notice of how messy his hair was now that I'd had my fingers in it.

I must have looked scared, because suddenly his eyes changed, and he removed his hands away from me altogether, putting distance in between us. "I—I'm sorry. I shouldn't have kissed you without asking..."

The relief that rushed through my body must have gotten to my head, because I breathed out a demand I'd never have had the courage to get out before.

"Do it again."

One second I was staring at him, admittedly afraid that he'd regretted all of it, and the next I was seeing stars as he came forward and kissed me again. His hands cradled my face as he did so, coming on to me with gentle care while still maintaining that hunger that surprised and excited me.

I hadn't realized how much I missed his touch until he'd given it back to me, my body once again melting into him and allowing him to do whatever it is that pleased him.

Apparently that was lifting my leg off the ground and making me sit on the table.

My body went along with it easily, and I was glad for it because my brain was nothing but mush, unable to process fully how he'd decided that I was worth kissing. All I really knew was that I wanted him. Anything he wanted from me, I was willing to give. And that must have come across very clearly, because when he pulled away and spoke to me, I whimpered at his words.

"Y/N... You've been such a good girl, helping me with whatever I needed these past few months..." Meanwhile his hand danced along the hem of my skirt, the tiny brushes of his skin against mine sending me into a mess of shivers.

"I think it's about time I've thanked you for all your help, don't you think?"

The implications in his tone made me whine again, and I pressed my forehead into his, our noses brushing as I answered. "Please."

I was so taken by the way he groaned as his lips connected with mine once more that I almost didn't realize that his hand was now fully up my skirt, his fingers drawing gentle lines over my panties and practically making me melt again. His hungry kisses contradicted the softness he took to my clothed cunt, a fact that warmed me to my core and made me want him more than ever.

When he slipped the fabric aside and ran the pad of his finger through me, I whined hard against his mouth, something that must have excited him— He nipped at my bottom lip and took a deep breath.

"How long have you wanted this, Princess?"

If not for the kissing and the finger slowly sliding up through my arousal, the nickname would have done me in. By now I was an utter wreck, but I somehow still managed to answer, even through a little stammering. "F—Forever."

It was the best I could come up with.

He breathed a laugh as his finger circled my clit. "That's a long time..."

"Uh huh," was all I could manage in response. My body and my brain were too focused on the things his finger was doing to my body, involuntarily rolling my hips forward for more. I needed more.

Thankfully he picked up on my urgency and reciprocated with slipping his middle finger inside me, one knuckle, then two...

I cried out as my head lurched forward, connecting our mouths once again. My hands clutched around his neck and my fingers tugged at his hair to keep myself from falling, because the slow, searing pace at which he fingered me made me wonder how I'd still been able to breathe.

He added another finger soon enough, picking up the pace and rendering me practically useless in his embrace. Meanwhile I registered the sound of his own little whines, still deeper than mine but little enough to tip me off that he was enjoying this just as much as I was, and that alone helped get me further along in pleasure.

I pulled my mouth from his reluctantly, squeezing my eyes shut as I allowed my forehead to rest against his. "D—Doctor, I'm c... I'm so close."

"His honorific falling breathlessly from my mouth seemed to do something sinister to him, because his fingers sped up and his breathing got heavier.

"Yeah? You gonna come for me, Princess?"

My stomach tightened and I nodded as best as I could, relishing in the sounds coming from below us, wet and downright filthy.

"Go ahead...Be a good girl and come for me... You deserve it..."

Each little sentence was punctuated with a slightly faster pace, each one bringing me closer and closer until I squeaked into his mouth and shook violently around his fingers, my vision going white. My legs had been open wide since he'd started teasing under my skirt, but now they threatened to clamp shut from the intensity. But I wanted nothing more than to be good for him, to make this as easy as possible, so I held out and kept them open as wide as I could stand as my orgasm rocked through me.

Spencer whispered praises into my skin as his hand slowed and his mouth trailed down to my neck. And even though it was more than nice feeling him lick and bite over my skin, I felt rather sad when he removed his fingers from me.

That sadness didn't last long though, not when he pulled back and studied me for a moment, eyes lust-blown and purely ravenous before he brought his glistening fingers up to my mouth.

I didn't even have to think. I brought my tongue out and let him slip his fingers over it, closing my mouth around them and sighing as I sucked them clean. This only seemed to excite him more, his features displaying all sorts of desperation until he couldn't take it anymore.

He kissed me again, bringing both his hands to rest at my waist. And with his hands so low I wondered if maybe he'd take to ridding himself of his own pants, but it never happened. Rather, he pulled away after minutes of more kissing, and sighed quite sadly as his upper body pressed firmly into mine.

Something else pressed firmly against me as well—right along the inside of my thigh—and I gasped, mind running wild through all the possible outcomes of the night.

But Spencer only stood there, occasionally nudging his nose against mine while his hands gently kneaded my sides.

"D—Do you want to stop?" I asked softly, afraid he'd regret what we did.

He proved me wrong. "God, no... It's... It's just that I'm still not cleared enough for any... strenuous activity on my leg, and I don't..."

I didn't want to push him, obviously, but I thought I could make the mood a little lighter. "O—Oh, well on the bright side... I could stay your assistant for a while longer."

The laugh that rumbled in his throat made me smile, though from the way he stood there, I knew he wouldn't risk it.

"Um... Raincheck?" he whispered.

On the one hand, that meant he definitely wanted to see me again, and I was more than happy with that. But also, that meant our fun for the night was done...

Yet... Maybe not...

"Sure," I answered, pecking his lips once more. Then I brought my hand to his chest and slid it down until I reached his belt, and I leaned back to look him in the eye, a boldness I never imagined coming from me in a million years.

"But I can still help you..."

I watched the desperation and disappointment in his features slowly dissolve into a newfound hunger—and an amusement—that grew my confidence tenfold.

"Oh?" Spencer mused. "How do you suppose you can help me this time?"

He wanted me to say it. So, without second guessing myself anymore, I grazed my finger over his erection. "I'm very good with my mouth, Dr. Reid."

He grabbed me by the hand then, dragging me along to the chair I'd kicked back before and sat himself down, one of his hands still gripping the cane. Matched with the desire in his eyes and the swollenness of his lips and the tousled strands of his hair, the sight was truly something to behold. It was something that only ever existed in my dreams, nd now it was real.

Not wanting to waste any time, I sunk to my knees and nestled myself in between his legs. He reached out and caressed my cheek before lifting my chin with his middle finger.

"You like being my good little helper?" he drawled.

I tried to nod, but he clicked his tongue and held my chin in place. "Words, Princess."

"Yes. I—I'd do anything you asked. Anything you want, it's yours..."

He hummed then, removing his hand from my face and moving to undo his belt swiftly with only one hand. The action, the sound, everything... it was enough to make me wet again, and I subtly ground down onto the heel of my foot as I watched him pull himself free from the confines of his pants.

I didn't have time to marvel at him before I was drawn forward like a magnet, my hands crawling up his legs and my eyes batting up at him, ready and eager to please him however he wanted.

"Eager, are we?" he mused once more, gently stroking himself with his hand.

"Yes, Doctor," I breathed, inching closer and kissing the outside of his hand.

His movement stopped then, and it didn't take longer than a second for him to decide to let me work on my own.

"Then have at it, Princess..."

I started by kissing my way up the length of him, taking my time to gauge his reactions as I did so, occasionally darting my tongue out to taste him. Once I reached the tip, I sucked on it gently, using my tongue to swirl around it until I could taste the saltiness of his precum.

And then I started taking him slowly into my mouth, watching above me as Spencer's eyes started to shut, obviously debating whether or not to lay back and enjoy this or watch me intently.

Either way, I was more than happy to keep it up, finally getting him to the back of my throat. I flexed my tongue and held him there as long as I could, promptly gagging over him and blinking tears from my eyes as he let out a loudest sound I'd heard from him yet. His head flew back and his tongue quivered along his bottom lip as he cursed my name.

The act made me proud, so I retreated for air, sucked at his tip again for a few seconds, and then repeated it, taking him down my throat again and watching through teary eyes as he visibly swallowed and squeezed his eyes shut.

"Fuck, Y/N, you're so... Such a good fucking girl..."

The praise caused my insides to burn hot, and I ground down onto my heel again, lifting my mouth to start bobbing up and down.

His eyes opened then, and he looked down at me, using his hand to brush stray hair from my face and the other to grip onto his cane for dear life. I looked up at him the whole time, making sure to convey through not only my actions but also my eyes that I loved this. I thrived off of his praise, I enjoyed the feel of his dick gliding over my tongue and hitting the back of my throat, and I longed to feel him coat the inside of my mouth with his release.

I was so entirely into him in every capacity, it wasn't even funny.

I was so glad he could tell, a smile grazing his features as his hand gently gripped some of my hair. "So eager to please, Princess... And so fucking good at delivering..."

I whined onto his dick as he held me down, rendering me immobile. The only thing I could do was look up at him and choke, and of course, I was more than happy to do it. In turn, I was met with a deep groan and a tug of the hair.

"Hold it, hold it... Atta girl..."

My cunt throbbed at his words, and my throat continued to burn, tears falling down my face at ten-speed until finally, he let up and pulled me off of him.

I coughed a little and blinked away tears as I caught my breath, Spencer's fingers combing hair from my face as he smiled proudly.

He didn't even need to say anything then. I wanted to give him more. So I leaned down again and took him in my mouth, quickly making work of his tip while my hand came up and stroked the rest of him.

"Fuck, Princess, just like that... Make me come just like that..."

Rather than just continuing, I offered him a high whine and a wide gaze, hoping to exceed expectations.

I guess it worked, because he came right then, his dick pulsing over my tongue and in my hand as his warm release shot down my throat and over my tongue. I hummed around him, fluttering my eyes closed at the taste and the feeling, probably enjoying the fact that I'd done this to him more than I should have.

It was worth it to see the look on his face, though, after he'd given me all he had and I purposely spit some of it out onto the tip of his dick so I could lick it up and give him just a little more stimulation after the fact. His mouth hung open, eyes heavy and unwilling to leave me, even as I finished and sat back to wipe the tears and saliva from my face with a satisfied smile.

Though, the longer he looked at me, the more shy I became. Funny when I'd just had his dick down my throat, but I'd never been good with people staring at me for long periods of time.

"Was that... Was that okay?" I asked, suddenly worried I hadn't done something to his standards. "I know I don't do this a lot, so I'm sorry if it wasn't that g—"

"Y/N..."

I blinked up at him, still on my knees and unwilling to move. Not that I wanted to, but I couldn't even if I had.

"That was fucking perfect... I meant it, you're... so good."

I knew he was capable of better words, but after having the life sucked out of you, I could imagine 'better words' were hard to come by. Still, I laughed a little, playing with the hem of my skirt. "Good. I'm... glad I could help."

He smiled at me, readjusting his pants and then moving to help me off the ground.

"Hey, uh... Even when you go back to your regular job after I get better, I... I hope you know you're always welcome to come visit me if we're not busy."

The words warmed me in a different way, my heart swelling as well. "You... You mean that?"

Spencer nodded, grabbing my hand and dragging his thumb over my wrist. "Of course. I mean, you're more than just a good helper, you know. You're also kind, and smart, and cute..."

I laughed at his emphasis on cute, heat warming my face. "Ha-ha..."

"I really mean it, though," he said softly, removing his hand from mind and bringing it up to lift my chin, so I'd meet his eyes. They were swimming with sincerity, the epitome of warmth and comfort and kindness— the kind that always drew me to him in the first place. "And... If you'd want to maybe ditch the paperwork one day and grab a coffee or something, maybe—"

"Yes," I interrupted without thinking. My heartbeat picked up upon seeing the look in his eyes when I agreed, a mixture of amusement and relief. "Y—Yes, I'd love to."

"Good. Then it's a date?"

"Definitely."

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gladerwolfstarkimagines · 3 years

Text

Imagine being Sokka and Katara’s cousin and having a complicated romantic relationship with Zuko.

Your cousin Sokka had initially set you up with Zuko because he figured the firelord needed some fun and you were exactly that. You weren’t interested in titles or riches you were just an infectious whirlwind of carefree energy. He figured Zuko could learn something from you and so arranged the date.

He could tell by how light Zuko walked into the room the next day that his plan had worked and he liked seeing the positive effect you were having on Zuko. The pressures of the throne had really been weighing down on him and you helped him to get some much-needed freedom and connect with his non-Firelord side....however it always had a way of coming back.

Zuko loved dating you but he’d gotten pressure from every single fire nation noblemen on the council to break up with you. They disliked you because you were from the water tribe so many viewed you as an outsider trying to influence the fire nation. Zuko’s reign was still so new and with rebellions breaking out more frequently Zuko agreed. He had to put his country first even if that meant losing you. One thing Zuko hadn’t realised however was you had a very different view of your relationship...for one thing you didn’t even realise you were in one with the Firelord.

Your POV

Zuko was always pretty tense but you noticed tonight he was even more stressed and quiet. You tried to make conversation but he was sombre throughout dinner and when you’d finished he put his cutlery down and looked across at you. “Y/n I need to speak to you”. You nodded folding your arm “sure, what’s wrong?”. Zuko sighed "Y/n i’ve really enjoyed our time together but i...have to break up with you, I can’t see you anymore". You blinked surprised, one at Zuko’s honesty and two at the news you had apparently been dating the Firelord. You and Zuko weren’t dating or even close to dating, in your mind you’d just been having fun and sure you were definitely not just friends but you also didn’t think you were boyfriend/girlfriend. Regardless of what the label was you quickly realised what Zuko was telling you and it made a heavy weight settle in your stomach. Whatever this between you was...it made you sad to think it would be ending. "You do?" you asked remaining composed and Zuko nodded. "It’s nothing to do with you it’s me, being firelord i don’t have the time for dating or fun, i don’t think it’s fair to keep this going when I can’t guarantee i’ll always be able to give you my attention". You nodded your head "that sounds fair, thank you for thinking of that". "No problem" Zuko said smiling sadly and you nodded awkwardly. “I’ll be going then” and you went to walk away when he spoke again "but i really enjoyed our time together y/n, i really did". You smiled "me too, you’re pretty fun for a royal" and bowed "see you around firelord” and you walked away.

Zuko’s POV

You walked out of the room and Zuko sighed. He felt a mix between relief and sadness. That had gone a lot easier than he thought it would and that should be a good thing but it didn’t feel that way. A part of Zuko had wanted you to argue with him or to dig to find the real reason he was breaking it off. He knew if you’d have challenged him in even the slightest way he’d have told you the truth and taken back what he’d said but you had just agreed and let it go without a fight. Zuko couldn’t help feeling disappointed and a little hurt. You remained on his mind the rest of the day and Zuko couldn’t stop wondering about your reaction. He was sat with your cousin Sokka when he decided to bring you up. "Just so you know I’ve ended things with y/n" Zuko explained and Sokka blinked "i’m sorry what?". "I know i should’ve warned you seeing as she’s your cousin...i’m sorry". Sokka shook his head "no i’m confused how do you think you were dating her". Zuko blinked "what do you mean? You literally set us up". "I introduced you because i thought y/n could make you loosen up a bit but Zuko y/n doesn’t date". Zuko blinked "but we hung our several times and...kissed and stuff". Sokka sighed "oh god as gross as this is to have to explain about my cousin...Zuko that doesn’t mean you were dating". "It doesn’t?”. Sokka sighed "okay here’s what you need to know about my cousin, she grew up in a town that was heavily sexist and married girls off at young ages, so as times started to change she leapt at the new opportunities. She refused to ever date anyone, it’s too much commitment and so instead she has fun with people, typically for short periods of time and then she flutters away, usually leaving a broken heart or two". Zuko blinked "but we were dating!". "Did you ever agree to make it exclusive?" Sokka asked. Zuko shook his head "well not in words". "Did you ever ask her to be your girlfriend?". "No but i thought it was implied". "Did you ever call her your girlfriend then?". "No i...it was new i didn’t want to come on too strong" Zuko sighed. Sokka patted his back "and there’s the broken heart". "I’m not heartbroken just confused! Why did she let me break up with her if we weren’t even dating?". "Well breakups are awkward, imagine having to explain to someone in the middle of one, that you're not even dating, i bet she did it just to spare your feelings". As soon as those words left his mouth Sokka regretted it. "No i didn’t mean that...i meant". Zuko stood up angrily "it appears i need to find your cousin".

Zuko was furious. He felt like he’d been living two different lives this whole time and that had caused so much stress. One half of him was the teenager who wanted fun, the freedom to go on dates and just be careless. Then the other half of him was the Firelord who knew he had to be responsible. He knew all the elder nobles thought he was too irresponsible and all his friends thought him too boring and conventional. He liked you because you opened him up to new things and made him feel normal. Not too young or too formal, just right, you made him feel valid.

But he’d sacrificed all that for the “greater good” and now not only was he regretting his decision he was also furious because apparently he wasn’t anything to you anyway. The thing he’d struggled so much with, you weren’t even aware of.

Zuko walked into the large living room the gang had taken to lounging in and saw you sat with Haru. He felt his temper rise as Sokka’s words filled his mind. How you broke hearts and moved on instantly. You laughed at something Haru said and Zuko’s eyes narrowed. He really meant nothing to you. Zuko stalked across the room and came to stand in front of you both. Haru jumped "Firelord Zuko" but you took your time glancing at him. You eventually raised your eyes to his and nodded "Firelord Zuko". Zuko tensed "y/n we need to talk". "Is it urgent because....". "It is, now...please" Zuko said and he walked away.

Your POV

You blinked as Zuko stormed away and apologised to Haru before following him. You had no idea why Zuko wanted to speak to you, surely everything was wrapped up now you were done but he seemed so angry. You’d heard about this famous fire nation temper but you’d never seen it on Zuko and part of you was a little impressed. You liked fire benders for that reason precisely, their inner fire and passion but Zuko had been completely composed and calm the whole time you’d know him. Not now though.

You followed Zuko into a room and he shut the door. "Zuko what’s wrong?" you asked and he spun to face you rapidly. "What’s wrong?" he cried "why did you let me break up with you and say all that rubbish if I meant nothing to you?". You paused "who says you mean nothing to me?". "Sokka!" Zuko cried "he explained how you flit from person to person, never dating them just having fun and how you move onto your next person when you get bored. We were never dating, why didn’t you correct me?". You shrugged "i... I didn't want to be rude, but Zuko I wasn’t just waiting to flit from you to someone else". "Ow yeah, Haru’s just a coincidence?". "You broke up with me! Why are you angry even if something was going on with Haru?". "Because i didn’t want to break up with you y/n" Zuko explained "i did it because i had to and it was a really tough decision for me to make. It felt like a big sacrifice to me and then to find out you didn’t even think twice about me" Zuko said rapidly before staring at the floor almost deflated. "Zuko i do think about you" you said softly "whatever Sokka said isn’t completely true. Yes i don’t like putting labels on things but that doesn’t mean i don’t care or feel the same things anyone does at the start of something. I think the reason i move on or flit around so quickly as you said is because i move on as soon as I start feeling things, i don’t like being vulnerable so me not thinking of you as my boyfriend wasn’t because I didn’t care about you, it was more to protect me from the opposite". "So you do like me?" Zuko asked and you took a breath. "I do...a lot". Zuko rushed forwards hastily and kissed you. You kissed him back wrapping your arms around his neck before you paused "but wait...i thought you said you literally weren’t allowed to do this". Zuko nodded but didn’t remove his hands from your waist "i did, as Firelord i’m expected to behave dignified and composed all the time, i’m not supposed to get emotional or act irresponsibly for example by dating an unconventional water tribe girl" Zuko smiled "but i don’t care! I don’t care if they disapprove! I don’t care if we’re boyfriend and girlfriend or it’s just casual, all i know is i really like you and really really want to kiss you". You smiled and rehooked your arm around his neck "then kiss me".

Zuko was obedient and kissed you passionately before moving onto your neck. You were both surprised and pleasantly fascinated at Zuko’s confidence. Usually he was shy and kissed you quickly before moving away but now....now he was confident and purposeful with each touch. It was very attractive and you suddenly saw why the fire nation had such a strong reputation. Zuko caught the look in your eye and smiled "if you want we can....go to my room?". You smiled "lead the way”. Zuko stepped towards the door so quickly he knocked a table over but he just tugged you past it "leave it, it can stay that way for all i care right now" he muttered and you laughed at how spontaneous he was being. It was nice to see him let his hair down and you grinned as he pulled you through the fire nation halls hastily. He yanked his door open before pulling you inside and slamming the door. Trapping you on the other side. "Hmm i don’t think running through the hall is dignified Firelord Zuko". Zuko shrugged "neither is this" and began to kiss you again.

***

You laid side by side and Zuko seemed very relaxed but you were wondering about something. "Should I be going...am i even allowed to stay here in your room overnight? Doesn’t it break some century old fire nation tradition?" you asked. You’d never been in Zuko’s room before and only now did it really hit you he was the Firelord with a whole country on his shoulders and hundreds of advisors all monitoring his every move. If they’d gotten so angry at you for spending time together surely the nobles would be furious at you spending the night in his quarters? Zuko however did not care. "Of course you can” he said immediately “no servants will bother us and my guards will know to leave so we can be alone...of course that’s if you want to? If you don’t want to stay the night...". “Are you kidding me? And miss sleeping in these silk masterpieces?" you asked wriggling against the royal bedding. Zuko laughed watching you before he looked more serious. "I meant what i said" Zuko said softly "you don’t have to be my anything...i like you, i don’t need any labels or anything". "But do you want them?" you asked. You’d been more honest with Zuko than you’d ever been with anyone and now a part of you....wasn’t terrified by the idea of making him something more. But Zuko had also listened to you too and didn’t want to scare you off. "All i want is you" he smiled coming closer "if you don’t want labels then they won’t come anywhere near us". You smiled at the effort Zuko was making and leant into him. Zuko wrapped his arms around you and you buried your head in his chest. Ignoring the feeling in your stomach that you should have been more honest.

1 week later

Zuko definitely took what you’d said into account. He was a lot more confident with you both in private and publically. Apparently almost losing you made him more determined to make the most of his time with you. He invited you to royal events and was attentive to you throughout them. When nobles questioned him about you he would tell them it was none of their concern and refuse to answer any further prying. You liked seeing Zuko stand up for himself using his dominant abrupt side but also kind of missed his soft sweet side. Sure having a temper and attitude were hot in the moment but after a while they lost their depth and you got the feeling it was an act Zuko was putting on for you. As if Zuko thought by acting tough and in control with his court you’d be more attracted to him when in reality you loved how caring and considerate he was.

Zuko was also struggling. As well as maintaining the imposing Firelord who didn’t care what others thought of him, Zuko was also pretending he was okay with being casual. Zuko was not a casual person in any meaning of the word. He was a dramatic over-thinker, he had never been carefree and although in the moment with you he did enjoy it, afterwards his mind fretted over everything he’d done. He also worried about your open relationship. He knew freedom was important for you but he couldn’t help but wonder if when you looked at another person you’d start seeing them as well. Zuko liked you a lot and was sure he never wanted to see you with another person. He wondered if it was selfish but he wanted you all to himself and wanted an exclusive relationship....but he’d promised you he would be fine with this and that meant more to him.

So you and Zuko continued the charade to please the other, no idea that the other person actually felt the exact same way.

Your POV

You and Zuko had just had a pleasant evening with his friends and were retiring to his room for the night. On the way you passed a guard who looked at the two of you and then frowned. Zuko immediately tensed and went into Firelord mode. “Something you want to say?” Zuko called and the guard lowered his eyes “no Firelord Zuko”. “I thought not” Zuko agreed and took your hand. Zuko led you into his room and shut the door with a loud snap. You watched Zuko and all the things you’d been feeling this week came up. You needed to say something and now was just as good a time as any.

You prepared for the night and sat down on the edge of the bed watching Zuko warily, wondering how he’d take what you were about to say.

"Zuko i’ve been thinking about something and I think we need to talk” you said suddenly and Zuko jumped standing up taller. "Are you okay?" he asked immediately coming to sit next to you. "I am and i want to thank you for all the effort you’ve gone to but i think we need to reassess the situation”. Zuko immediately panicked, you’d realised he wasn’t a cool collected leader and that he was faking it....you weren’t attracted to him anymore. "Y/n i think i know what you’re going to say" he frowned when you carried on "i miss how it was before". Zuko blinked "what?". "I know you’re trying to be more dominant in your rule and to be more protective of us but that doesn’t mean you have to act all unfeeling and unbothered for my benefit. You’re a kind sweet person Zuko and I like when you show that, so i guess i’m asking have you been trying to change for me?". Zuko looked down "i have....you just reacted so intensely to me being more confident and so i thought you’d want that more". "I do love it when your confident" you smiled "but you don’t have to keep that in every aspect of our lives, maybe just when we’re alone?". Zuko felt a blush rise to his cheeks but he nodded "okay". You smiled "and sorry one more thing....i know i said i don’t like labels but i think i’d maybe like to try them?". Overcome with the realisation you felt everything he did Zuko just kissed you passionately. You kissed him back before laughing as you separated "what was that for?”. "For weeks i’ve been playing this character and restraining myself from asking you to be exclusive with me and i thought if i felt this way how can we be compatible but all along you felt it too". You blushed and nodded "yes i....i’ve felt that too”. Zuko grinned and kissed you again before pulling away "wait let me make sure i understand this correctly, you’d like us to start dating? Properly and officially?". "And exclusively" you smiled and Zuko grinned "i’m going to do this officially then, y/n will you be my girlfriend". "I thought you’d never ask!" you cried and kissed him again.

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cower-before-power · 3 years

Text

Naked Attraction

Summary: A typical day in your art class turn into anything but when you’re introduced to your nude model for the week- a devastatingly gorgeous man named Levi.

Pairing: Modern AU Levi Ackerman x F!Reader

TW: Nudity, swearing, suggestive content, age gap (reader is 20, Levi is 30), dick jokes, reader is thirsty and lewds Levi hard, perhaps poorly written stuff about art and drawing because I literally know nothing haha

(minors please do not interact, just to be safe)

Link to A03 here

A/N: Hello all! This is my entry for @ghost-party’s Meet Cute Collab with my darling husband Levi. I’ve never written for him before so I was a little nervous haha, I hope I did him justice! Thank you to everyone who reads, likes, comments, and reblogs- you are all wonderful and I appreciate your support! I hope you enjoy, my sweet potatoes!

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“Morning,” Jean greets you with a crooked smile and a steaming cup of coffee. It’s the good stuff from the café by his apartment, your favourite thing to help your brain shift into creative mode. “You’re later than usual.”

You grab the cup from him, sighing as you feel the warmth bleed into your hands. “Overslept. Barely had time to get dressed and brush my teeth.”

Jean’s eyes rove over you as you sink into your chair, humming to yourself as you sip on your drink. “I can see. Do you know you’re wearing two different shoes? And I think your sweater is on inside out. Why do you still even have that ugly thing anyways?”

“Thank you for your comments,” you roll your eyes. “I know I look like a hot mess and I don’t need any words from you, Mr. I Asked The Nude Model Out And Got Shot Down.”

Jean’s ears turn red, and he shoots you a dirty look before busying himself with arranging his pencils. “Shut up.”

You snicker to yourself as you set up your own area. Last week’s model had been a soft, pretty brunette that had instantly made Jean all starry-eyed, like a teenage boy with his first crush. It was generally considered a bit taboo to ask out the nude models, but he’d thrown that aside and gone for the kill after she’d slid back into her clothes. She’d laughed and patted his cheek like he was a naughty child asking for candy before dinner. Then proceeded to walk out and climb onto the back of her boyfriend’s motorcycle (but not before making out with said boyfriend for a good 5 minutes, minimum).

Jean had been left with red cheeks and no date, and you’d been left with great blackmail material.

“I wonder who will be our victim today,” you decide to take mercy on your poor friend and change the subject. “Most likely a guy, since we had a woman last week.”

“We’ll know in about 5 minutes,” Jean looks up at the clock on the wall. “Old Cueball is never late.”

Sure enough, in exactly 5 minutes your very bald and very punctual professor casually strolls through the door. A short man in a green coat is following him, presumably your newest subject. You crane your neck, trying to get a better look at his face, but all you can see is dark hair falling like a curtain over pale skin.

“Good morning class,” Professor Pyxis greets you, tossing his briefcase down on his desk with his usual nonchalant air. “I see you are all ready, so let’s get right to it.” He gestures to the person beside him. “This is Mr. Levi Ackerman. He’s your model for the week.”

The class murmurs in curiosity as the mentioned Levi Ackerman turns to face the room.

You swear your heart actually skips a beat.

Steel gray eyes observe the room from a face that practically begs to be immortalized through art. Every line is hard and strong, covered in clear skin that looks like it would slide under your fingers like the smoothest silk. Your eyes drink in his features greedily, from the regal bridge of his nose to the proud edge of his jaw. You decide your favorite thing though, is his cheeks. They are utterly cherubic, round and full and dusted ever so lightly with the lightest shade of pink.

He’s possibly the prettiest man you have ever seen.

“Hey, I know him,” Jean whispers, cutting off your entranced thoughts. “That’s Mikasa’s distant cousin, the one I told you she found on Ancestry.com last year. I’ve met him once, he’s got a stick so far up his butt, he’d need surgery to remove it. Never would have pegged him for the type to do this sort of thing.”

You vaguely remember a previous conversation involving Jean’s childhood friend and some long lost relatives.

“He doesn’t look that uptight,” you muse, too busy admiring the way his lips glint temptingly under the fluorescents to really process Jean’s words. “He’s beautiful, like something out of a Renaissance painting.”

Jean opens his mouth to reply, but Pyxis begins to speak.

“As usual, draw whichever side of him is facing you, all angles will be graded equally,” your professor plops himself down in his chair, already scrolling through his phone to find the playlist for the day. “Completed drawings to be submitted to me by the end of class on Friday. Please remember be respectful and courteous to our guest. Mr. Ackerman, whenever you’re ready.”

The man nods to your professor, already slipping out of his coat as he steps up onto the platform in the center of the room. You watch, mesmerized, as he proceeds to shed himself of his clothes. It’s rigid and methodical (he folds his clothes like he’s worked his whole life in a department store), but somehow oddly endearing. Every inch of his body that is revealed is consumed eagerly by your shameless stare, and you sincerely hope you don’t start drooling. By the time he carefully removes his final items, you feel like you are vibrating in your seat.

Holy fucking shit, he’s built like a god. Like Michelangelo himself carved him out of a block of the most pristine marble. You trace your gaze down the column of his throat, over the strong shoulders and sinewy arms, the impressive set of abs, the thighs that look like they could crush your head and you’d be nothing but happy about it. It takes a minute before you’re able to make yourself look between his thighs, and when you finally do, you have to looks away immediately. Good grief, even that is stupidly handsome. You can’t help but wonder if it would feel as nice as it looks.

Your face heats from your lewd thoughts, and you grip your pencil so hard it almost snaps. Beside you, Jean snickers.

“You okay over there? It looks like you’re about to explode.”

“Can it,” you hiss, glad that the ambient music Pyxis chose will probably keep your conversation private. “I can’t help it that I’m looking at the most gorgeous dick attached to the most gorgeous man I think I’ve ever seen.”

“You haven’t seen mine.”

“I don’t own a microscope.”

“Ooooh, see if I buy you coffee tomorrow, bitch.”

You stick your tongue out at him before turning back to your easel. As you move, you catch the gaze of Levi, his expression unreadable. Warmth creeps up the back of you neck, and you duck behind your sketchpad in embarrassment. You seriously hope he didn’t hear you, he’d probably report you to Pyxis for being creepy. You decide to lock all your stupid horny thoughts deep within the recesses of your mind, and take a few deep breaths to clear your head.

It works, and as you touch pencil to paper, the desire to create overflows inside of you.

Unsurprisingly, you become utterly engrossed in your work, your pencil sweeping over the pad with almost a mind of it’s own. Levi is the perfect model; you swear he’s not even breathing as he majestically hold his pose without even a quiver. The contours of his body spring to life on the page, and you can’t stop the joyful smile that blooms on your lips as you work. It’s times like these, when everything is so perfect, that you truly realize just how much you love making art.

Before you know it, Pyxis announces class is over, and you’ll resume with Levi tomorrow. The man of the hour begins to re-dress as your fellow classmates pack up their supplies and file out. You absent mindedly wave to Jean, who is practically sprinting out the door so he can make his next class all the way across campus. You’re still engrossed in your drawing, staring at it with critical eyes. It good, one of the best starts you’ve had all year, but now that the high of creating has worn off, you can see where you need to improve.

“You’re very good.”

You gasp and jump, whirling around to find Levi standing behind you, eyes fixed on your sketch. How did he even get there? You hadn’t seen him or heard him.

“Oh, uh, Mr Ackerman!” You squeak, your heart racing like you’ve just run a marathon. “T-that’s very nice, I mean, thank- thank you very much!”

“It’s Levi,” your muse says, seemingly unbothered by your stammering. “Yours is going to be the best one here.”

You blink stupidly at his bold statement. “Did you look at all of them?”

“No,” Levi’s voice is firm, a tone that brokers no argument. “But you had the most joy on your face while you worked. That much passion doesn’t churn out stuff that looks like shit.”

“Oh, that’s only because you are such a great model,” you gush, insides turning warm at his praise. “You stayed so still and you looked so damn regal and you’re just so pretty and-” Your eyes go wide as you realize the absolute words vomit leaving your mouth, mortification slithering up your spine.

“I’m pretty?” Levi raises an eyebrow. “You think I’m pretty?”

“No!” You shout, and the man’s other eyebrow joins the first. “No wait, yes! I mean, fuck, I mean you are probably the most handsome man I’ve ever seen!”

Levi’s eyebrows have now practically become one with his hairline. You wring your hands, wishing the floor would just open up and swallow you. “I-well- come on, people must tell you how good looking you are! I can’t be the first.”

“No, but you certainly are the most enthusiastic about it,” Levi deadpans.

Oh, someone just put you out of your misery now.

“I’m sorry,” you offer, cringing internally at your complete ineptitude to hold a conversation with an attractive man. “I....get carried away sometimes.”

“It’s fine,” Levi’s stoic expression softens just a little. “It’s kind of nice to hear, actually. Usually I’m told I’m good looking, but ‘far too short’.”

“That’s bullshit.” you say vehemently, honestly shocked people would deny this man his godhood over something as trivial as height. “Who cares if you’re shorter? It doesn’t detract from you. What’s that phrase again? Good things come in small packages? Well, not that you’re small, I’m not saying that, I just meant-”

“Yes, you did seem to find my package....good,” Levi interrupts, and you swear you see the corners of his lips twitch upwards.

Your eyes widen in horror as your brain replays your hushed conversation with Jean. “You heard that?!”

“I’m told I have exceptionally good hearing.”

“Oh fuck me,” you groan, burying your face in your hands. “I am literally so, so, sorry. That was completely out of line. I have no excuse other than it’s clearly been too long since I’ve gotten some, but that’s no reason to make you uncomfortable. Please, if there’s anything I can do to to make it up to you, I’ll do it!”

“Have tea with me.””

Your head shoots up, surprise coloring your features. “What?”

“Tch, you heard me,” Levi tuts, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling out his phone. “I haven’t got free time till Saturday-stupid Shitty Glasses wanting to trade shifts-but if you want to go out, give me your number and we can work out the details.”

You stare at him with your mouth open, unsure if this is really happening or you’re vividly daydreaming again.

“Umm, are you sure?” You ask, wondering if you should pinch yourself to see if you are indeed imagining things. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m wearing two different shoes and my sweater is inside out. Believe me when I say these sorts of fashion statements happen more often than not. Plus, I practically salivated over you like some sort of horny middle aged suburban housewife who hasn’t been laid in years.” You pause to take a breath, once again unable to stop the words from spewing forth like a fountain. “And I’m so awkward! I mean, are you comfortable in this conversation? And I can’t stop talking once I’ve gotten going, and I say the weirdest shit, and, and-”

“I like you,” he says simply, as if he’s just declared something as obvious as 1+1=2. “I couldn’t give a flying fuck about all the stuff you just said, you’re just... you, and I like it. So, do you want to go on a date or not?”

“O-oh,” you suddenly feel shy, your tummy filling with butterflies at the look of sincerity on his handsome face. You’d never met anyone quite like Levi Ackerman before, and you weren’t about to pass up the opportunity to get to know the man behind the drool-worthy muscles. “Uh, yes, please, I would like that. Very much.”

An almost relieved expression crosses Levi’s face, and he hands you his phone to type in your number. You notice the time as you do so, and sigh sadly as you hand him his device back.

“Well I better go,” you say reluctantly, suddenly fervently wishing it was Saturday already. “I’ve got another class in 15 minutes.”

“I’ll walk you there,” Levi says briskly, slipping his phone back into his coat. “To make sure you get there safely. Someone might murder you on account of their eyes being assaulted by that garish sweater. ” The corners of his lips twitch upwards once again, and you grow warm all over, from both his gentle teasing and the knowledge he isn’t quite ready to say goodbye yet either.

“Excuse me, I thought you said you didn’t give a ‘flying fuck’ about my attire,” you huff, but you’re grinning as you quickly pack up your bag.

“I don’t care it’s inside out, but you have to know that is the ugliest fucking color know to man,” Levi says, holding out his hand. Your brain malfunctions slightly for a moment, until you realize he’s offering to carry your bag for you. The butterflies inside you whip themselves into a frenzy as you pass him your stuff, your hand just grazing over his. Handsome, funny, honest, and sweet? How is this guy even real?

“I’ll have you know, this sweater is an absolute delight. When it’s inside right,” you stick up your nose, but unable to stop he laugh that slips past your lips.

Levi rolls his eyes in an almost playful manner. “Doubtful .”

You’re not sure where it comes from, but a sudden rush of confidence fills you. “If you’re so offended by it, maybe you should just rip it off of me.”

The tips of Levi’s ears turn a delightful shade of pink. You’re sure your own skin is hot enough to cook an egg on.

“Wear it Saturday then,” Levi’s ears may be flushed, but his eyes flash with something that makes your spine tingle. The insinuation of his words has your gut clenching and your mind whispering fervent prayers to please please please make Saturday get here faster, I don’t ask for much, please!

“Only if you wear your modeling outfit,” you manage to say, trying your best to sound coy when you feel like you might combust into a pile of lust and giddiness. “I’ve never seen someone wear it so well, and I want a closer look.”

If possible, Levi’s eyes grow even darker, and you just know Saturday is going to be one of the best damn days of your entire life.

“Deal.”

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Taglist: @clovertitan @millenialfanfictionaddiction @stigandr-the-cat @axoxtxhxh @bowandcurtsey @chaotic-nick @manjiroarchiviste

#meet cute collab #levi ackerman #levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman fic #levi ackerman imagine #levi x reader #attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #shingeki no kyojin #shingeki no kyojin x reader

260 notes · View notes

spaceskam · 3 years

Text

a follow up to this fic

AO3

Michael liked the ring.

Of course he liked the way it made him feel, the way it's power seemed to make him feel comfortable in his own skin above all else. It was no longer a power high as much as it was like a security blanket or a favorite shirt.

The power, however, didn't escape him.

He never really had to strain before, but this was a different beast. With a thought he could read people's aura, move multiple things at once, feel around larger areas than he even knew what to do with. It was fun and felt like he could really breathe for the first time in a long time. He did his best to not rely on it too much, to make sure he didn't get too used to the power it gave him, but he couldn't help but enjoy it.

Alex was slowly but surely getting more comfortable with him wearing it as well. At first, he babied him incessantly and was so sure it was going to overload him somehow and that it was going to kill him or something. He still watched him, spent all his free time with Michael to make sure the ring wasn't effecting him negatively. Michael couldn't complain about it.

"So, this group you're working with. Do they know this exists?" Michael asked, inspecting the ring on his finger. It didn't occur to him until just then that maybe he shouldn't just leave it on his left hand like that.

"As far as I can tell, no," Alex said, sighing as he looked up from what he was working on. It was just a notebook full of crude sketches of his actual project. Michael wanted to help, but the thing couldn't leave Deep Sky and Michael couldn't go there, so he simply had to listen to Alex speak and bounce ideas off him.

It was probably the most fun he'd ever had in his entire life.

"But I'm not about to risk them trying to hunt it down before me. I need to be a step ahead, at least. I'm so fucking tired of being stupid about things," Alex said. Michael rolled his eyes.

"You're far from stupid, Alex."

"Too trusting which is a form of stupidity."

"It's not a bad thing to be trusting, it's other people's fault for taking advantage," Michael insisted.

Alex sighed and looked at him. He was so tired. He always did. Michael was never good at figuring out what to do to help that other than instigate. Maybe he could try to persuade him, but somehow that felt like a dead end.

"People are never going to stop taking advantage, so why should I remain open to being taken advantage of?"

"Okay, fine, point made. But still, I like that about you. The way you don't automatically assume people have shitty intentions. It's, like, the exact opposite of me," Michael said. A smile tugged at Alex's mouth and he let it show just a bit, leaning against the table.

"You assume everyone has bad intentions?" Alex asked, "Even me?"

Michael scoffed, his heart thrumming and the ring on his finger all but singing in delight. That was another fun thing about the ring. It always encouraged positive feelings.

"Now you know damn well–"

Without much warning, the hatch to the bunker opened and caused them to break eye contact as they both looked up. Sanders stood there looking as grumpy as ever.

"What do you want, old man?" Michael asked, only having to feign his annoyance a little bit. As much as he didn't like having his moments with Alex interrupted, it wasn't so bad when he knew he had more.

That knowing was everything.

"You and the boyfriend gettin' along now?" Sanders asked. Michael's neck felt hot and he didn't dare look at Alex. He felt like a teenager being caught all of the sudden.

"Can you not make it weird?"

"Weird for who?" Alex asked. Michael's eyes went to him, Alex's face with a small smirk and his head tilted. He looked so good. Happy. The ring was damn near vibrating with joy again his skin.

"We're talking about research," Michael responded instead. Sanders grunted.

"Sure, research."

"We are!"

"I believe that as far as I can throw you," Sanders said. Michael scratched his arm, trying to dilute the feeling building up inside him. It was overwhelming, an overdose of goodness that the ring amplified. "Right, well, I was just reminding you that Jane Garcia is still bringin' that truck in an hour and you're the only hands that have touched it in a decade, so can't have someone else doin' it for you."

"She needs to just get a new one," Michael responded, relieved to change the subject despite Alex's eyes still being on him. He couldn't say he minded that.

"You ain't got no room to talk with that thing out there," Sanders huffed. Michael grinned, shrugging his shoulders.

"I can get away with it, I know what I'm doing."

Sanders grunted in response. "Sure, kid. Just be out here when she gets here."

"Got it," Michael said, giving a thumbs up. Sanders rolled his eyes and closed the hatch, leaving him alone with Alex again.

"You can go get set up, I'm good down here," Alex said. Michael settled his gaze on him again, feeling warm and sated and really not having any intention to leave him.

However, they locked eyes for all of half a second before Alex breathed a sharp intake and stood up straight.

Michael's excitement started to leak out of him and was replaced with complete concern. He sat up straighter, his feet hitting the ground as he tried to maintain eye contact with Alex.

"What?" he said, "What happened?"

"Your eyes," Alex breathed, his eyebrows pulling together.

"Huh? What about them?" Michael asked, mindlessly reaching up to rub them. When he pulled his hands away, there wasn't anything on them.

"They're... glowing," Alex said, coming closer, "Well, they were. Went away when I said something."

Alex grabbed Michael's chin without any hesitation, tilting his head back to look at them. Michael instantly became malleable under his grip. It'd been too long to be otherwise. He let his face relax, let his body dwell in the delight it caused and let the ring sing in response.

"It was like you were lighting up from the inside or something, like you literally glowing. Just showed mostly in your eyes," Alex said, still concerned as he manuvered Michael's head this way and that to look at him in different angles. "It's because of that fucking ring."

"You think?" Michael murmured, still staring up at him. His heart thudded in his chest, his mind going wild at the tactile attention. Alex's eyes widened again.

"It's doing it again," Alex murmured, placing the back of his other hand on Michael's forehead, "You're warm. Warmer than usually. How do you feel? Maybe you should take it off before you become a fucking lamp. Do you feel alright?"

"Good," Michael said. Alex blinked, stilling his movements as he looked at him rather than the glow.

"What?"

"I feel good, Alex," he said simply. Alex swallowed and he dropped his hands from him. They were silent a beat before Alex bit the inside of his cheek, holding back whatever expression his face wanted to show. A smile, hopefully.

"You stopped glowing," Alex said. He huffed a laugh, his eyes scanning the room before landing back on Michael. "So you're a glowstick now?"

"You think it's the ring?"

"What else could it be? It amplifies your powers, right? So the longer you wear it, the more it becomes accostomed to you and how you work. So I'm sure the longer you wear it, the more it'll do. But we should definitely work on you not glowing without your permission every time you feel good," Alex said, watching him still. It was less concern now, more intrigue.

Michael wanted him to touch him again, to experiment as much as his heart desired.

"Okay, just, like, throw something at me if I start glowing," Michael said. Alex laughed.

"I'm not going to throw something at you," he said, "But I'll let you know."

"I don't think it's like an actually problem, just when I get overwhelmed. The ring had kinda helped regulate that, though," Michael said. Alex tilted his head in confusion.

"It's helped when you're overwhelmed?"

"Yeah. Like either a distraction or it's amplifying the good feelings. It's, like, stretching it's leg, you know? It's this thing that has gone untouched for so long and it's just happy to be in use. So it wants me to feel good, wants me to use it. And when I feel good, it just reacts to that and then I feel really good," Michael explained, "It's a wedding ring. It's probably used to being used in that context. Happy ever after context."

Alex breathed, his fingers twitching at his side. Michael couldn't tell if it was the ring or just his own desperation that was screaming for Alex to touch him again. He really didn't think it mattered.

"You we're glowing when I was touching you," Alex stated. Michael nodded obediently. "And you stopped whenever I stopped." Michael nodded again.

"I believe it."

"And you're just... happy?" Alex said.

"I'm spending time with you," Michael said simply, shrugging, "No fighting or tension. Just spending time and talking about research. Why the fuck would I be anything else?"

Alex watched him, taking a step forward. Even though he was already so close. Now he was close enough that Michael's thighs bracketed his legs.

"You've been different since you started wearing that thing," Alex said, fingers catching Michael's sleeve.

"I've been different since I got over my shit and got some openness between us," Michael said. Alex clearly fought a smile and lost, a grin splitting his mouth and the back of hand rubbed over Michael's arm.

"You really thing the ring has nothing to do with it?" Alex said.

Michael shrugged. "I can't say that. I know it definitely gave me a little push, but the things I'm feeling are all 100% mine."

"And what are you feeling exactly?" Alex asked, his hand trailing up into his hair. He seemed to be gravitating closer, leaning down as Michael craned up. Michael resisted the urge to just pull him into his lap at this point.

"Happy," Michael answered, "Obsessed with you. First is new, second one isn't."

Alex breathed out, swallowing hard. He looked away for a moment, but his eyes eventually came back to him.

"You can't say shit like that," Alex whispered, reprimanding him with a soft tug on the hair at the tape of his neck. Michael's lips parted. He wasn't really sure how to tell when he was glowing just yet, but he was sure that he was now.

"Why not?"

"I might get ideas," Alex said teasingly, leaning a little more. His hand was resting on his chest while the other was in his hair, Michael's hands trying not to take initiative and just grab him.

"Get them," Michael said. And Alex laughed. And it was sweet. And he was close enough to kiss.

"Michael..." Alex said, right there. His eyes flickered around his face, hovering on his lips. Michael could feel his breath on his face.

"Alex," Michael responded, finally touching him. He put his hands on the back of his thighs, urging him closer. Alex smiled wider.

"You're glowing again," Alex said, breath caressing his face. It was teasing at this point. "I wonder how bright you can get."

"Wanna test it?" Michael asked.

Alex looked at him, looking over him before he nodded.

"Yeah, I do."

Alex leaned closer, their noses bumping.

And then there was knocking on the hatch before it was opened up.

Alex moved back, flushed. Michael flexed his hand as a silent command to drain him from any residual glow. He hoped it was successful.

"You forgot how to tell time, boy?!" Sanders called down. Michael evened his breath and tried to calm down his body's natural reaction to Alex being so close.

"Yeah!" he said, "I'll be up in a second!"

Sanders grunted in response, leaving the hatch open before walking away. Michael huffed a laugh and looked to Alex who looked like he was on the verge of laughing as well. A couple second of staring and he did, both of them bubbling with laughter and excitement at being caught in such a casual way.

A normal way.

"I gotta go," Michael said, "But you can stay. Won't be too long."

"Take your time," Alex said, "I'll be here."

Michael nodded, knowing he would be.

"Alright," Michael said.

"Alright," Alex agreed.

"Alright."

*Go," Alex laughed, shooing him. Michael obeyed, heading to the ladder and all but flying up them.

Michael's heart and the ring on his finger thrummed in tandem, all singing on the high that was Alex Manes.

Alex Manes, Alex Manes, Alex Manes

#malex #malex fic #michael guerin #alex manes #roswell new mexico #my fic #ill put it on ao3 when i get home

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clarawatson · 3 years

Text

It Only Takes A Taste (2)

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x [Fem]!Reader (GN pronouns, fem coded) Summary: it’s your second time meeting Aaron. He’s still flustered and precious but he (might) manage to give you his number. W/C: 2113 Warnings: none yet! A/N: i haven’t got chapter names yet, just accept they’re all called ‘it only takes a taste’ haha. AO3 tags: @willowrose99 @genevievedarcygranger @maryosprinkle @kleff03 (if you want to get added, lmk!!) Where am I in this series? 01 | 02 | 03 | 04

The next time you meet him, it’s 2am. Rita’s three weeks off her due date. She’s been staying at Joe’s place, with his wife, because the heating’s gone out in her apartment and her super is a foul man. If you were inclined to murder, he’d be first on your list. Right now she’s out the back, trying to wipe chocolate sauce off her uniform. The baby’s been kicking for hours and knocks things around the counter sometimes. At least it isn’t throwing her ribs out this time.

There’s a couple of teens drinking milkshakes in the window, they’ve snuck out after bedtime and they’re giggling to each other about how bad they are. You’ve seen their parents drive by twice (they’re regulars after school) but no one’s come in yet.

The agent drives by, and then does a u-turn and comes back. It was literally a double take, no matter how you look at it. You clearly saw him slow down and try to look in the window as he tried (desperately tried) to stay on the main road. And then he’d turned around and come back.

He’s even prettier dry than he was wet. (Your mind spirals to where that could have gone, which is not something you expected from a 2am shift). He’s loosened his tie and his hair is falling free of the gel. He looks less tired, and yet more tired. A different kind of tired. This one would be fixed by a good night’s sleep.

“Hi,” he says with a little quirk in his lip that could be him fighting off a smile.

“Hi,” you return with a full smile. He sits in front of you and steeples his fingers under his chin.

“I’m Aaron.”

A fortnight you’ve been wondering his name and he just swans in and hands it to you on a silver platter. Bless him and his beautiful brown eyes.

“Y/n,” you introduce. “And what can I get for you tonight, Aaron?”

“Maybe not a coffee.” He doesn’t break eye contact with you. He has such a cheeky smile you almost want to reach over and wipe it off his lips. “A hot chocolate would do. I’ve got to sleep enough to take my kid to school.”

“Have here?” Your hands hover over the in-cups and the out-cups. He taps his finger against his chin.

“In.” He folds his hands and you notice he’s not wearing a wedding ring. Kid, no wedding ring, weird hours. Could be a score, could be a serial killer. Could be both! No. Not both. There will be no fraternising with serial killers. Not if you respect your life.

Would it be weird to ask him where he works? If he works for one of the alphabet soups, will it get you in trouble? Maybe. People don’t like you poking around when sensitive information could be involved. You still ask anyway while the coffee machine has it’s little dummy spit at having to work at two in the morning.

“Quantico,” he says. He probably saw you trying to figure out how to ask. And that’s really all he can say. Maybe. He waggles his eyebrows just a little and you think he’s maybe a little too cheeky for this early in the morning. If Rita was working she’d be swooning all over him.

“That’s very prestigious, but, sir, I don’t think you have the security clearance to be in this diner if you only work at Quantico. We deal with Area 51.”

“Long commute,” he teases.

You raise an eyebrow. “That’s what the uneducated think. I can break a few rules as long as you don’t start asking questions. No asking about where they keep the aliens, okay?”

“Never.” He wraps his hands around the mug as you push it to him, absorbing it’s warmth.

“Did your son like the cookie?” you ask. Is it weird to remember he has a son after one interaction? Or the cookie? But he smiles. It’s okay.

“He’s actually in love with it. He’s not stopped talking about it. I think my sister-in-law might kill me.”

“Joe’s magic in the kitchen. I’ll save a couple of cookies if you know when you’ll be in next?”

Is that too forward? Maybe. He pulls out a little day book and places it before him.

“Is Thursday too soon?”

“No,” you say, shaking your head. You make a note to tell Joe you’re working on Thursday. “Sounds like a good day to collect a cookie.”

“If someone could cut this monster out of me, that would be GREAT!” Rita yells in the kitchen. Her voice is still far too loud out here. Aaron finally drops his gaze from yours, grinning into his hot chocolate.

“Shit, babes, I’m serious. I’ll got for a pocket knife at this point. I’m hot, and it’s not hot, I have to piss every four minutes, I can’t even sit in a car properly and taking the MET is stupid because I still have to pee!” She stops up short, seeing Aaron, and blinks as if she could erase her last comment. “Hi, sorry, you’re rain boy.”

“I prefer Raymond.”

There’s a beat where you try to figure out what the fuck he’s talking about. The cheeky demeanor falls from his face.

“Rain Man! Tom Cruise! Smile." Aaron has no option but to smile at Rita. Too late you realise she's checking the alignment of his teeth to actually equate him to Tom Cruise. "Raymond, for sure. Shit, that’s funny,” Rita laughs, groans, and turns on her heel out the back. She needed to pee again. Aaron smiles just a little.

“Want some pie?” you offer. There’s still a bit left. Joe won’t be in for another hour or so, but there’s some in the oven to take out just before three. Aaron nods.

“Yeah, please.” He puts too much money in the tip jar again. Hands you the exact money for the pie. Had he looked at the menu online? Maybe he had. You take a slice out for him, then a slice for yourself. No harm in that. The whipped cream goes on his like a mountain. You put a bit beside your own pie slice, but Aaron’s grinning.

He looks like he may do something childish. He doesn't, though, as you join him in pie eating. The teenagers start giggling about something they're watching on their phone.

Rita comes back looking more tired than usual. Her whole body looks tired as she gets her purse and rubs her belly.

"Say bye to Rita," she says without much playful effort.

"Bye Rita," you return and kiss her cheek as she lifts it to you.

"And to Baby."

"Bye Baby, be good for Mom."

Rita snorts. Joe gives you a list of things to do while he's taking Rita home. Apparently Lola's coming in to replace Rita, but that's only going to be proven by Lola actually turning up. Aaron raises his hand around his fork and waves. Rita waves back and waddles out the back.

"Is she okay?" you ask Joe, and he nods. He waves goodbye to Aaron, even though he hasn't introduced himself yet. Aaron waves too.

"That's a lot to worry about," Aaron says. You shrug and reach over the counter to Aaron's plate, taking some of his cream. He laughs and puts his arm around it to protect it.

"They're family. Less worrying, more caring."

He nods as if he understands. "Might use that sometime."

"You're welcome to."

He gives you a smile that only uses half his face. Gosh, he's cute. But it’s nothing more than fleeting night time visits, right? Okay, maybe not, he clearly turned his car around because he saw you working. You catch him staring at your left hand, studying it intently. No one wore rings at the diner, just because everything got stuck underneath them and there was nothing worse than having a maple syrup adorned wedding ring.

“There’s no one,” you tell him, which flusters him entirely. He smiles and looks down at his pie, blush creeping over his face. “Weird hours in a place like this? Hardly a brilliant base to build a relationship on.”

“Yeah.” He might want to say more, but he’s smiling at you again. “Weird hours, strange place, know that story.”

“Sucks, hey?”

“Oh yeah.”

The teens from the window go home when they’ve finished their milkshake. You tell them to get home safe and pray their parents don’t come in asking where they went. Aaron scraps his plate, scooping up the cream and pie soupy mess.

“I have to go,” Aaron sighs. He runs his hand through his hair and his fingers get stuck in the left-over-gelly-mess. You smother a giggle as he rolls his eyes and pulls his hand out with tiny little crack-crack-crack’s. It sounds painful.

“I’m going to shower and get this shit out of my hair.”

“It’ll look nice without it in.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah.”

He blushes, returning to the man you’d met coming out of the rain.

“Well I’ll remember that for next time.”

Your heart jumps. Next time! There’ll be a next! Time!

“Listen, hey, um,” Aaron says as he stuffs a couple of bills into the tip jar. “Here--” he stops again, then shakes his head like he’s giving himself a vote of confidence. “This is…” he stops again and licks his lips, then pulls out a business card from his suit pocket. He scratches his number onto the blank back, and then Aaron at the top. “My number,” he managed to finish.

“Thanks,” you respond before wanting to smack your head onto the counter. Thanks?!?! There are a hundred better things to say. “W-when do you want me?” When do you want me??? “To be here, on Thursday, for the cookies.”

Aaron’s gone red. Your face is hot. This is a disaster. There’s no fixing this disaster. There’s no fixing it at all. But Aaron smiles all the same.

“U-uh. I’ll text you?” he looks so flustered.

“You haven’t got my number,” you giggle, because he hasn’t. You’ve got his. He looks like a tomato as he blushes even more. “How about I text you my number, and you tell me when you’re free, and I’ll make sure there’s three cookies set aside for you that no one else buys.”

“Three?”

“You, your son, your sister-in-law.”

“I could really use you at work,” he laughs and… sits back down. Four seconds ago he was in such a rush to leave, and now he’s looking at you like you’re his whole world. He’s so precious, you wish you could just put him in a jar and protect all that goodness from the evils of the world. Surely he couldn’t have met too many of them just yet? He’s still got a smile that could brighten up the night sky, people who’ve seen all the hurt and pain in the world can’t smile like that.

“I don’t think I’m clever enough to get into Quantico. Unless they like people serving them coffees,” you smile gently and he tilts his head while looking at you. A curious puppy. You want to lean over and squish his cheeks for thinking you could be anything more than a server at a roadside diner.

“You’d brighten the place up.”

“You brighten my place up.” Corny, highschool grade flirting. He smiles all the same. Can he smile any more than that? Probably not, he might combust and become a star. “You know you don’t have to keep putting money into the tip jar, right? Not the amount you do. Most people just put in their change.”

He looks at the tip jar. “It’s for Rita’s hospital bills, right? It’s why she won’t look at it, because she’s embarrassed, but also why you and Joe count every bill that goes in it.”

“Alright, Sherlock Holmes.”

“It says on the jar,” he jokes, and points to the permanent marker that’s bled through the otherside of the tip jar. You laugh. Aaron laughs.

“I do have to go.”

“Go,” you laugh. “I’ll text you when I’m off my shift.”

He nods, looking a little sad to go, but also a little excited. He must really love his son.

“I’ll see you on Thursday, Y/n.”

“I’ll see you on Thursday, Aaron,” you return and watch him leave. Shit, he’s even cuter leaving. He even waves from his car before he drives off. You’re close to squealing when the bikie gang pull up, flooding the carpark, then all come in ready for their coffee. At least Aaron’s hot chocolate warmed up the machine for them.

#It Only Takes a Taste #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner x reader #diner!au

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pluviophile-imagines · 4 years

Note

3 for bakugo or todoroki

I decided to do Bakugo for this, & then I got this ask after I closed the prompts for this event so I decided to go ahead and do it because it’s actually one of only two Halloween-related ones and I was planning to make this Werewolf!Bakugo anyway lol. This is a fun little AU that just kinda swaps quirks for supernatural creatures, loosely based off of a bunch of campy halloween stuff like Halloweentown and Sabrina The Teenage Witch. Also, the werewolves have destined mates like those dumb Wattpad novels, because sometimes tropes are fun and cute. Also this is THREE TIMES AS LONG AS I MEANT TO MAKE ALL OF THESE but ive also gotten like five??? individual asks for it 😭😭😭so y’all better not let it flop.

3: kissing so desperately that their whole body curves into the other person’s

Though you’ve known Bakugo pretty much your whole life, there’s a lot about werewolves that you don’t know.

If he were a different person, he probably wouldn’t be telling you at 5:47 on his 21st birthday that he’s apparently supposed to figure out who his soulmate is going to be tonight. If he weren’t so closed off, even to his best friend of over a decade and a half, then perhaps you wouldn’t be having this conversation, and perhaps it wouldn’t feel quite like pulling teeth.

“You have a soulmate?” is really all you can say, because most of your mental capacity is going towards keeping the sob in the back of your throat from being audible.

“Yeah,” he grunts. He’s not even looking at you, because he’s holding his phone in one hand and he’s scrolling through it, and though the two of you are sitting on opposite sides of the couch he has your feet in his lap, free arm wrapped all the way around them like he doesn’t want you to leave. “It’s… I dunno. Kinda cool, I guess.”

“All of you have soulmates?”

“Well, yeah. You witches don’t?”

You wrinkle your nose, trying your hardest to ignore the burning at the backs of your eyes. “No. We don’t.”

Out of the corner of your eye you see him purse his lips, as if troubled by the revelation. “Huh. How d’you know who’s the one, then?”

“We just. Figure it out? I guess. Is this why you’ve never dated anyone?”

“Yeah. Not really interested in anyone but my destined.”

He says it so easily, but you know him well enough to understand. He likes the idea of a soulmate; he’s looking forward to figuring out who they are tonight. Who would have guessed that he was a romantic?

It’s awful. It makes your chest burn. You’d only come to terms with your crush on the guy two months ago. Now he’s gonna be taken from you by some random person he’s never met?

No, you suppose, he’s always belonged to them. That’s how it works, right?

“D’you know who it’ll be?”

“Hah? No, dumbass, if I did that would defeat the purpose.” Bakugo pauses, glancing over at you with just his eyes, then darting them away just as fast. It’s probably just a trick of the light, but you could swear he blushes a little as he mumbles, “I know who I want it to be, though.”

Your eyes widen and you lean up, pulling your legs back (ignoring the way his hands tense before letting them go as if he wants to hold on) so that you can kneel on them right next to him. “Who?”

“Not happening.”

“Bakugo,” you whine, drawing out the last syllable of his name.

“I’m not telling you, brat.”

You lean forward, prodding at his cheek. “Is it Mina?”

“No.”

“Jirou?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“Kirishima?”

Bakugo growls out your name, a warning, but you don’t pull away, getting even closer until you’re practically draped over him.

“Todoroki?”

He grabs you, whipping towards you as his arms fly up to wrap around your waist and yank you off him, tossing you back to your side of the couch as you shriek in laughter. He’d never hurt you, you know, and roughhousing like this is hardly new in your friendship; plus, well, you’d be lying if you said you hadn’t been hoping to feel his big, warm hands like this. Despite all his surprises tonight, he’s still all too predictable, and you’d seen this coming a mile away.

What you don’t see coming is him pausing, braced with one arm against the couch all too close to you, holding his torso over you with his head right above yours. And he stares, those crimson eyes unreadable with an expression you’ve never seen before, locked entirely on you.

You can feel his chest rising and falling steadily against yours, and your own eyes are drawn to where his adam’s apple bobs as he swallows thickly. You’re frozen, unable to move though you’d hardly want to anyway, and it hits you like a brick what he’s really been saying the whole night.

You open your mouth to speak, but then the hazy tension is shattered by the shrill sound of his phone.

Bakugo lunges away, pulls back with inhuman werewolf speed, grabbing his phone as he leaps to his feet. “‘S my mom, sundown’s soon, I have to go.”

“Wait, Bakugo—”

“See ya tomorrow, yeah?” He doesn’t wait for an answer, already half out the door.

“Katsuki,” you try, desperate, and it makes him freeze.

The door is open, his knuckles are pale with how tight he’s gripping the knob, but as much as you’ve tried it’s not enough. He’s gone without another word.

You don’t get to sleep that night.

It’s dumb; he’ll lecture you in the morning as he tells you all about his perfect amazing werewolf destined—that was what he’d called it, right? You prefer soulmate. Mate is a wolf thing anyway—who he’s spending all night with, running around in the forest howling at the moon and making out or whatever.

You stay out in the den, curled up on the couch with a blanket draped around you, ice cream in your lap, and an old movie playing that you’re not really listening to because you’ve been too wrapped up in your own head.

For an instant, you’d been so sure. A mere moment of absolute certainty that he was just as in love with you as you are him, that your oblivious pining for years was actually reciprocated. In the hours since he’d pinned you to the couch, you’d convinced yourself otherwise.

Imagine your surprise when there’s a frantic knocking at your door.

It startles you, making you jump about ten feet up in the air, and you freeze on the couch with wide eyes and a gaping mouth staring directly at the solid wood that seems to be shaking in its hinges. You’re halfway to casting a protection charm when a familiar gruff voice shouts your name from outside.

“I know you’re awake, I can hear you in there! Open the damn door!”

You glance at the time to find that it’s just under fifteen minutes to midnight. Awfully soon for him to be done, but you rise from your spot on the couch with the blanket still wrapped around your shoulders and move to let Bakugo in.

“Coming,” you say, not bothering to be loud because you know he can hear even the shifting of your clothes beneath the blanket.

He looks downright feral when you open the door, panting slightly, hair mussed up, eyes wild. But when he sees you, they light up, happy and excited like a damn puppy.

“Are you drunk?”

“Uh… kinda?”

“...Magical bullshit?”

He nods, a rough toss of his head to affirm. “Ancient rituals. Tipsy’s more accurate, if anything. Figured out who my destined is.”

“And you came to me? Shouldn’t you be with your soulmate, then?”

Bakugo blinks, clearly stunned, barking out a burst of laughter before shaking his head. “You’re somethin’ dumbass.”

You go to respond, more than a little insulted because he’s been acting so fucking weird all day and he has the nerve to say you’re being dumb, but any retort is flung from your mind as he steps forward and puts his hands on your arms.

Leaning in until your noses are practically touching, he speaks. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

“H—huh?” you stutter out, heart stopping and mind reeling with his words.

“I wanted it to be you. And it’s you.” His hands slide down your arms to meet yours. “You’re my destined.”

There’s so much more to say, so much to ask him, everything ranging from but I’m a witch, how is that possible to so we could have been fucking dating this whole time but he doesn’t let you speak, clearly too overjoyed and inebriated, and you’re not entirely opposed when he yanks you in with exactly the level of roughness you’d imagine from him and kisses you.

And finally, finally, after a decade and a half of wanting to (longer than you even knew what kissing was), you can melt into him.

You believe him then, not that you particularly doubted. It’s like his lips are the missing piece to a puzzle, one you’ve been looking for your whole life. He holds you up with ease, werewolf strength coming in handy, as one hand laces with your own and the other darts to the small of your back. He’d be holding you closer, but you’re literally as close as you could be, body curving against him as his taller form hunches over you.

He kisses you far more sweetly than you’d have expected; no teeth or tongue but still all passion, heavy palm and fingers splayed across your back as the other hand pulls you and grounds you. It’s heated and it makes you forget that you’re both standing in the middle of the open front door at midnight.

You’re both reluctant to break away, you can tell because you both linger a little, bodies frozen as the kiss is followed by one, two, three more just as feverish but decreasing in length. Then the two of you pull away for real (not by much, no, he’s holding you far too intensely for you to get far) and you stumble backwards pulling him by his shirt into your home. He gets the hint, following and shutting the door behind you but not letting either of you make it very far beyond.

“All right,” you say finally, breathless both from the kiss and from giddy laughter bubbling up within you, “all right, you’re my soulmate.”

Bakugo kisses you again.

#bnha x reader #bnha imagines #mha x reader #mha imagines #bakugo x reader #bakugo imagine #bakugo katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki imagine #ground zero x reader #ground zero imagine #anon #halloween au #soulmate au #I REALIZED JUST NOW WHEN I LINKED THE ASK THAT THE ANON WANTED THE READER TO BE A WEREWOLF TOO OOPS I MADE THEM A WITCH #oh well we can pretend the reason baks can have them as a soulmate is cause theyre part werewolf #ask.🌧#mine.🌧#char.🌧 bakugou #event.🌧 750 follower prompts

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searchingwardrobes · 3 years

Text

Ivory Runs Red: 5/6

First off, massive thanks to the @cssns, my beta @demisexualemmaswan, and my artist @cocohook38. Cocohook created this amazing cover art, and she is working on something else too to go with this story. The rough sketch made my jaw drop, so I can’t wait for ya’ll to see it!

This part is going to be a little long, but I need to address something that I got multiple comments about. Just bear with me; this is the only way I can think to clear things up. I was really surprised to see that some people were angry at David and Mary Margaret for not doing anything to find Emma and/or "allowing" her relationship with Neal. Others simply expressed things along the lines of "I hope you explain what David and Mary Margaret did about all this." The reason this reaction surprised me so much is because I thought it was clear that they HAD done something. Why would the Golds need to get rid of police files if the Swans never reported Emma missing? Why would issues of the newspaper be missing from the library if Emma's disappearance wasn't reported on? Obviously, David and Mary Margaret did something! As for Neal, they had no idea Emma was seeing him. If you'll recall, in a previous chapter, Emma told Killian she had to sneak out at night to meet Neal. So that wasn't Snowing's fault either. Also, how would any of these characters know what David and Mary Margaret did or didn't do for their daughter? This is almost a hundred years later, and Emma's memories are dulled from being a ghost for so long. The only way I could spell out clearly how Snowing handled their daughter's disappearance would be some sort of convoluted info-dump, and I didn't want to destroy the tone and mood of the story to do that. But just so everyone knows: Yes, Emma's parents were devastated. They did everything in their power to find her, never giving up hope (which is so in character for them!). They died still believing she was either still out there or that crimes against her had gone unpunished. It broke their hearts. The Golds spread rumors that Emma was some kind of slut who ran away with a guy, and the people of Storybrooke overall thought the Swans had gone crazy. So there it is, that's the back story that I just couldn't figure out how to fit in the story, lol.

I'm not mad at the questions, to be clear. I was just surprised by them. I guess I blame the show for ruining these two as parents the last couple of seasons. Maybe that's why everyone jumped on them so fast. I was also honestly worried that ya'll would be upset with me for not addressing the topic, hence this long explanation! No one was rude by any means, so don't go trying to defend me from nonexistent trolls, lol! My feelings have NOT been hurt. I simply wanted to address the questions that were asked and the misplaced anger toward Snowing. (Not anger towards me - but fictional characters!)

Okay, now that I've cleared all THAT up, let's get on with the next chapter, shall we? And I'll go ahead and warn you: this is gonna hurt . . .

Summary: When ebony flashes gold, blood runs cold. When ivory runs red, you’ll be dead. Killian Jones had heard the old rhyme his entire life. Every child did in Storybrooke, Maine. They heard it whispered in the dark at sleepovers as children; taunted as a challenge as teenagers. Killian never believed it was actually true. Until that fateful night …

Rated M for graphic depictions of violence, abusive relationships, and major character death (I mean, it’s a ghost story ya’ll, people are dead. BUT I promise, there is a happy ending. Trust me? *peeks from around a corner*)

Length: 6 chapters, complete, updated every Friday

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four

Also on Ao3

Tagging the usuals: @snowbellewells @whimsicallyenchantedrose @kmomof4 @xhookswenchx @let-it-raines @bethacaciakay @tiganasummertree @shireness-says @stahlop @scientificapricot @spartanguard @welllpthisishappening @resident-of-storybrooke @thislassishooked @ilovemesomekillianjones @kday426 @ekr032-blog-blog @lfh1226-linda @ultraluckycatnd @nikkiemms @optomisticgirl @profdanglaisstuff @ohmakemeahercules @carpedzem @branlovestowrite @superchocovian @hollyethecurious @vvbooklady1256 @winterbaby89 @delirious-latenight-laughs @jennjenn615 @snidgetsafan @itsfabianadocarmo @lassluna @distant-rose @courtorderedcake @winterbythesea @thesschesthair @killian-whump @thisonesatellite @batana54 @it-meant-something @xsajx @therooksshiningknight @gingerchangeling

Chapter Five: Run

“You’ve got to tell them what you saw - what you’ve learned,” Killian pleaded.

Graham shook his head, his curly hair falling in his eyes as he stared at the slender hands he clasped in his. His eyes were bloodshot, his jaw sported far more facial hair than it normally did, and Killian didn’t have to ask if he’d slept in the past forty-eight hours.

“They won’t believe me.”

Killian’s jaw clenched in frustration. “But if I saw Emma, and you saw her, then maybe they’ll believe -”

“That Belle saw a ghost push Mike Gaston off the troll bridge? They’ll believe that? Really?” Graham let out a sarcastic, bitter laugh. “You really are just a naive kid if that’s what you're thinking.”

“But you’re a cop!”

“I’m still only nineteen! They’ll think we’re just over-imaginative teenagers.” Graham paused, reaching up with one hand to trace the curve of Belle’s cheek as she slept in her drug-induced prison. “That will land us in rooms just down the hall with our own IV full of an antipsychotic cocktail. How will I help her then?”

“You’ve fallen in love with her.” It wasn’t a question.

Graham sighed. “How could I not? And how could he -” He broke off, his blue eyes flashing. “I’m not sorry he’s dead. If I’d been there and saw him hurt her -”

“Shh, I wouldn’t say things like that. Not here.”

Killian’s gaze fell to the bruises around Belle’s neck, and he didn’t blame Graham at all. It terrified him to think what could have happened if Emma hadn’t shown up.

“History repeats itself,” he murmured under his breath.

*************************************************

Killian had scarcely arrived at the bridge when headlights blinded him. He turned away, blinking, stumbling, refusing to be stopped.

“Emma! Emma!” he shouted. He tripped and dropped his flashlight. It broke as it hit the ground, rolling to the edge of the bridge. Now all he could see was ebony before him and radiant luminescence behind him.

His palms scraped against the asphalt as Liam hauled him to his feet. His brother gripped his upper arms so tightly it was almost painful, and he gave him a brief shake.

“You’ve got to stop this!”

Killian fought him. “I have to see her!”

Liam had always been broader than Killian with an unfair advantage in all their childhood tussles. Even now, Killian was no match for him as he lifted him bodily with one arm and hauled him over to his car.

“You need help!” Liam literally tossed him into the backseat.

“I’m not going home!” Killian tried to scramble out, but Liam just shoved him back inside.

“Good, because I’m not taking you home.”

*******************************************************

“Why won’t you be straight with us, kid?”

Killian glared at the detective with a cynical sneer. The psychiatrist on the cop’s left frowned at Killian’s attitude. The choice of words was cruel considering he was in a literal straightjacket. His vision of the two men was obscured by the long strands of dark hair before his eyes. Haircuts were apparently seen as a luxury on the psych ward.

“I’ve answered all your questions,” Killian finally told them wearily, “you just don’t like what I had to say.”

“Because we want the truth,” the psychiatrist, Dr. Archie Hopper, said gently. He was clearly playing the part of “good cop.” Or “good doctor.” Whatever.

“I told you the truth.”

“There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Killian snorted a laugh. “Tell that to Mike Gaston.”

The detective’s voice took on a harsh, warning tone. “Mike Gaston was the victim of murder.”

“The victim!” Killian cried, his voice snapping up. “What about the bruises he put on Belle? Or the fact that I nearly died when he tied me to that bridge!”

The detective’s lips curled up in a lewd sneer as he lit a cigarette. “If some horny teenager likes it a bit rough, that’s none of my business.”

Killian fought his bonds, his jaw clenching at the detective’s insinuation. He was as bad as Neal Gold, maybe worse. He had to be pushing fifty at least, and a pot belly strained at his button up shirt. His eyes widened as Killian raged.

“Bothers you though, I see.” He leaned forward. “Nobody blames you for wanting her, kid. Nobody blames you for being jealous. But murder? That’s a different story.”

“I told you I had nothing to do with that!”

The detective glanced at Dr. Hopper, and the soft spoken psychiatrist took over. “Killian, start at the beginning for us. What did Belle say when she called you that night?”

“I’m telling you, she didn’t call me, she didn’t come to my house. I saw her early that afternoon at the library. That was it. Then my brother got a phone call that there had been an accident, and we came to the hospital.”

“You and Belle were at the library together a lot,” Hopper said softly, “what did you two do there?”

Killian rolled his eyes. He hated the patronizing way the man asked the question. “We studied. Did our homework. We were friends.”

The detective snorted again, and Killian wanted to scream. “Drop the act, kid. You really expect us to believe that you spent all that time with her, all that time with a hot chick, and you never fucked her?”

Dr. Hopper recoiled at the foul language, and Killian thought his own jaw might actually break.

“You’re just as much a misogynistic, narrow-minded, neanderthal as Mike Gaston.”

The detective grinned and slapped Dr. Hopper on the knee. “You were right, shrink, this kid’s smart.” He took another puff of his cigarette as he eyed Killian. “Smart enough to plan an elaborate murder with your knocked-up girlfriend?”

“That’s the most ridiculous - wait - did you say knocked up?”

“Hm,” the detective mused, leaning back in his chair and rubbing at his five o’clock shadow. “You didn’t know?”

Killian was horrified when a laugh slipped past his lips. Another bitter laugh followed, then another, until before he knew it, he was shaking with them. He was laughing hysterically while wearing a straightjacket. That thought made him laugh even more, and if he didn’t seem like a lunatic before, he sure as hell did now.

“What the hell is so funny?” thundered the detective.

Killian’s laughter stopped abruptly and he leveled the man with an intense stare. “History repeating itself. That’s what’s so funny.”

A smile that he knew bordered on manic curled his lips. Yes, history had repeated itself, and this time, Emma Swan had won.

************************************************************

They didn’t have enough to charge him, or Belle, or anyone else really with Gaston’s murder. It was officially declared an accident, and theoretically, Belle French and Killian Jones were free to move on.

Killian wouldn’t say it was easy for Belle. She had severe trauma from that terrifying night, and she ended up losing the baby because of it. Nevertheless, she had Dr. Hopper’s patient help, her father’s support, and Graham’s unwavering devotion. Soon, though it would be a long time before she was truly healed, she was able to go home.

Killian, on the other hand, didn’t really want to go home. For one, he, unlike Belle and Graham, refused to stop talking about Emma - refused to lie and say he made it up. He didn’t fault his friends for it; didn’t take it as a betrayal. He even understood their reasoning when they begged him to do the same and just play along, damn it. He simply couldn’t do it. Emma was too real, too precious. He knew her in a way they never would. He knew the feel of her skin, the taste of her lips. He wouldn’t - couldn’t - let that go.

The psych ward wasn’t so bad. The drugs numbed him to the point that he sailed on a sea of oblivion half the time. He’d stopped fighting, so there was no more straight jacket, no more bed straps.

And she came to him. Sometimes the drugs meant he wasn’t lucid enough to really carry on a conversation. On those nights, she curled up next to him on the bed. She ran her fingers through his hair and caressed his cheeks. She pressed kisses to his lips, and sometimes he could respond in kind.

Other times, though admittedly rare, they would talk. About everything and nothing at all. One night, they talked about their dreams for later, after high school, and suddenly Emma began to weep.

“I know,” he soothed, brushing her forehead with a kiss, “you fear you can never have that. But maybe we can figure it out. If we somehow get the truth out. About your murder -”

Emma silenced him with a finger to his lips. “That isn’t it, Killian. It’s you. I have no more tomorrows but you can.”

His brow furrowed, and she sighed and soothed the lines away with the pad of her thumb.

“But not if you keep holding onto me.”

His arms instinctively pulled her closer. “I’ll never let you go.”

She sighed, and sadness filled her eyes. She slipped out of his embrace and rose from the bed. Her skin grew white, her gown floated in an ethereal way at her feet. He frowned and scrambled to a sitting position.

“I have to say goodbye,” she told him. She said it with an edge of discovery in her voice. Her lips turned up in a soft smile even as a tear slipped down her cheek.

He shook his head and tried to reach for her, to leave the bed, but he had just enough drugs in his system to make his movements sluggish and ineffectual.

“I won’t let you see me again.”

“No, Emma, please! I love you!”

“And I love you. That’s why I have to do this.”

She was already fading away. Killian made a fist and slammed it into his thigh. Tears stung his eyes.

“Be happy,” she told him, “for me.”

Then she was gone.

#cs ff #captain swan ff #cssns21 #captain swan supernatural summer #ghost story #horror #strange lieutenant duckling #lol trust me #happy ending of sorts

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when-they-write-stuff · 4 years

Text

SterekWeek2020: Day Six (Blue Moon)

“First of all,” Stiles said, pointing his fork at the red-haired banshee across from him. “The chances of Derek ever falling in love with me are like, once in a blue moon. Second of all, it’s just a quick college party to convince my college friends that I’m not single and lonely!”

“But you are single and lonely,” Lydia said, slicing delicately into her chicken as she ignored the fork in her face. “And there’s no way Derek is going to say yes.”

“You don’t know that.”

“Oh, I’m fairly sure,” Lydia said, finally glancing up. “And I’m sorry I can’t go, Stiles. I have a meeting with a professor who decided my paper wasn’t worth an A, and he’s going to regret that decision immensely.”

“On a Friday night?” Stiles frowned. “What, are you using dinner as a cover for an interrogation or something?”

“That’s precisely what it is.”

Stiles blinked, then rolled his eyes. “You can be terrifying sometimes.”

“That is the point.”

“Come on, Lyds,” Stiles said, jabbing his fork into his food, metal screeching against the plate. That earned a few glances from the other people in the relatively-cheap restaurant Stiles had picked out for his and Lydia’s reunion, but he didn’t really care. He was desperate here. “If Derek says no, then I have to go alone. And then my roommate will try to set me up with his douchey best friend and that guy gives me the creeps.”

“Then just say no.”

“And risk pissing my roommate off? Do you realize how dangerous that is?”

Lydia sighed, setting down her utensils and reaching across the table, catching Stiles’s hand and giving a small squeeze. He hated how reassuring that was. “Why don’t you actually ask Derek before you freak out? It’s been a while since he’s visited anyway.”

“I’m not even that far away,” Stiles grumbled. He’d like to say he wasn’t hurt that Derek never came by Stanford to check-in, but that would be a total lie.

Even the betas visited more often, though it was usually just to complain about their lives or steal his clothes. But still, they came. Scott came. Stiles’s dad and Lydia came.

But Derek had only been by like, twice in the last semester. Sometimes, Stiles wondered if he was the man’s least favorite pack member.

Okay, he didn’t have to wonder.

Sighing, he poked at his food again, appetite long since gone. He’d ask Scott to go with him if the boy wasn’t basically his brother and a terrible actor. And Stiles had already decided he’d never ask the betas, because he didn’t need that kind of blackmail.

But Stiles had gone throughout his entire first year of college staying far away from everyone else. At first, it had been a supernatural thing. He had trust issues, okay? But then it was just the hassle of getting out there and yeah, Stiles ended up having one or two hookups along the way, but that’s all they were. Hookups.

And now the friends he had made were starting to get pushy. So, Lydia had been Stiles’s first choice, and Derek was his saving grace.

Dammit if that wasn’t a sentence he’d never thought he’d have to say out loud.

On a scale from one to ten about scared for his well being, asking Derek Hale to fake date him for a night was right up there at an eleven.

Stiles had long since come to terms with the fact that his hopeless pining was just that. Hopeless pining. He could totally look at Derek without getting butterflies now, but that’s just because he had accepted his fate.

This was crossing a line that Stiles had told himself he would never cross. And damn, if he wasn’t silently panicking.

Derek, on the other hand, just looked bored. “What did you want, Stiles?”

For a long moment, Stiles stayed silent. He’d practiced this in the mirror at least a dozen times, trying to imagine the different ways that Derek could-- would-- say no. And it really wouldn’t be that bad, would it? It wasn’t like Stiles was baring his soul to the werewolf or anything. He was just asking for a small favor.

A small, totally platonic favor.

“Stiles.”

“O- oh,” Stiles said, snapping back to reality. “Right. I need something from you.”

Derek raised an eyebrow and Stiles winced. He was already going off script and this was so not going to end well.

“Not like that,” he said, then winced again. “Actually, it’s exactly like that. See, I might have told a few friends that I was seeing someone to get them off my back about dating. But now I’m expected to have a date for some upcoming party.”

Derek’s face remained completely blank. Stiles hated him a little bit for that.

“Lydia can’t come, though.”

“Okay.”

“Oh my god,” Stiles said, burying his face in his hands. Why Derek? Why did his saving grace have to be Derek? “Yeah, okay. And I need you to come instead, dude.”

The words were said into his hands and for a long moment, the only sound was the rest of the cafe around them. Stiles kept his face hidden until he felt like it was safe, peering through his fingers at the werewolf to see that Derek’s expression hadn’t really changed much.

A long moment passed before Derek grunted. “No.”

“N-no?”

“No,” Derek said, taking a long, finishing drink of his coffee and setting it back on the table. The man started to stand and Stiles panicked, jumping to his feet so fast, the table nearly toppled over.

“Dude, hold up, you can’t just say no and leave!”

“Don’t call me dude,” Derek said, still looking unbothered. He slipped a ten out of his wallet and set it on the table, covering both of their drinks before turning away, heading toward the door.

Stiles was almost too shocked to chase after the man.

“Derek, Derek, wait!”

He caught the man on the sidewalk and Derek sighed, turning around with a tight expression. Like Stiles was being the annoying stubborn one here. “I’m not pretending to be your date, Stiles.”

“It’s just for one night!”

“Why don’t you get an actual one?”

“Because I—” Stiles blinked, then glared. “Because I don’t want one, asshole. I just want to avoid a terrible situation with my roommate’s best friend.”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles did his best not to flush red at that, ducking his head.

“Look, it’s one night. It’s not like you ever to come by Stanford to hang out or anything anyway. No one will even know it’s a lie. Just think of it like a miniature reunion that might involve straight-up lying to my friends one or two times!”

“And these people are really your friends?”

“I mean,” Stiles said, glancing back up. “They’re normal, you know? They’re not pack, of course, but it’s kind of nice sometimes. To be around normal people.”

Derek’s jaw tightened at that and for a moment, Stiles was worried he’d offended the man. But after a long-suffering second of silence, Derek stuffed his hands into his pockets and rolled his eyes. “Fine, one night. But I’m never doing anything like this again.”

Stiles grinned, pumping a fist into the air. “Yes, dude! Thank you!”

Derek just looked completely done with everything. Holding himself back from doing something stupid like hugging the man, Stiles patted him awkwardly on the shoulder.

“I’ll be in touch then, Sourwolf. The party is this weekend, so I’m expecting both the leather jacket and Camaro. I get to arrive in style!”

“You’ll take what you get, Stiles.”

“Right, right,” Stiles said, waving a hand through the air. “See you Friday, dude!”

He didn’t get a response, but he hadn’t really expected one. Turning away before Derek could change his mind, Stiles hurried back down the street. And he could’ve sworn he felt the man’s gaze burning into his back.

Stiles’s heart was still slamming against his chest when he turned the corner. Because he couldn’t believe that had actually gone well. Derek Hale was his fake date in less than three days.

Stiles hated himself a little bit for how excited he was.

His roommate left for the party first, still talking up his friend who was ‘excited to see how things went tonight’ to which Stiles put on his best smile and just nodded.

There were a few things about Derek literally being the scariest person Stiles had ever met that might work to his favor. Well, maybe not the scariest person, but Derek could most certainly look terrifying when he wanted to. And Stiles was going to use that to his advantage tonight.

He’d texted Derek a few times over the week, but the man had never texted him back except for one reply that was a simple ‘OK’ to all the messages that Stiles had sent earlier.

And that totally wasn’t infuriating.

Look, Stiles knew this wasn’t an actual date. And he wasn’t going to fool himself into thinking this could ever go somewhere; his life wasn’t a movie. Yeah, Stiles had been crushing on Derek since he was a sixteen-year-old hyperactive teenager, but he also knew Derek would never feel the same.

Because Derek Hale was… well, Derek Hale. And Stiles was Stiles.

A lot of things had changed over the years and a lot of things hadn’t. And the things between them would never be anything different.

Stiles still hesitated a moment too long in his dorm room when Derek texted ‘here’. He totally didn’t almost have a panic attack, but things would have been so much easier if it was Lydia coming with him tonight instead of Derek.

Dammit.

Derek was leaning against the passenger side of the Camaro when Stiles got outside, hands stuffed into the pockets of his leather jacket. And Stiles hated himself for the way his heart skipped a beat at the sight of the man— because could he never wear jeans that actually fit? And Derek Hale in a v-neck should be a literal crime.

The man did not have any rights to be such a sexy… sex god. Fuck.

Stiles tried to calm himself down as he approached the Camaro. He was aware enough of the other people in the parking lot eyeing where Derek stood, cursing at the pang of jealousy he felt at that. Because he was totally over Derek Hale, remember?

Butterflies weren’t a thing when he looked at the werewolf anymore.

“Okay, dude,” Stiles said, pausing in front of the car. “So you came through. Leather jacket, Camaro, and everything. Should I be pleased or worried?”

“You should be thankful,” Derek said, opening the door. Stiles raised an eyebrow and the man rolled his eyes, leaving it open as he moved back around the car to the driver’s side. “I’m the fake date, right? Might as well have some manners.”

“Okay, who are you and what have you done to Derek Hale?”

“Shut up,” Derek said, eyes turning a little red. Stiles swallowed hard and ducked down into the passenger’s seat.

Fucking Derek Hale.

Stiles had made a plan, though. He wasn’t staying at this party any longer than necessary and he was totally using Derek to scare off anyone that dared try to make a move. Because Stiles was doing this for a reason, okay? He missed his privacy. He also— almost— missed the days when he suspected everyone of being some kind of supernatural threat, sicing the betas on anyone he found suspicious.

He always came up empty-handed.

Maybe you just miss Beacon Hills, Scott had told him at one point. And Stiles had proceeded to laugh his ass off for the rest of the day.

Because missing Beacon Hills? Him? There was a threat nearly every other week back home, and Stiles totally didn’t miss running for his life through the preserve more often than not. No, he didn’t miss any of that at all.

Because there was his dad, yeah. But the Sheriff still came to visit when he could— and so did the pack. So honestly, Stiles absolutely had nothing to miss.

Nothing at all.

“Stiles?”

Stiles blinked, snapping out of his thoughts. He didn’t even realize they’d arrived until the faint sound of music reached his ears and then he silently cursed himself for zoning, meeting Derek's curious gaze.

“Right,” Stiles said, forcing a grin. “We’ll be in and out, I promise.”

“You don’t want to spend time with your friends?”

“Uh, do you?”

He could’ve sworn the man turned a little red at that. But it was probably just his imagination. Derek mumbled something intelligible and climbed out of the car, and Stiles hesitated for only a moment longer before following.

He’d been to enough college parties so far that he wasn’t terribly overwhelmed right away. Granted, this was the first one before the next semester, so there were a lot more people than he was used to, but Stiles didn’t have anything against crowds. Or, anything too much. It wasn’t like he stuck next to Derek’s side as his social anxiety slowly kicked in or whatever.

Except then, as if the man could read his mind, one arm wrapped around Stiles’s waist. Startling, Stiles shot Derek a confused look and the man only smirked a little before turning his gaze back to the rest of the party.

Stiles hated his treacherous heart skipping yet another beat.

“Okay,” Derek said. “Introduce me.”

Once more, Stiles gave him an open-mouthed look. Derek raised an expectant eyebrow, nodding to the rest of the room, and Stiles took a moment to regain his bearings. Then, shaking his head, he started toward the nearest familiar face.

The girl’s eyes snapped when they were less than a few feet away. Or, well, her eyes snapped to Derek, widening for a moment before fixing on Stiles. “Stiles, hey!”

Stiles grinned, fully aware of Derek’s arm still around his waist. He was tempted to glance over and gauge the man’s expression but forced his eyes to stay forward, trying to remain as relaxed as possible.

“Meg, this is Derek. Derek, this is Meg.”

This time, he did glance over. And the smile on Derek’s face was terrifyingly normal. “It’s nice to meet you, Meg.”

Meg’s smile was wide as she stayed focused on Derek’s face for a moment too long. But Stiles supposed he really couldn’t blame her as he continued to stare too, wondering when the hell Derek Hale had such a disarming smile?

Searching his brain, Stiles tried to remember the last time he’d seen Derek smile. And it left him feeling a little empty when he realized he couldn’t.

“Stiles?”

Blinking a few times, Stiles came snapping back to reality. The smile on Derek’s face had faded a little and he looked more intrigued than anything else now.

Stiles was pretty sure he blushed as he forced himself to look away. “Sorry,” he said, looking back at Meg. “Derek is a… friend of mine.”

The girl raised an eyebrow. “Just a friend?”

“Uh—”

“New boyfriend,” Derek said, before Stiles could mess everything up. Though he might still have, jolting a little bit and giving Derek a bewildered stare.

The man returned his look with an easy smirk. Shaking his head, Stiles tore his gaze away. “Yeah,” he said, words sticking a little. “Boyfriend.”

He didn’t even know how to begin approaching any of this. But Meg just nodded, still smiling, and Stiles stayed stuck in his head for a moment longer before they were moving along again, toward yet another voice calling his name.

Derek smiled the entire time. Through every friend, every stranger. The man made polite small talk and only removed his arm from around Stiles’s waist to shake a hand or readjust, always pulling Stiles right back in seconds later.

There were a few times Stiles looked down into his drink and wondered faintly if it was spiked— and all of this was just some kind of massive hallucination.

He didn’t know how to deal with what was happening.

See, when he’d imagined tonight, staying up for hours panicking, he’d imagined it being awkward as hell. Sometimes, he worried Derek might rip his throat out if he said the wrong thing. In front of everyone would be how Stiles Stilinski went.

But it was all so normal. All so painfully normal that Stiles didn’t know what to do with himself.

“Yo, Stiles!”

He startled so hard, Derek glanced over in concern. But Stiles didn’t have a chance to say anything before his roommate was moving across the room, cup in hand with another guy at his side— one with an athletic build and the type of expression that reminded Stiles a little too much of Jackson.

He shuddered at that thought. “Hey, Vincent.”

“This is Brad,” Vincent said, nudging his friend in the ribs. Brad grinned and raised his cup, eyes raking up and down where Stiles stood. His skin crawled a little bit at that and, arm still circled around his waist, he was surprised to feel Derek’s grip tighten.

“Uh, yeah, right. Nice to meet you, Brad.”

“And this is?” Brad said, jerking his head toward Derek. When Stiles glanced over, Derek’s eyes were hard and his lips were pressed tightly together. And there was that type of murderous expression that Stiles had dragged the werewolf here for in the first place.

“This is Derek,” Stiles said, when it was clear Derek wasn’t going to say anything. Which was another first for the night.

Vincent looked a bit uncomfortable, offering a small nod. Brad almost looked nervous too, but he kept his chin up, that cocky smile slowly making its way back onto his face as the seconds ticked past.

“So, Stiles,” he said, turning his shoulder toward Derek. That’s when Stiles heard the first sound of a growl. “What are you doing after this?”

“Uh,” Stiles hesitated for a second. “I think we might just head back to the dorm.”

“We?”

“Derek and I.”

Brad’s smile tightened a fraction. He glanced back at Derek for only a second before scoffing. “Seriously?”

Stiles blinked. But before he could say a word, Vincent stepped in.

“There’s another party going on just down the street that we were going to check out,” he said, glancing sideways at his friend. Brad shrugged. “Then we’re gonna hit the bar on 18th street. You should come.”

Derek’s grip was tight enough that it was starting to hurt now. Stiles shifted, nudging the man in the side with his elbow. He could still swear he could hear the slightest growl coming from Derek’s throat— which wouldn’t prove to be good for anyone.

“I don’t know,” Stiles said. Because that wasn’t the plan. He hadn’t planned on going anywhere after the party except back to his dorm. “I think we might call it a night soon.”

“Lame,” Brad muttered, low enough that Stiles barely caught it. But Derek definitely growled this time and Brad looked at him in surprise. Then the boy’s eyes narrowed. “Dude, what the hell is wrong with your eyes?”

Stiles’s heart stopped and he whipped sideways, meeting Derek’s gaze. And yep, that was a hint of red in Derek’s usually grey-green eyes. Vincent started to follow his friend’s gaze too but before he could, Stiles stepped between them, taking both of Derek’s hands.

“Dude,” he hissed, alarm rising in his throat. “What are you doing?”

Derek just clenched his jaw, lowering his eyes to the floor. Glancing over his shoulder, Stiles chuckled nervously and situated himself so he was still standing as Derek’s only barrier.

“We’re just gonna go now. Bad, uh, dinner earlier.”

“What?”

“See you later, Vinc.”

Before either Stiles’s roommate or his douche of a best friend could say anything, Stiles steered Derek away. The party had worn down some and he was able to make it to the front door without incident, ducking past a few people crowded around it and pulling Derek out into the night.

The moment they were across the lawn and close enough to the Camaro, Stiles spun right back around.

“Derek, what the hell was that about?”

Derek pulled his hands away, folding his arms over his chest and shooting a venomous glance toward the frat house. “I did what you asked of me, didn’t I? Brad won’t be asking you out anywhere if he knows what’s good for him.”

“Dude,” Stiles said, staring. “You nearly went Alpha on his ass.”

“Would that have been a bad thing?”

“Would that have been a— yes, Sourwolf, that would have been a very bad thing!”

Derek just grunted, not looking convinced. And the entire one-eighty was so sudden, Stiles’s head was spinning. He shook his head, running a hand through his hair.

“Okay, well that party is over.”

“You didn’t seem to be having much fun anyway,” Derek said. Stiles blinked at him.

“What?”

“You were anxious and bored the entire time,” Derek said. “A combination which I didn’t know was possible until tonight.”

“I was— I was not.”

Derek gave him a flat look. Stiles frowned.

“Whatever. I just wanted to get it over with.”

“Which is why you brought me along,” Derek said. For a moment, the entire ‘Alpha’ bravado actually seemed to drop and he looked a little bothered. “To scare off your supposed friends and make sure they never invited you anywhere ever again, right?”

“Woah, woah, wait. My supposed friends?”

Derek raised an eyebrow. Stiles’s frown turned to a glare as anger crashed over him.

“That’s nowhere near true.”

“You said it yourself,” Derek said hotly. “They’re not pack. They’re normal. But that’s not what you want, is it, Stiles?”

“Why the hell isn’t that something I would want?”

“Because you’re not normal!”

Stiles drew back, a pang shooting through him at the sight of Derek’s red eyes and furious expression. For a moment, he just looked at Derek, Derek looked back, and then the man growled, turning his face away until his eyes were back to normal again.

“I did what you asked, Stiles. Should I drive you back to your dorm now?”

Stiles stood there for another second, throat tight. Then, without a word, he turned toward the Camaro. Because he really didn’t trust himself with words at the moment.

Derek took a little while longer to follow. There was no opening of the passenger side door when he stalked over, unlocking the car and climbing into the driver’s seat before slamming it closed.

There was no talking either, when the man slid the keys into the ignition. Stiles clicked his seatbelt in and glared out the window, listening to the faint sound of music where the frat house seemed to glow neon blue from the lights inside.

And damn, if he hadn’t imagined this night going a lot of different ways.

But somehow, it had still gone off the rails.

When they pulled up in front of his dorm, the parking lot was empty and the one street light barely cast enough light for Stiles to see ten feet in front of him.

He climbed silently out of the Camaro, surprised to see Derek do the same. The man looked at him over the top of the car and Stiles swallowed hard, holding his gaze for a moment before turning away.

“Stiles.”

He froze, cursing himself silently. Stiles could hear the man’s footsteps on the asphalt as Derek moved around the car, finally lifting his eyes to meet grey-green again.

“Look, Derek, I know tonight went worse than expected, but—”

“Did you like what happened back there?”

Stiles blinked, clamping his mouth shut again. Derek’s face turned a little red and he dropped his gaze.

“I mean, do you like how normal things here usually are?”

Oh.

Stiles stayed quiet, thinking Derek’s words over for a moment. In truth, something about it had been unsettling. Not the party, not the crowd. Derek, maybe. Stiles thought he’d love to see the man smile more and engage in conversation that easily somewhere else. Anywhere else.

But only if it were real. It had to be real.

“Is all of this what you want?” Derek asked, voice barely a whisper. Stiles sighed.

“No,” he said. Derek glanced up, looking startled, and he shrugged. “Or… not like that.”

The man raised an eyebrow. Stiles swallowed hard.

“It’s nice sometimes, you know? I know who these people are, Derek. They’re not supernatural. They’re not going to rip my throat out one day or get killed by a bunch of psycho hunters who think they’d be better as trophies than people.”

Derek winced. Stiles scoffed.

“No,” he said. “They’re not pack. But I’ve spent enough of my life lying about everything that all of this doesn’t seem like much of an issue anymore.”

“So am I a part of the lie now too, then?”

Stiles met the man’s gaze carefully. He wasn’t sure if it was the dim light of the street lamp or the fact that he’d drunk a little too much at the party, but Derek looked downright vulnerable. And this time, it actually seemed real. “I don’t want you to be.”

There was a flicker of red in the werewolf’s eyes. Stiles shook his head.

“I mean, we can totally pretend this whole fake dating thing never happened and go back to our previous arrangement or whatever, but—”

He didn’t get the chance to finish that sentence.

Because suddenly, Derek was kissing him.

Stiles’s brain logged offline for a moment. There was the strangest noise and then he realized it had come from him, Derek’s hand cupping the back of his neck as the man kissed him hard and deep, something about the cool night air and the fact that Stiles was not dreaming making the entire world pause around him for a long moment.

Up close, Derek smelled like leather and pine. There was no alcohol on his breath, though Stiles was pretty sure the taste of college beer had to be on his. Which was a strange thought, he figured, closing his eyes as Derek carded a hand through his hair and then finally, finally, he surged forward to kiss the man back.

Maybe a little more hard and hungry. Maybe a little more wanting and hoping that this was real. That this wasn’t part of another lie.

This couldn’t be part of another lie.

Derek growled at the back of his throat, the sound sending shivers down Stiles’s spine. And it was all wolf and one-hundred percent possessive. Nothing normal, nothing ordinary about it.

And dammit, if Stiles had been dreaming about this since he was an idiot teenager ogling werewolf abs when he thought no one was looking.

What had he told Lydia? The chance of Derek ever falling for him was once in a blue moon. Stiles was pretty sure the moon was not blue-- so did this count as falling? He blinked when Derek broke the kiss, drawing away, and there were sparks of red in the man’s eyes that faded ever so slowly.

For a moment, neither of them said anything. Derek watched him almost nervously, chest rising and falling a little faster than usual.

Stiles blinked again. Once, twice. He was pretty sure this wasn’t a dream.

“Stiles?”

“That was real,” Stiles said, finally taking a breath. The man’s eyebrows drew together and he actually looked a little amused.

“It was.”

“Derek Hale just kissed me, even though the moon was not blue.”

Grey-green eyes flicked upward and then Derek gave him a strange look. But Stiles was still trying to process, touching his lips experimentally and then squinting at the werewolf, reaching out to touch the man’s cheek.

And yeah, that was Derek Hale’s beard. Stiles breathed out a quiet ‘fuck’ and Derek rolled his eyes.

“Are you done?”

“One more time,” Stiles said, moving forward. Before Derek could react, he was kissing the man again, one hundred percent online this time as Derek stiffened in surprise, then growled, kissing him hard back. Stiles couldn’t tell which was more hungry this time.

It wasn’t normal. Nothing about this was normal.

But Stiles figured if anything was going to be out of the ordinary, it would be who he was not single and lonely with. There was something about Derek Hale happening once in a blue moon and dammit, if Stiles wasn’t going to latch on and never let go.

Once in a blue moon, he thought. But this moon wasn’t blue.

And maybe that made it so much better.

#sterek #teen wolf #sterekweek2020 #derek hale #stiles stilinski #derek hale x stiles stilinski #teen wolf edits #sterek edits #sterek au #sterek moodboard #fake dating #all the fluff and humor

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solarwonux · 3 years

Text

69. “So, you want to what?”

87. “That guy was checking you out. Should we tell him to join us later?”

camboy!wonwoo x camgirl!reader

w.c: 1.5k

genre: angst, suggestive

warnings: suggestive language, talks of a possible threesome, hint at fwb

note: so I know this is not what you probably had in mind, but I’m also thinking about making this into a full on fic and didn’t want to give all the good stuff away lol. I hope you like it though. lmk your thoughts please, thank you <3

Masterlist || Prompts

“So you want to what?”

Wonwoo smirks. Your fork in between your fingers hanging by a thread as you blink rapidly, trying to wrap your head around Wonwoo’s words. He sat there smugly, arms crossed, tongue poking his cheek, amused that he had finally caught you off guard.

Pay back was a bitch and although he knew he was going to pay for his consequences soon he was going to indulge in this moment.

“What do you say?” He rests his elbow on top of the table, eyeing you through the top of his round glasses. “I for one think it’s the greatest idea I’ve ever had.” He shrugs, his cockiness spewing out behind every single word that leaves his mouth.

He was fucking insane.

You shake your head. An attempt to regain your calm and collected self. “I thought we already agreed on what we’ll be doing.” You place your fork down on top of the quilted paper napkin. Appetite gone. Well not entirely gone, you were starting to crave other things, things that wouldn’t be appropriate to share out in public.

Every Wednesday night at ten on the dot. You and Wonwoo would go live. Just something the two of you did as friends to gain a little extra cash in order to get through graduate school debt free. It started out as something innocent, never getting entirely naked, never touching one another. Simply getting off together in front of the camera. It was fun, it didn’t mean anything, it still didn’t mean anything. But things had escalated after gaining a bit of a following. Instead of getting off to one another and remaining still somewhat clothed. Dirty words, heated touches and desperate kisses were shared.

The money was good. Almost too good to let go. So you kept doing it and with the added bonus that no one knew who the two of you were, except your close friends - you had accidentally spilled the beans to them one drunken night at a baby shower - no one knew. Your identities were kept a secret, never showing more than your lips so you kept going.

At some point it became mundane. It wasn’t something you wanted to do anymore, more like something you needed to do. The two of you were close to finishing your degrees, all you needed to do was to hold it out for a little while. But Wonwoo had noticed that you started faking your orgasms, getting off on camera for random teenagers or grown ass married men, wasn’t doing it for you anymore. That’s why you were here, at the diner a couple of blocks from his place. To discuss possible ideas, a new direction if you will. He cared about you and because the two of you were quite literally in it together, he wanted to know what you wanted. What you needed to help you get to that sweet high the two of you enjoyed so much.

“Well you see...that guy over there was checking you out.” He pauses and discreetly points to the bar. You raise an eyebrow at him and turn your head to the side. Your eyes meet two pretty brown eyes behind the colorful bar. He stops cleaning the counter top, smirks, throws the rag over his shoulder, pushes himself away from the bar and walks towards a family of four that were arguing over blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes.

You scoff and look at Wonwoo, a smug smile still painted across his face. “Soonyoung?” You ask in disbelief. Soonyoung was the cute worker that worked every Tuesday and Thursday at the diner. And one of the TA’s in the music department, he too was trying to get through graduate school debt free. Or so you were told by his coworker and the cute doe-eyed girl Wonwoo had a huge crush on. Which is why you had made it your meeting place in the first place.

It was perfect. You talk to Wonwoo about possibly pegging him - he still hasn’t caved - while ogling over the waiter behind the bar. While also trying to be Wonwoo’s wingwoman. A fool proof plan, that had really gotten the two of you nowhere. Well maybe until now.

Wonwoo waves a hand in front of you brushing you off. “Yeah whatever but, should we ask him to join us later? A little birdie told me he gets off in thirty minutes.” He clicks his tongue and sits back again, crossing his arms in front of him.

He was enjoying this way too much.

You were slightly shaking, your pussy throbbing as you pictured the way Soonyoung’s hands would feel all over your body, while he and Wonwoo took turns touching your most intimate parts for an audience of strangers to see. In hindsight, it was a great idea, probably the best one Wonwoo has ever had, but the most you had ever said to Soonyoung was your order for M&M pancakes at two in the morning one Wednesday - Thursday - after the show.

He was covering for someone that night and you were extra sensitive and needy. You still remember the way his eyes lit up when the front door bell rang signaling your arrival. Eyes shifting into cute little half moons, as Wonwoo guided you towards your usual booth. Wonwoo had done most of the talking, figured out his work and school schedule as well as scoring his phone number and a promise to hang out soon.

You on the other hand were terrified to even look up, responding in one worded answers when Wonwoo tried to include you into the conversation. But you wouldn’t budge, too busy wallowing in the soreness between your legs and the gnawing nerves erupting in the pit of your stomach.

You groaned and pushed the plate of half eaten chicken tenders away from you. “I don’t know Wonwoo, what we do isn’t entirely socially acceptable. It took our friends an entire week to come around to the idea of us selling our bodies online. Soonyoung is cute, I like him but what if telling him ruins my chances with him.” You sigh running your fingers through your messy hair.

This is another reason why you weren’t entirely in it anymore. After realizing that most guys weren’t too big on the whole fucking your best friend on camera for money thing, you cut off the possibility of ever dating until your final show. It was the main reason why you confided in Wonwoo about your crush on Soonyoung, why you cried in his arms as the exhaustion took over your body.

It was ending soon. Just one more semester. Four more months. And you’d finally be able to live a life you wanted and without fear. “He doesn’t care. I mean he knows that I do it. I never told him that you also join me but he doesn’t care. Thinks it’s cool, so I figured he was our best bet.” Wonwoo puts a hand over your closed fist and holds it reassuringly. “We don’t have to tell him if you don’t want to but I want you to feel comfortable again, just until we finally end this once and for all.” He says sadly.

Wonwoo enjoyed camming more than you did. Reveled in the idea that he was in the position all your viewers wanted to be in. But he too was getting bored. He wanted a future and he didn’t see one in camming. He was the one that had gotten upset at you when you first spoke to him about possibly ending once the two of you graduated. But the more he thought it over and took into consideration all your reasons, he agreed.

Soonyoung’s co-worker was someone he had had feelings for since his undergraduate. They were friends but he hated that he had to hide this huge part of his life from her. So he figured once everything was done, he’d finally ask her out like he had been meaning to for years.

“Are you sure?” You lift your head and rest your chin on top of his as he nods. You close your eyes, count to ten before opening them again. “Fine, we can talk to him, but I want to be the one to tell him and everything we plan on doing or usually do. I want to make sure he’s comfortable with everything before asking him to join our show next week. “

“Sounds like a plan.” Wonwoo extends his free hand out to you. You roll your eyes and give him a firm shake. A wordless agreement or contract. “Now chin up princess he gets off in five minutes and I told him I wanted to talk to him before you got here earlier.” He takes his hand back, a familiar mischievous glint burning brightly behind his eyes.

“Sometimes I hate how calculated and organized you are.” You grab one of your fries from your forgotten plate and throw it in his direction. He dodges it, rolls his eyes and throws one back at you, hitting you square in the face.

“Hey! If it wasn’t for me you’d be drowning in college debt. So you’re welcome.”

“Shut up don’t remind me.”

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got-any-references · 4 years

Note

What are your fav beetlebabes headcanons? Also, love your stuff <3

Thank you <3. And thank you for the wait cause oh boy if I don’t answer this ask with a ridiculous amount of art how will I live?

*Digging out the dust covered manuscript that is my nonexistent Beetlebabes fic from under the floorboards* It’s showtime.

So...Lydia is the one who falls first. She is about 17 or 18 at the time, so this is very much an “I have a teen crush on someone I am not supposed to” type of deal. Honestly they fell in love with each other way before that but like, platonically

Beej is...horribly oblivious XD. Honestly its for the best because Lydia spends the better part of her pre-college summer freaking about because any time her best friend walks in the door her heart wants to go bull-riding in her chest and if she actually has to confront her feelings she might just explode.

Then, just before Lydia was supposed to go away to college, Beetlejuice...disappears. He leaves a note, saying he’ll be back, but weeks turn into months, months turn into a year, and no one either in the living world or the netherworld has seen a hair of him. Lydia goes through college without really knowing what to do with herself, missing what was probably the closest person in her life. She graduates with a journalism degree and a minor in photography. She works for a newspaper as an investigative journalist before breaking off over less than great circumstances and going off on her own.

She’s 25 when she establishes herself as a pivate eye, with an enormous amount of anonymous sources being dead people. Also, this takes place in New York City.

(Yes she absolutely does exorcisms on the side).

She’s following a rather stange missing persons case when one of her sources points to a run down establishment that is 100% totally haunted. Except when she goes there she doesn’t find any ghosts, but rather

Beetlejuice. And he looks awful. And very much human.

Lydia: You look like hell.

Beej: Yeah, I just got back.

...

Beej: Also I’ma pass out now so you better catch me.

So he crashes at Lydia’s place, and the whole thing turns into solving the crime as well as Beej’s mysterious aquirement of a beating heart and working lungs. He doesn’t remember how that’s happened, only now everything is Too Much with Too Many Feelings. Speaking of feelings, you bet your ass there is PINING. SO much pining. Lydia’s best friend comes back and suddenly those feelings she’d dismissed as a stupid teenage crush come FLOODING BACK.

While Lydia’s internally feaking out over her feelings (it's totally normal and platonic to wanna kiss your best friend while he sleeps, right??), Beetlejuice is, you guessed it, totally oblivious! To his own feelings especially! All he knows is that it's his best friend only now she seems like a completely different person, and hot. She is now hot. His mad respect for Lydia makes him bury that thought deep, deep down. Also the whole marriage deal is a source on bad memories for both of them and he doesn’t wanna ruin the only good thing he’s ever had and-

Anyway, more pining:

Lydia’s feelings bring out resentment, too. She hates that Beej calls her kid, because that means he still sees her as one, and her ego and her desire for him make her want him to see her, the woman who's seen some real shit in the name of finding the truth, who can take care of herself, and who is very different from that angsty 15 year old girl on the roof.

It all comes ahead to a big confrontation where Lydia is shot, and Beetlejuice has to drag her to the hospital without any knowledge of how human bodies work and he has no magic so he can’t help her-

The hospital needs to know his relationship to her when they take her away, and Beetlejuice knows they wont let him in unless he’s close family so he is blurts out: “Husband. Yeah, I’m her...husband.”

Lydia wakes up with a patched up hole in her side and Beetlejuice clinging to her hand. She’s happy she’s alive, but also angry, because she could have avoided all of this. She was competent enough to not need anyone to rescue her.

She wants to get back on the case as soon as possible, she found the key lead, but Beej doesn’t wanna hear it, cause he saw way too much of her blood and he’s not big on how human bodies work, but he's pretty sure that shit’s supposed to stay inside. They’re arguing when the nurse comes in and adresses him as “Mr. Deetz.”

Lydia snatches the clipboard away, sees that he’s told them she’s his wife, and is livid. Because crush or not the wedding thing had a whole lot of baggage she does not want to unpack. She has to confront the fact that her feelings are for someone who manipulated her into marriage at 15 and who she’s not supposed to see in that way but she does anyway.

And Beej, a dumbass but also angry cause she almost died out of a stupid reckless mistake is like: "Why are you all mad? It was a green card thing. It's not like it means anything." And that gets Lyds even more upset, with him cause he's an idiot, and with herself because she's still pining for someone who, she thinks, still sees her as a child.

Lyds, getting her coat: "Fuck off."

BJ: "Kid-"

Lydia: "Stop calling me that! I haven't been a child since my mother died. I haven't been a child since you showed up! I haven't been a child since I've started this, since I moved here, since the first asshole tried to kill me. I've been through literal hell and I've had to pull myself out of it all on my own because I was still here and you left."

There's a beat of silence as Lydia realizes what she just said.

Lydia: "And that's fine. Because I don't need you. I don't need anyone. You taught me that, at least." She yanks her coat onto her shoulders and turns to go.

BJ, quietly, but its clear he's angry: "Do you think I wanted to leave?"

Lydia: "I don't know what you wanted. Do you even know what you wanted?" She pauses at the door, turns to him. "Do you know what you want, Betelgeuse?"

BJ: "I-"

He stops. He can't look her in the eye anymore. You. I want you. Lydia scoffs, turns to go.

BJ: "Lydia, wait-"

Lydia: "Fuck. Off."

She leaves, and he just stands there, floored by his too little too late realization. Lydia thinks the best thing to do after leaving the hospital with a bullet hole in her side and hopped up on painkillers is to go get drunk! Self-preservation? None

Beetlejuice finally finds her drunk off her ass and suddenly in a great mood. He grabs her under the arms like "Whelp. Time to go."

Lydia: "Nooo come on-"

BJ: "Aren't you on hospital drugs? Doesn't that shit kill you breathers if you mix it all up?"

Lydia: ":D I stopped taking them :'D it hurts like a bitch."

BJ: "I guess I have the shared braincell now. Okay, time to go."

He manages to get her in the car without incident, but when he gets in the driver's seat suddenly Lydia's all over him.

BJ, with a lap full of drunk Lydia: "What. What are you doing."

Lydia: "Beeetlejuice."

BJ: "Yeees?"

Lydia, smiling all dopey as she cups his cheeks: "Beeetlejuuuice."

BJ: "What"

Lydia's finger hovers over his nose, as if to boop him. He closes his eyes. And suddenly her lips are on his. She tastes like alcohol and hospital food and as she pulls away he can't think. Then she starts laughing. "Ha! Gotchaaa! Classic Bait and Switch!"

And he’s pissed.

BJ: "Ha. Ha. Good one, Lyds."

He dumps her out of his lap and into the passenger seat. Lydia blinks in confusion. Now she's cold. She wants to ask, but her mental faculties aren't all with her at the moment. He drives them home and helps her up the stairs before dumping her onto her bed. "Well. Bye." Lydia scrambles up the bed. The car ride gave her enough time to be at least a bit sober, and everything before getting here is blurry. "Where are you going?" Beetlejuice turns around, the widest smile on his face. She's confused for a moment before she realizes he's vibrating with rage. "Ya said you want me gone? Great! You don't need me, you can do your weird little suicidal quest thing yourself!" Lydia looks lost. They had a fight but she'd rarely seen him this angry. "If its about the thing at the hospital, I didn't- I didn't mean it-"

Beetlejuice: "Really? You'd think you'd be glad to have me gone. Why would you want a creep like me around? The whole marriage thing didn't just disappear, after all! Great to know you can still pull one on me, huh?"

Lydia: "Pull what, Beetlejuice-"

She remembers, hazily, the car ride.

They stare at each other for a moment Beej is breathing heavily, he's not used to living person emotions, ones you can feel with your whole body instead of just as an abstract thing, but its clear he's holding back

Lydia: "I wasn't-"

Beej: "You weren't what?"

Lydia (quietly): "It wasn't a joke."

The angry grin slips off Beej's face. He suddenly looks very, very tired. She might have believed just now that he'd lived for millennia.

Beej: “Why are you doin' this, Lyds? Did you know the whole damn time? It's not like I was gonna do anything, I just thought- I just-”

Lydia suddenly realizes that they are having two different conversations. And something else. She looks away, trying to wrap her head around it, and Beetlejuice doesn't read it correctly. He turns to go.

Lydia: “Wait!”

She jumps off the bed, feeling the whole world tip over slightly, still drunk, and stumbled over to him. He catches her instinctively as she grips his forearms for support.

Lydia: “Beej. Beej, look at me.”

She takes his face in her hands, and turns it toward her. He looks so lost, like one word from her might actually break him. She'd only seen that look on his face once before, and she never wants to again.

Lydia takes a breath.

Lydia: “Beetlejuice, I-”

Aaand then she throws up all over his shoes.

She doesn't quite remember what happened next, only that she was in the bathroom, leaning against the door, the toilet was flushed, she was sweating, and he wasn't there.

Lydia: “Beej?”

Beetlejuice (through the door): “...hi”

Lydia: “What-”

BJ: “-happened? Well, that's a story!”

His voice sounds cheerful, but it’s shaking slightly

BJ: “First ya threw up all over us both! then that little experiment of yours with mixing the meds went off, and you started babbling about...rocks? Then we got here, you heaved out the rest of your insides, and then ya kicked me out and said you were gonna shower, and now we're sitting here, so, yeah”

Lydia: “...Are you still covered in puke?”

BJ:”...yeah”

Lydia: “...sorry?”

BJ: “Pshh, what's a best friend if ya can't throw up on 'im a couple times.”

They both fall silent

Beetlejuice (quietly): “Lyds, do ya still want me here?”

...

Lydia takes the time to find the words. Want him here? After everything, he was still asking that question. Did he still think, after all this time, that she'd throw him out at the smallest inconvenience? Would he ever stop thinking that way? Why did he think so now? Was it because he- Because he-

Lydia: “I love you.”

The other side of the door is silent.

Lydia: “I love your stupid laugh. You sound like a fucking cartoon villain, its so fucking obnoxious. I love your jokes, all of them, even the shitty ones- you always look so god damn proud when you say them.”

Is she crying? She tries to wipe at her face, but the tears keep coming.

Lydia: “I loved you since that last day on the roof, and when you left-”

Her throat closes up. She chokes back on her tears, she has to finish it, he has to hear it.

Lydia: “When you left I thought I might die again.”

Lydia: “I kept seeing things, dumb branding on cereal boxes, that shitty college play I went to, my first client, and I kept thinking aw, Beej would have a field day with this one. I thought about what you'd say. You were like a voice I couldn't scrape out of my head, I thought I was going crazy, I thought I'd imagined it all, some lonely little girl with no life or friends, needing someone to talk to- But you'd been real, and then you were just gone- “

The words dissolve in her throat as she sobs, pulling her knees up to her chest. She feels like a child now. She feels more childlike than she had at 15. She’s clinging to a scrap of hope she doesn’t have a right to demand from him. And yet he'd said-

Lydia: “I love you. Please, don't leave.”

They sit is silence for a while. Lydia tries to stop crying. Then, quietly from the other side of the door:

BJ: “You know what I thought when I first saw you?”

Lydia: “Here’s a suicidal teen haha what a riot?”

BJ: “What? No, not then. Like now.”

Lydia: “Oh. What?”

BJ: “I thought wow, who the hell is that and why is she so dang hot?”

Lydia laughs.

BJ: “And then I thought oh God that’s Lydia.”

Something in his voice makes her pause. Maybe it’s the strange fear that she feels coming from him.

BJ: “It’s like, you’re Lydia, and I don’t know shit about you! You’re the same person, but you’re a stranger to me. Lyds, do you know how fucking terrifying that is? You’re someone I never got to know because of a shitty decision I don’t even remember making.”

he falls silent. She can hear the pain in his voice. And something else. Longing.

Beetlejuice: “I’d like to.”

Lydia opens the door. Beetlejuice scrables up, only for her to throw her arms around him.

They figure it out. It’s a slowburn 200k fic that I’ll never write so it takes a while for them to actually kiss, or do anything more, but they get there.

This turned out...ridiculously long XD. I don’t know what you meant by “headcanons”, exactly, but have this instead.

Thanks for the ask!

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dessarious · 4 years

Text

What Makes a Family? Pt8

AO3 Beginning Previous Next

“How exactly is a billionaire businessman connected to the al Ghuls, and what does that have to do with my birth mother?” Marinette decided to take advantage of Alfred’s shock. She knew better than to think he’d just answer her question but she’d be able to get a lot of information from his reaction while he was off balance.

“How does a teenager from Paris even know who they are?” Deflection. Fairly standard move.

“I asked first.” She had to hide a smile at the eyeroll that produced. Finding his buttons was proving to be quite amusing.

“Master Bruce has business interests all over the world.” She just gave him a flat look. More deflection.

“No, that’s not it.” Alfred blinked at her for a moment. She’d admit he was very good at half truths, but not enough to fool her.

“I assure you Miss, Wayne Enterprises has ventures all over the world.”

“That may be true but it’s not how he’s connected to the League. Wait… Taila can’t be my mother. There’s no way she could have written that note given that the woman has no empathy.” After what happened that would be a literal nightmare. But there was also no reason for Talia to want to protect her from the League so it couldn’t be her… right?

“No, Talia isn’t your mother.” There was a slight emphasis on the word ‘your’ that most people would have missed. He wasn’t kidding when he said things were complicated.As far as she knew Talia only had one child. A child she claimed was fathered by some American superhero. What was his name? Dixon? No, Daren? No that wasn’t it. She’d gone on and on about her precious…

“Damian.” She didn’t mean to say it out loud but seeing Alfred’s expression she was glad she did. But if Bruce was Damian’s father as well, and Talia wasn’t just being grandiose, that meant he was a hero? “Where exactly does my father live?” She’d done her homework on other heroes in case she needed help or one of them ended up in Paris. Maybe she could narrow down the possibilities by location.

“Gotham, Miss.” Marinette heard a sound leave her throat that she couldn’t identify. Judging by Alfred’s expression he hadn’t heard anything like it before either.

“My father is Batman?” Alfred wasn’t able to hide his shock, but she wasn’t certain it was because she was right. At the same time all the pieces fit. Not to mention Tikki had told her that as a true chosen, fate and chance were always working overtime around her.

“Marinette, that is an interesting fancy. Just because a man lives in the same city as a notable vigilante doesn’t mean they’re the same person.” Alfred’s tone was a bit huffy and Marinette laughed out loud, earning her a glare.

“You have tells Grandpa Alfie. Using my name without prompting is definitely one of them. Don’t worry, the secret is safe with me.” She suddenly found herself on the receiving end of an extremely intense stare. It was a lot like the look her Maman gave her that made it feel like she could see everything Marinette had ever done wrong. When she was younger that stare made her start confessing to everything, even things she hadn’t done. By the time she became Ladybug she was able to hold it in though she couldn’t control her expressions. She honestly didn't know how she’d kept it secret for so long. Now though, she could simply sit there calmly and wait as Alfred seemed to weigh and measure every aspect of her life. She felt sorry for all her siblings who must be on the receiving end of this inspection on a regular basis.

“I would like to know how you came to that conclusion, why you think you can be trusted with such information if it were in fact true, and how you know about the League of Assassins.” The poor man sounded so tired. She could only imagine what he went through on a daily basis if she was right about her father. The only solid thought that went through her head was ‘give to get’ and as she examined her instincts she knew he could be trusted. Not to mention that at this point she’d had too many slip ups to avoid at least a partial explanation. Fate and chance once again conspiring to set her on a certain path. As much as she hated her hand being forced like this it wasn’t fair to take it out on her new found family.

“It’s complicated.” She giggled at the flat look he shot her as she echoed his own words back at him. “I have a lot more pieces of the puzzle than you’re aware of for starters so nothing you said or did would have outed him by itself. My conclusion is actually tied to how I know about the League of Assassins and that is a story that I need you to promise not to share, with anyone, unless you ask me first. No one knows the whole of it besides me because I don’t want to risk any Akuma’s or worse. But I trust you to keep it to yourself, given that you’re obviously experienced at keeping secrets.”

“I have a feeling you are as well.” She could only offer him a tired smile at that observation. If only he knew. His look softened considerably. “You have my word that nothing you say will be shared without your permission. Unless it’s a matter of life and death.” She let out a thoughtful hum before replying.

“That’s fair I suppose. Granted the whole life or death thing can be a bit subjective. I suppose I should start at the beginning, though I’m not sure I know where that is anymore. Remember how I said our heroes and villains are using Magical Artifacts to get their powers?”

“I do Miss.” She rolled her eyes, more in annoyance at herself than anything.

“You’re just going to refuse to use my name at all now that I called you on your tell aren’t you?” There was that almost smile again.

“I don’t know what you mean Miss.”

“Of course you don’t. Anyway, those Artifacts are highly coveted by certain groups. One of those groups is the League of Assassins. Given how little information gets out of Paris intact I’m still not sure how they found out the Miraculous were in circulation, but Ra’s and Talia came to Paris, about two years ago I believe, to try and take them.” That had started the worst week of her life, even if some of the lasting effects were some of the best things in her life currently. That week she’d found out that Adrien was Chat. That was the week Paris had been destroyed over a dozen times as she fought and Akumatized Ra’s al Ghul almost by herself. That was the week she’d given Chloe, Luka, and Kagami their Miraculous permanently. That was the week she’d seen everyone and everything she’d ever loved ripped apart. She still had nightmares that featured the lifeless stares of everyone she cared about. Yes she’d fixed it in the end, just like always, but unlike everyone else she didn’t have the luxury of forgetting. Suddenly she felt gentle hands on her own.

“You remind me so much of your father. You both carry burdens and refuse to share them. You both seem to think that the world is on your shoulders, and yours alone. You both have people all around you who would help, if only you’d let them.” His tone was an odd mixture of concern and censure.

“You’d be a good match for Wayzz. A calm and steadying presence full of wisdom yet willing to do whatever is necessary to protect those you care about.” She was just as surprised by the words as he was but she knew she was right. “But that is another complicated matter and I still owe you a proper explanation for the first round of confusion I sprang on you.”

AO3 Beginning Previous Next

Ko-Fi

@moonystars14 @ladybug-182 @elmokingkong @smolplantmum @jessigurl-design @trippingovermyfeet @its-salty-bug @whydoexamsexist @scorchdragon88 @alenee13 @lil-1254s-blog @sturchling @random-fandoms7 @fandom-writer642 @chylou34 @thewitchwhowaited @junarvion @laurcad123 @hakoirii @aestheticnpoetic @aegyobutpsycho2 @sassakitty @swiftie-miraculer13 @miraculous-simmer7 @peachedpocky @misslenamooney @shamefullove @user00000003 @18-fandoms-unite-08 @galla02006

#bio dad bruce wayne #marinette dupain cheng #Alfred Pennyworth #maribat

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amindofstone · 4 years

Text

Jolly sailor

{

a/n: Dream a little dream with me and imagine. Imagine Luffy being able to save Ace and him making it out of the Marineford. Imagine him taking Whitebeards place as the captain and keeping the crew together. Now imagine...

Words: 5164 (I´m sorry my fingers didn´t stop typing.)

Genre: anime imagine?

Warnings: Maybe grammar or spelling mistakes. (I genuinely apologize. English is not my mother tongue and I´m really trying to improve. So please be so kind and have mercy)

Character(s): Portgas D. Ace x reader (Serena)

Info: For better reading keep in mind that the words in italic are Serenas (readers) train of thoughts. And the words put between a note “” are the lyrics of the song “Jolly Sailor Bold” I was inspired by.

!!! Please do not steal my idea or work. Credit me if this is shared or published in any other platform or any other way. This took me a lot of time. So please respect me as the writer and my work. Piczure is not mine. Credits to the rightful owner (Twitter: @tsuyomaru1a). !!!

}

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“Mommy?”, said the boy sitting at the dining table, while trying to focus on his drawing. Serena, the mother of the boy with the raven black hair hummed in response without looking up from her painting. “Where you ever at the Grand Line or the New World?”, Serena who was painting the person that appeared in her dreams last night, stopped in her tracks and looked at the direction the little boy was sitting at. The question of her son caught her by surprise what made her look at him quite dumbfounded. “Ehm… Dear, where did that question come from now?”, she asked while she put her brush aside. The little boy who still wasn´t looking up shrugged his shoulders and gave an answer what could also have been that from his father. “Probably somewhere from the corner of my brain.”, he answered and looked his mother in the eyes. He knew that his way of talking resembled that of his father a lot what always surprised his mother when he talked because he rarely was home, but still he managed to sound like him. So every time he said something his father also could have said, his mother would stop doing whatever she was busy with at the moment and just stare at him with the same loving eyes she looked at his father. And every time she did so, he always tried to never miss the sight of that, because it made him proud to see that he could make his mother happy with such a simple thing.

“Well yes, I grew up on an island on the Grand Line until my teenage years. After I turned 20 I guess I ended up somewhere in the New World where I also met your father. But you already know that so why ask me that?”, Serena slowly approached her son and sat down next to him. Her son Faun, who seemed to be thinking about something deeply, put his pen down and intended to ask another question when he stopped himself by putting his small hand over his mouth. The little gesture made the brunet haired woman next to him laugh. Faun was now slowly looking back to his mothers face and tried to form a proper sentence. “May I.. ehm.. ask you some questions about… well about… you and… dad?”, although the young boy knew that his mother did not like talking about her past he always wanted to know so much about her. He always tried to ask her some questions but she somehow always managed to get out of those situations by changing the topic or making him forget what he wanted from her. Even now he had no hope of hearing her tell him her and his dad’s story. He was about to apologize and get back to his drawing when she took him in her arms and left her atelier behind. “Mom? Where are we going?”, asked the confused little boy. But Serena just smiled at him lovingly and kept walking. When she did not reply to him he decided to keep quiet and see what´s going to happen. Little did he know that she was going to tell him the story he always wanted to hear. Serena walked into her bedroom and placed her usually talkative son on the bed she slept on alone for the last eight months. Sitting on his mother’s bed, Faun was following her steps with his eyes. While she was busy taking a box out of her closet. After taking the box out of its place she closed the doors to her closed and walked back to her son and sat down next to him on the bed that seemed to be bigger than usually since she slept alone on it.

“Tell me Faun. I do know that you saw pictures of me when I was younger but did you ever saw a picture of your father when he was younger or a child?”, the Question caught the ten years old boy by surprise what made him blink a few times. But he quickly pulled himself together and shook his head a bit to fast. She gave him a loving smile and went through his raven black hair. “In that case I´ll start telling you something about your father with some pictures of him and that of some others. Alright?”, the look the incredibly beautiful boy gave her was worth to be photographed but she did not dare to leave him just to go and get a camera so she just took him in her arms and kissed his cheek while laughing. “You have pictures of Dad, when he was younger?! Wow! Was he good looking? Was he as muscular as he is now?”, curiosity rolled over Serena’s son what made him ask one question after another. It took him a while until she could calm him down and make him focus on what she is going to tell him so she took her time and let him talk for a while. While he did so she couldn´t stop thinking about his father, her husband. The man who stole her heart, her mind and her soul.

A man every person feared and respected at the same time. A man whose story was spread around the world like that of a tale. Whose story was seen as that of a hero who also played the villain at the same time. The name of that man is well known. A tale with a title that can create any kind of emotions when read. A title made of just a name. A name that was and forever will be the cause of her racing her heart and trembling hands. A name that was engraved in her heart and carried by her soul with so much love and passion that it caused her pain. A name that was always on her mind. Portgas D. Ace.

I wonder how he is doing right now. Is he alright? Is he hurt? Is he getting enough sleep?

“Mom? Is everything ok?”, Serena got lost in her thoughts thinking about the man who promised her to come see her every four months and forgot that she had her son sitting in front of her. “Mom is everything alright? You look sad. Did I upset you?”, the huge smile that was lingering on the plum red lips of her son was now gone. Serena knew that Faun was not the child he used to be. A little boy she could trick with a smile or by changing the topic. He no longer was the naïve boy he used to be. He was a mature 10 years old boy. For her taste even to mature but Luffy said that he is just like Ace himself. He told her stories about him as a 10 years old boy who was also really mature for his age and who did things she could never think of.

🎼 Upon one summer's morning, I carefully did stray. Down by the Walls of Wapping, where I met a sailor gay. 🎼

Faun was about to call his mother again when she took a deep breath and started to speak in a soft calm voice. A voice that was so beautiful that could make any person weak in their knees. Her voice what was one of the many things Ace fell in love with.

“It was a calm and warm morning on the island I was living in at that time.”, Faun was taken aback for a second but quickly understood that she was telling him what he always wanted to hear. So he sat back and listened. “It was a huge island but not many people lived there. There was a small village of probably just 100 people. They were really nice people. Each of them was friendly and respectful, with caring and funny personalities. I loved them from the bottom of my heart. As you know my beloved Faun, I am half mermaid but they never judged me because of that. I fact they never made me feel out of place. They helped me and my father every day. They brought me my favorite sweets, my fathers favorite dishes and clothes for the both of us. When my mother came visiting us they would treat her like any other person on the island. They loved me and my small family so much that they even where ready to fight for us when one of the most strongest pirates stopped at the island and asked for my father. It was really funny because my father knew the pirates but they still were suspicious and didn´t trust them a bit. When my father invited some of them to our house the women of the village would come and literally drag me out of my house and keep me in theirs until they left.”, the memories of the village and the time she spend there made her emotional. She missed all of them. They turned in just a short period into her family. A family that loved her more than she ever deserved.

“Now guess who those pirated were my father knew?”, Faun did exactly was his mother asked him to do. He thought and came up with a bunch of famous pirate names but each time she said no. When he looked at his mother with a mad and frustrated sigh, a chuckle left her and she sat her son in between her legs and placed a kiss on his head. “It were the Whitebeard pirates, who are now called …”, before she could finish the sentence her son finished it with big eyes filled by amazement. “… the White Fire pirates. Grandpa knew Whitebeard?! But how?”, Serena smiled at her son and opened the box she previously took out of her closet. The box was filled with different pictures. Some by people he instantly recognized and some by people he didn´t knew. “My father was part of the Whitebeard crew and was in the fifth division. And what made this division so special was that it was called the swordsmen division. And yes. Before you start to freak out again, Grandpa is a swordfighter.”, it only took a second for the boy to lose control over himself again and to start jumping around out of excitement. “Oh Mother! You have to tell me more! Why did you never said that Grandpa was so awesome?!”, a small giggle left Serena before she took her sons hand in hers and sat him down in front of her again. “Father was an amazingly strong pirate and on top of that a good man. That´s why he was so loved by the village.”, Serena took out a picture of her father when he was in his forties and Serena just 19. Faun looked at the picture with an open mouth and talked without thinking. A habit he had from Ace. “No offense but he looks older than he is now on the picture. How can one look so old? And no wonder dad fell in love with you. You were beautiful! But now you are even more beautiful. Don´t tell dad but you even look better than him. Just a bit though!!”, the words that left the young boys mouth made Serena laugh. How come he is so much like his father when he´s barely home and with us?

“You really need to stop telling him that he looks so old. Otherwise he won´t come see us anymore.”, Serena let Faun still look at the pictures of her and her father when she took out a picture of Ace as a young man in the age of just 20.

🎼 Conversing with a young lass, who seem'd to be in pain. Saying, William, when you go I fear you'll ne'er return again. 🎼

“The day they came to our island was not one to be happy. It was a sad reunion between my father and the pirates. A lot of their crew mates where hurt and some of them were even close to death. They needed help and a new captain. One of those who were about to die was your father my dear Faun. Uncle Marco who is the commander of the first division was worried to death because he couldn´t help him. He was just able to keep him alive while he was in coma. And this is when I meet him for them first time. Badly injured and with a weakly beating heart that threatened to stop keeping him alive. My father called me and convinced me to heal him since I ate from a devil fruit that gave me the ability to heal people. Marco and the other commanders talked to me and promised me to give me anything I wanted when I would promise them to heal Ace. Their friend, their commander and the man they would die for.”. the memories of Ace when he was close to death made her realize how worried she was about him now. Ace, who was now her husband. He should have been here four months ago. He should have came and see her and their son but he didn´t came. He did not reply to any of her letters in the last two months. Her heart clenched with the thought of him getting hurt and she started to cry. “Mom? Why are you crying?”, She didn´t wanted her son to see her cry and make him worried. She didn´t wanted him to lose hope in his father and the promise that he´ll come see them again. So she wiped her tears away and smiled. “It´s just that I miss my old hometown. It’s nothing serious.”, Faun hugged his mother and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “No need to be sad. When dad comes home we can ask him how Grandpa is doing because he always visits him whenever he comes back home. Now please stop crying and show me your smile. I want to see your dimples and kiss them just like dad does whenever you’re sad!” Ace. Just know that although you might not be here with me and although I am left alone with my longing for you and the painful emptiness in my heart caused by your absence, the presence of our son takes all of that away from me.

Serena gave her son the smile he asked her to show him and instantly got showered with kisses. “Are you feeling better Mom? If not I give you more kisses and hug you for hours just like a koala does a tree. No wait. I hold onto you like a sloth holds onto a tree! Yes that´ll do for sure. Wait no! Sloths aren´t cute though….”, the adorable nonsense her son talked managed to make her laugh again. Marco was right; although father and son are not always together they are alike. Even to the point Faun sometimes looks like Ace´s clone. “Now what happened next? Please tell me more.”, Serena nodded and showed him more pictures.

🎼 My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me, but my jolly sailor bold. 🎼

“It took us a long time until all of the men were healthy again. But it took us the most making sure Ace was back to his normal state. Although he had the power of the fire fruit it took a long time until he was fully healthy. That caused a lot of them to be worried since they planned to make him to their new captain at that time.”, Serena showed Faun pictures of some of the Commanders and Ace when he suddenly said something that made her blush. But as quickly as the pink shade crept up her cheeks as quickly did it also leave and that only because of the words of her little boy. “That’s a great story but how did you and dad fall in love? Can you tell me that? Uncle Marco told me that Dad is the main cause of any problem they have and a risky captain. He never backs off from any fight, what I also do and forever will but compared to him you are his total opposite. You are calm and he is loud. He is ready to take risks you try to avoid anything that is close to being a bit difficult. It´s like a normal civilian and a princess that ended up as a couple. How did you to end up marring?”, Serena looked at his son with an unreadable gaze lingering upon her. She was shocked by his words but also in the verge of laughing out loud. At the end she wasn´t able to keep her laughter in and started to laugh. While she was holding her stomach from the pain her son was looking at her with an emotionless face. “What did I say?”, with a slightly tilted head the green eyed boy was looking up at his mother with confusion written all over his face. “Oh dear!”, Serena wiped the tears away that fell on her cheeks before she started to talk again. “I do understand what you mean but don´t you know the saying opposites attracts? But going honest I have to admit that it did take us both a while before we actually understood that we had feelings for each other. In those weeks where I took care of him and his crew while they decided on how to start all over again as pirates, I started to get happy whenever he was around me. I turned into the happiest living being whenever he called me or asked me for a favor. Whenever he needed anything I was the first one to go get that. No matter what it was. I loved him but I couldn´t believe it at the beginning until he and his crew left the island. Days and nights passed and I got sadder whenever I saw something that reminded me of him. I couldn´t sleep. I couldn´t eat. I was lost and felt empty. I was restless and somehow just existing. One day I got a letter. The envelop had just my name on it and nothing else. But somehow I still knew that is was from your father. The letter itself had no actual beginning nor and ending. The content of the letter wasn´t anything special but still made me more than just happy. If any other person would have read it they would have been disappointed and wouldn´t think about it. They even would have called it unnecessary and nonsense. But to me it was more than that. It was special because it made me feel like he thought about me and the time he was on the island. You know what made it so special was that fact that he started his writing where our talking ended before he left. This was the beginning of us getting closer. The love I had for him, the sentence anyone who was in love would have probably said hundreds of times never left my mouth nor had a place in my letters for him. He on his side did also never mention those three magical words. I don´t know about him but I was way to scared to say it out loud or write it down. I was scared that he might not feel the same and just see me as a good friend. But my heart was telling me otherwise. I was always praying to read those three words in one of his letters but never was disappointed when he did not write it down. Getting those letters and writing mine for him was a feeling I could never explain. I was filled by pure joy and love whenever I read his letters or wrote for him.”, Serena talked and talked. She told him anything she could think of while her heart was racing and her eyes were fixed on her hand with the ring he proposed to her. She remembers all those little moments with him. All those months and years of her crying over him. She remembers all those restless nights filled by the pained sobs that left her, accompanied by her aching and longing heart. She didn´t realized but while the memories of the man she would die for slowly made their way back to her mind a single tear fell down her cheek what made her realize how much she missed him and his touch. His voice calling her name and his laugh that would always light up her days.

🎼 His hair it hangs in ringlets, his eyes as black as coal. My happiness attend him wherever he may go. 🎼

Serena knew that she shouldn´t be crying in front of Faun so she kept the pain and the tears that threaded to fall back for later. But still she missed his presence more than ever. Eight months passed and he did not come back home. He should have been back four months ago. She should be getting letters from him every one or two weeks but nothing came. She was worried to death and couldn´t bear the pain anymore. She was scared of losing him. She was sacred to open the newspaper and read an article about his death. She wanted him to quit being a pirate and do whatever Garp would tell him. She wanted him to be save. Save, happy and at home. But she knew that his happiness is not only made of her and their son but also by sailing and being the free man he always wished to be. He wanted to be just like the man who saved him and gave him a reason to live. The man he called father from the bottom of his heart. The man he owns his life. She knew her wish of him being with her was selfish. She knew that she was selfish for wanting him to quit being a pirate but what else could she do? She was scared to death. She wanted him to be next to her. Somewhere she could take care of him and hold him. Kiss him and tell him how much she loved him. How much he meant to her. He was her life. The reason why she kept living. The reason she woke up every morning. He was the reason of her happiness.

But she put everything aside and let him be. She let him do whatever he wanted to do. She let him do whatever his heart desired and made him happy. Just so she could see him smile. He deserved it. He deserves to be happy and loved. He suffered enough in his life and deserves to be carefree now.

🎼 From Tower Hill to Blackwall. I'll wander, weep and moan. All for my jolly sailor until he sails home. 🎼

Faun was looking at a picture that showed his mother and his father at their wedding that was held on the main flagship of the White Fire Pirates, when he realized that his mother stopped talking. He looked at her and followed her gaze that was lingering upon her hand with her wedding ring. He saw her eyes that were filled with tears and was irritated since her lips were showing a beautiful smile. He wanted to say something and console her but he knew that he should not do anything since it might make it even worse. He knew that if he started consoling her by telling her that father was alright she might lose it all and break down. He knew his mother well. She was a soft hearted woman with a heart of gold. Although she was a strong woman with admirable fighting abilities she still was a woman in love after all. He remembers his Grandfather telling him that no matter how strong a person is. When they’re in love their strength can´t save them from the pain love brings. Faun was lost.

He didn´t wanted his mother to cry. When he asked her to tell him something about his father he didn´t wanted her to cry. He felt bad and started to tear up. Guilt took over him and he started to shed tears. “I´m sorry mother! I made you cry. I made you think about your past. I´m sorry.”, the son of the emperor was now hugging his mother while apologizing over and over again. “No my dear. It is not your guilt. And who says that I´m crying? See I´m all good. There is nothing to feel bad about. Hear me out. It it getting late. How about we get ready for bed? I tell you more about your father some other day. Alright?”, Faun who was still hugging his mother just nodded while soft sobs left him. The pained mother took her sons face in her hands and put a kiss on his forehead with a smile on her lips. She took his hand in hers and led him into the bathroom and prepared him for the night. And just like any other night she started to sing his favorite song. Usually Faun would never dare to make her stop since it calmed him down and made him feel loved and special. But tiday was different. There was a question lingering on his mind he needed an answer to. So he called for the woman he loved the most and made her stop singing to him not even half way through the song. “Mom I have a question. Is dad alright? Will he ever come back?”, when Serena thought that nothing’s going to worsen the pain in her chest her own flesh and blood proved her wrong. It took her a lot of courage and strength to put on a bright smile and answer him with a stabile and confident voice. “Of course he is doing fine. He is Fire fist Ace after all, isn´t he? And why shouldn’t he come back home? There is no reason to think that. Your father loves you more than anything on this planet. Believe it or not but he loves you even more than he loves Uncle Luffy or Uncle Sabo.”, the words of the half mermaid made the young boys sad face turn into a bright happy one with a huge smile upon his lips. “Thank you mother. Could you maybe continue with the song? I really love hearing it before falling asleep.”, Serena who was laying down next to her son nodded and continued singing the song not only he loved but also his father.

“My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold. My father is a merchant, the truth I now will tell and in great London City in opulence doth dwell. His fortune doth exceed 300,000 gold and he frowns upon his daughter, who loves a sailor bold. A fig for his riches, his merchandise and gold. True love has grafted my heart, give me my sailor bold. My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold. Should he return in pov'rty from o'er the ocean far to my tender bosom, I'll press my jolly tar. My sailor is as smiling as the pleasant month of May. And often we have wandered through Ratcliffe Highway. Many a pretty blooming young girl we did behold. Reclining on the bosom of her jolly sailor bold. My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold”

Soft snores could be heard what signalized her that the little man she was singing to was now fast asleep. With a last kiss put on his head and a softly whispered “Goodnight my little treasure.”, she left his room and closed the door as soundless as possible. Her atelier she was working on before was still not cleaned up so she made her way back to her beloved work place and started to clean everything up. The song she sang her son before was not finished yet so she began singing where she stopped.

“My name it is Serena a merchant's daughter fair. And I have left my parents and three thousand pounds a year. Come all you pretty fair maids. Who ever you may be. Who love a jolly sailor that plows the raging sea. While up aloft in storm from me his absence mourn. And firmly pray arrive the day he's never more to roam. My heart is pierced by Cupid, I disdain all glittering gold. There is nothing can console me but my jolly sailor bold”, usually she would now repeat the song since it ended but the sight that life offered her did not only made her stop in her tracks but also made her drop anything she had in her hands. “I´m not sure if the original owner of this song would be really fond of hearing you change the name Maria with your own. I mean, it does sound beautiful but still, I´m just saying.”, Serena did not know what to do. She was overwhelmed with the situation and could not believe what she was seeing. A few minutes ago she was talking about him and lost hope of ever being able to see him again. She told her mind a few days ago that it shall stop hurting her more and forget him. But now she felt like she did not only betray herself but also him, who was now standing in front of her in all his glory. “Ace?”, tears she kept in all these day couldn´t be hold back anymore and made their way out. One after another wetted her cheeks and made her vision get blurry. She couldn´t believe what she was seeing. She told herself that he is not real but rather a trick played by her heart, mind and soul. She told herself to stop crying since he was not here with her. She told herself that her husband was somewhere in the New World and that she should stop crying, when the person who was the cause of all of her pain came closer and gave her a reassuring hug. As if he knew that she couldn´t believe her eyes and wanted her to believe. He wanted her to believe in him and his person that was truly standing in front of her. “Ace?”, she looked up in his eyes with tears still falling down his cheeks. “Love, I´m home.”, not knowing what to do himself the emperor placed his lips on those of his wives with the hope to get rid of the pain in his chest that accompanied him all those lonely night.

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