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bubble-tea-bunny · 4 years

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what we’re meant for

[apollo x reader]

author’s note: apollo’s ear piercings>>> makes me wanna get more ugh

word count: 9,251

The air feels colder after it rains, but it’s also crisper, fresher, and with a deep inhale you let it fill your lungs, mentally steeling yourself for today’s hunt.

You stand at the edge of the woods, sunlight peeking through the foliage of towering trees and bugs and birds alike flittering between the thick, aged trunks. The grass is damp from a combination of raindrops and morning dew, and you know you’ll need to watch your steps particularly carefully to avoid any muddy spots, lest your feet sink in. A small gust of wind blows, ruffling your hair, braided as it always is to keep it out of your face, and you shiver. Your deep breaths are also made in an effort to acclimate yourself to the lower temperature. You refrained from wearing a cloak despite the chill because you knew it’d only impair your ability to use your bow properly. Though the longer you stand in place, the more you’re beginning to regret that decision. So before you can get the chance to regret it even more, you slide down the small incline and venture into the forest.

Last night the rain had been heavy, and you watch out for fallen leaves and branches, taking care to walk around them. It’s always quiet here, but especially so in the mornings, and any misstep would alert the wildlife to your presence. The birds are singing, a complement to the peace of the early hours, and serve to help you feel less alone as you traipse along. You try to identify the species to whom each unique call belongs, testing what you learned from Alexios during the days you’d agreed to let him accompany you on hunts. Studying birds had become one of his favorite pastimes, and he delighted in sharing with you what he read and applying his knowledge.

There’s a melody, high-pitched and staccato, and you think hard about what Alexios had shared, about the distinct tones. You then hazard a guess, and your attention is pulled to a small bird that perches on a branch of a tree you’re passing. It opens its mouth to sing, and you smile, having found your guess to be correct. It seems you’re getting the hang of this.

Your birdwatching is interrupted by the ruffling of leaves, and you freeze, gaze lowering to scan the surrounding area. You listen closely to determine the direction the noise had come from, and the moment you hear it again, you establish the way you need to go.

You move slowly to remain as quiet as possible, following the sound of pattering on soil and the snapping of twigs. It doesn’t move very far and you’re able to close the distance, ducking behind a bush when you catch a glimpse of fur. Once you’re hidden, you peek around, eyes settling immediately on the sand-colored rabbit sniffing at a plant. As it begins to take a bite of the leaves, you carefully reach for your bow.

The birds chirping help provide some cover, but it’s not perfect because you’re much closer, and any noise you make will stand out. You begin to pull your bow from over your shoulder but pause when the rabbit does, its ears lowering. Had it heard you? It lays flat on the ground then, and you figure it must have; it’s getting ready to flee if it hears anything else.

You hold your breath to keep silent and manage to get your bow and an arrow without the rabbit noticing. As you nock the arrow and take aim, you exhale, then take another deep breath, holding it again to remain steady. You only have one attempt to catch the rabbit here. Otherwise, you’ll have to chase it or search for another animal.

The string of your bow is at maximum tension, pulled back as far as it can go, and your fingers unwrap from around the arrow, letting it fly. You can swear it almost whistles through the air before it hits your target. It’s a clean shot, and now you allow yourself to relax, letting out a sigh and emerging from your hiding place to retrieve your catch.

You pull out the arrow to return to your quiver and tuck the rabbit into your rucksack. You’re not quite done hunting yet, for one rabbit isn’t enough for you and your family. You’ll need to keep searching, but luckily, there’s ample time yet until noon, when you’re expected back to assist your mother around the house.

Slinging your rucksack on, you stand back up straight. The sun is at an angle to shine down through the trees, its rays bright and brilliant. It’s just the warmth you need, and you stay in this spot briefly, basking in it with closed eyes. See, you think to yourself, the cloak would’ve been unnecessary. You’ve got the sun to keep you warm after all.

With your eyes shut, your hearing is extra sharp, and at the sound of more rustling, you’re kicked into action. You’ve pinpointed the direction more quickly this time, and you proceed to track your next target. You try to walk along the ground the sun touches, feeling its heat spread over your back. Please continue to keep me warm, you murmur. It feels nice on cold mornings like these. It’s a playful request because of course the sun can’t hear you, but you like to pretend it can, and that you’re in its good graces, that it should indulge you and kiss your skin so gently.

The silly thought makes you smile, and it rests comfortably on your lips as you navigate your way between the pines.

***

This morning is a morning like any other, nondescript and quiet. The thick blanket of clouds beneath the expanse of Olympus is parting as the rumble of rainstorms fades to welcome a clear sky. Colors always appear more vivid after the rain: a bluer sky, greener trees and grass. Every drop breathes new life into the earth, invigorating then magnifying it. Fewer sights are better than this, and that’s why Apollo finds himself tarrying in the courtyard.

He allows his mind to empty as he absentmindedly gazes down below, watching the world awaken, freshly cleansed and ready for a new day. The air up here is crisper as well and he breathes it in deeply. This would always be one delight he shared with mortals.

After lingering a while longer, he’s poised to take his leave and proceed with his day, but a curt prayer reaches his ears and stops him short. To hear prayers isn’t unusual, and he hears them often, but this particular one grabs his attention for a short list of reasons. One, that it hadn’t been addressed to him explicitly, but to the sun. It’s this that tips him off to the fact it must not be anything serious, no heartfelt plea for blessing but something muttered distractedly to fill the air, but he hears it all the same, and, if anything, is amused by it. Two, and perhaps—no, not perhaps, definitely—the more important point, is that the sound of the voice is distinct, melodious, enough to pull him in, wanting to hear more.

So, rather than leave, he leans against the stone railing and scans the earth far below, listening for that voice again and searching for its owner, whose sweet song has graced his ears so sweetly on a morning that’s quickly taking a turn, no longer a morning just like any other. Where might you be, little bird…

There in the woods, he finds you. Bow in hand and rucksack on your shoulders, clearly in the midst of hunting. It’s simple to surmise that you’re doing your best to walk beneath the sun, and he can’t contain his smile. With each of your deliberate steps he grows more interested in observing you, and if the other gods notice how long he has been here, head leaning on a propped up hand and eyes drawn downwards, they don’t say anything or attempt to interrupt.

The birds that fly above your head are poor competition and while he wishes you would speak more, you don’t, but he understands since your current task requires silence. Though when you shoot down a deer, you let out a quiet exclamation of victory, and you might as well have shot him instead, for his heart seems to beat that much harder in reaction to your voice. Not only is the sky bluer and the foliage greener following the rain, but the cheeks of fair maidens are redder too, as evident by your own. They’re flushed, for you did have to go on a bit of a chase for that deer, but it’s charming in its own right, especially when joined by your satisfied smile. Apollo wonders if, should he lay his hand tenderly on your cheek, the heat of them might rival the sun he governs. He wonders if you’d allow him to sate his curiosity.

Much as he’d like to stay here watching you for the rest of the day, he can’t, and he reluctantly backs away from the railing. His every footstep takes him away from you physically, away from the sight of you, but mentally, you’re in the forefront of his mind in the passing hours. How hadn’t he noticed you sooner? He scolds himself for being careless, that he should miss something so remarkable as you for as long as he had.

Perhaps it might be argued that the gods are kept busy by the whole picture, presiding over the world as a whole, rarely afforded the chance to study the details. But to Apollo it makes little difference because with the discovery of you, with your fanciful wish for the sun to be at your back as you hunt and your voice soft as the plucked strings of a lyre, he is learning that sometimes, the real masterpieces are in the margins of a painting: well hidden but rewarding to find, so that upon picking it out, suddenly life is seen through a fresher pair of eyes, enlightened, and prepared for other secrets behind the canvas or in the painter’s brush.

Morning bleeds into afternoon and afternoon into night, and when the stars are strung across a dark sky, Apollo returns to his spot in the courtyard to search for you. He didn’t want to sleep until he saw you one more time.

You’re at home, your mother preparing for dinner the animals you’d caught earlier. In the mean time, you converse with a young boy. You talk about the birds you heard while hunting, and how you managed to guess their unique calls correctly.

“You’re a wonderful teacher, Alexios,” you compliment, and Apollo thinks about how he wants to hear you say his own name.

Alexios smiles widely. Then, there’s a mischievous glint in his eye. “I must be. If I could teach you, then I could teach anybody.”

At the playful jab, you lightly shove at his shoulder. “I’m a good student!” you defend yourself. “I just get distracted easily.”

“You’re like the sheep father tends to.”

You laugh, bright and melodic. It’s the only music Apollo needs. He’s of the opinion you’d be better suited in Olympus. Your dulcet tones and the delicate planes of your face are the essence of the divine and otherworldly, but he speculates you’ve been placed on earth to grace your fellow mortals with a piece of the heavens, your existence a reminder of the higher powers that be and the beauty they take care to form.

However, Apollo has no qualms in admitting he’s selfish, because for all of that, he’d still prefer you to be here and to keep you for himself. Thoughts of you lull him to sleep this evening, and, at least in this way, he can feel closer to you.

In the following days, he begins planning how best to approach you. To watch from a distance could only satisfy him for so long; he’s yearning for more. Lately, he’d taken to standing at the edge of the courtyard when he needed to think, since from here, he could also watch you, and during one such instance of this, he’s joined by another.

“You’ve been awfully quiet.”

Apollo blinks and glances to his right. Ares is walking over, in full armor and a helmet tucked beneath his arm. He must’ve just returned from training at the arena.

“Have I?” Apollo asks, but he already knows the answer.

“What’s got you so lost in your head?” Ares reaches out, intent to poke at Apollo’s forehead, but Apollo steps back and swats his hand away.

There would be no point in lying. Ares would see through it. Not that Apollo cares to lie. He has nothing to hide. “There’s a girl.”

Ares hums in understanding. “Ah.”

Apollo turns back to study you. Currently, you’re at the market with Alexios and have stopped at a fruit stand. “I want to meet her soon.”

“Is something stopping you?”

“No, no…” Apollo trails off and stays quiet briefly, already becoming distracted. But Ares detects he’s not finished speaking yet and waits. “I just want to figure out how to go about it is all.”

Ares raises a brow. “You’ve never cared about that before.”

At first, Apollo doesn’t think much of this remark, that it’s not worth noting, but upon further consideration he realizes it is rather unusual for him to take into account the how of a first meeting, and not simply appear before you the moment you’re alone. That’d always been standard procedure for him, and the question this raises in him is surely the same as what’s raised in Ares but that he doesn’t share aloud: why now?

Apollo likes to watch you in your natural environment, likes to watch you be, well, you. After all, it’s what had grabbed his attention to begin with, witnessing you in a scenario you’re comfortable in because of its familiarity, to the point you move through the forest with precision, clearly knowing it as well as the back of your own hand. He wants to interact with that part of you and observe up close the one who offers frivolous prayers to the sun as a mere aside, paying no mind to the gods who might actually be listening. Your desire is for the warmth to wash over you on cold mornings and Apollo would fight to keep the skies cloudless forever so that as long as the sun rises in the east and sets in the west, your prayer will always be answered.

If he were to appear to you in his form as it is now, as a god in his full glory, it would ruin everything. You’d be taken off guard, startled, unsure how to act in his presence, and he doesn’t want that. It leaves him with the present dilemma, but he thinks he might have come up with something that will work…

Finally, he sighs, and humors Ares with a response. “You’re right. I guess I haven’t.”

***

For some reason, the animals elude you today. Your ears are sharp and well trained, so you’re certain it can’t be that you’ve missed any telltale cues of one in the area. The woods are quiet, and they feel empty. If you have anything to say about it, it’s a little bit disconcerting.

Eventually you settle against a tree trunk for a short break, laying your bow and empty rucksack next to you. With you sitting, now you don’t even hear the crunching leaves beneath your sandals, and your eyes rove over the immediate surroundings. Nothing rustles, disturbed by creatures who are exceptionally well hidden. Where are they, any of them?

Perhaps you’re just unlucky this time? Returning home empty-handed didn’t matter too much; it was always possible to buy meat at the market. You just preferred to hunt for game yourself because of the thrill it gives and the accomplishment you feel being able to provide for your family in this way. As such, you don’t want to give up yet. After you’re done resting, you’ll continue. Like always, the only rule you have to abide by is to be home by noon.

There’s a stir in the bushes to your left, the leaves jostling, and you sit up quickly. Slowly you grab your bow, fingers wrapped around the grip, and gingerly you pick it up from the dirt and lift yourself to stand. You don’t walk in the direction of the bushes immediately. Your vantage point would be no better since whatever animal is here, it’s well-concealed, and even if you could spot it through the branches, your arrow couldn’t reach. Instead you wait to see if it starts to move out into the open.

Bow in one hand and arrow in the other, you’re prepared to take aim as soon as you spot your target. You just have to hope it doesn’t notice you first and take off into a run. The animal hiding is beginning to move, for the leaves rustle more, and you nock the arrow.

A red fox emerges, golden eyes trained on you as if it had already known you were there. But if that were the case, you’re confused as to why it hasn’t run away. Your arrow’s still knocked, though it’s pointing at the ground, and you stare at each other for one, two, three beats of silence, and this fox’s unwavering gaze leads you to believe thats something is wrong.

No, not wrong, but definitely out of the ordinary. The fox isn’t afraid, and you can’t bring yourself to stare it down from the sight window of your bow, not when it’s unlike any other fox you’ve encountered, so you relax the tension of the string, removing your arrow and returning both hands to your sides.

The fox moves first, walking towards you, and you’re frozen in place. It feels like a dream, being approached like this by a wild animal who means no harm. You wonder if it might speak to you, a conduit for the gods to impart wisdom, but what they could possibly want to say to you, you haven’t the faintest idea. You’re hardly remarkable, not as well-versed in matters of the divine as the priests of the temple. Has this situation come about as a result of opportunity? To be out in the forest by yourself, there’s little chance for interruption. And with the quietness here, so far from the polis, there’s also little chance for misinterpretation, should the gods truly have something important to share.

The fox now stands right in front of you, its bright eyes blinking, vulnerable but comfortable. You decide to follow its lead, crouching down and setting your bow and arrow on the ground. It’s close enough that you can reach out for it, and cautiously you do, extending an arm to gently run your hand along its red fur. It doesn’t shy away, and as the seconds tick away, you find yourself feeling more comfortable as well. You’re still well aware of the peculiarity of the position you’re in, petting a wild animal so casually, and maybe the gods really are poised to talk to you.

However, the fox is silent as you greet it with a murmured greeting, only continuing to stare up at you. You continue talking, no room to feel embarrassed to converse with a wild animal when it’s already strange to be petting it with ease, and you’re only partly pretending that it can understand because with the way it watches you, you can swear it understands your every word.

“Why are you here?” you inquire, voice hushed. “I suppose you saw a friendly face and wanted to say hello.”

You scratch the fox behind the ear and it nudges its head into your hand, enjoying the sensation, and you chuckle. “Well I’m glad you thought me worthy of your time.”

And your time with it, it would seem, is drawing to a close, because the fox backs up, out of your reach. You watch it with a smile pulling at the corner of your lips and you stand. Lifting a hand to give a little wave, you expect it to turn around and proceed with its own day, concealing itself within the bushes again. And while the fox does turn around and walk away, what surprises you is that it pauses and looks back over at you.

You tilt your head. It’s a very deliberate glance, for it stays where it is, still staring. Was it trying to communicate? Had you been correct after all, that this fox could understand you and had something to share? You stand motionless, ruminating on these thoughts, but the fox continues looking at you, no attempts made to leave… at least not alone. And you know that it could no longer be denied. This fox is trying to say something: it wants you to follow.

Grabbing your bow and rucksack and covering the short distance to the fox, who, satisfied that you’re trailing close behind, proceeds with walking ahead, you reason that there are worse things to be following through the woods. You’ve heard the stories of divine beings interacting with mortals, manifesting in some form to offer guidance, but never did you think you’d be one of them. You can’t help trying to guess what guidance this fox has to offer even if the best course of action right now is just to wait. If it’s leading you somewhere, there’s a destination, and whenever you arrive, you’ll have your answer.

Distracted as you are with watching the fox, you don’t notice the tree root sticking out from the earth, and your foot gets caught on it. You yelp, falling forward, and your hands slide against the leaves as you catch yourself. But then there’s another disturbance, the rustling of more leaves which you’re certain isn’t your doing, and you squash the pained groan you almost let out from scraping your knees in order to listen for any more movements.

Has your run of bad luck finally ended? You’d pushed aside your original task of hunting for game when the fox approached, but now that there’s potentially a rabbit or a deer to track, you’re conflicted as to what to do. And as you’re wont to do in situations like these, you imagine what your mother might say. She’d tell you it’s fine not to go after whatever you’ve heard because the gods aren’t to be ignored, and there would always be other animals on other days. Yes, that’s what she would say yet you still struggle decide.

Your eyes slide from staring in the direction you’d heard the disturbance, down to the fox, who’s paused again, waiting patiently. You know that your urge to track whatever animal is out there doesn’t have to do with the sense of duty to bring home food for dinner, for a trip to the market is no issue. It’s your passion for hunting, the calls of the wild which pull at you. Perhaps it may be ridiculous that the urge is so strong as to compete with the chance to commune with the gods in such a tangible way, foolish even, in the eyes of many, but you would never be ashamed of it. Still…

With a huff, you stand up and brush yourself off. If only to sate your curiosity, you reason, taking wide strides to catch up to the fox.

The two of you don’t walk for much longer, but as you do, you hear the jostling again, of a wild animal sniffing at bushes in search of food. And with every step, you realize the sounds are getting louder.

Finally, the fox stops behind the trunk of a large tree, and you come up behind it, crouching down. Why have you brought me here? You think it but don’t ask it out loud, and you don’t have to because you peak around the trunk and find the answer: there’s a deer in the wide clearing, munching on berries it pulls away from a bush. You duck back around and look at the fox in surprise. It had led you to the animal you heard earlier? The fox sits down, looking up at you with its golden eyes, its job done.

You smile. Sometimes what the gods share with mortals is profound, wisdom only coming from the ones who call Olympus home, and other times they simply share a helping hand.

You’re not about to let the opportunity go to waste. Drawing an arrow and nocking it on your bow, you take aim.

***

One meeting is hardly adequate for Apollo. The moment he’d interacted with you, he knew he wanted more.

He thinks about what you’d said, how you thanked him for deciding you to be worthy of his time. And how could you not be? It was a different experience entirely to observe you up close, to see the confusion on your face upon his arrival but then the softening of it as you relaxed and welcomed him, even for how atypical the whole affair was, to get so close to a fox. You understood it to mean something even if you couldn’t say what, and when prompted to follow, you did so.

There had been that momentary struggle when you heard the deer, unsure whether to break away or continue to follow him. He doesn’t fault you for the indecision. If anything, it helped him to better understand the love you harbor for the hunt, and he’s of the opinion that such passion should always be encouraged. He’d been leading you to the deer to begin with, but you didn’t know that, and even so, you pushed aside your desire to track the deer yourself to continue following him, acknowledging that where he might lead you had nothing to do with an animal to catch but being okay with it.

The tone of your voice had been so soft, like petals trailing along skin as one lays in a flower field on a warm day, and your eyes were gentle. He would like you to continue watching him in that way, perhaps on a quiet night, a dark one, when the stars are clear and brilliant so that he can promise you that he would scoop them from the sky and fashion them into a crown for you should you ask. Or if not that, he would gladly rearrange them to form a picture of you, a constellation made of only the brightest, to immortalize you in the heavens.

He sighs with longing he doesn’t bother to hide. His eyes slide closed and all he sees in his mind is you. Always you. He needs to see you again soon, to quell the ache in his chest.

The next time he does meet you, he assumes not the form of a fox, but of a human. He wants the chance to actually speak to you. In the early hours of a clear day, he roams the forest, in the areas you tend to frequent. There’s no worry of running into other people on accident. You tend to only be the one hunting this deeply into the woods.

He hears the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, and he turns just in time to see you walk around a tree and into view. Once you spot him, you stop, surprised to find you’re not alone. You hesitate to say anything at first, confusion apparent in your gaze, but you brush it aside as you offer a polite grin.

“I didn’t expect to see anyone out here,” you say.

Apollo chuckles and rubs the back of his neck, feigning sheepishness. “I came here to think and got so lost in my thoughts that, well…” He spreads his arms wide, referring to your surroundings. “I wandered further than I realized.”

You grin widens, and you relax a little more now. “I don’t blame you. The forest is a perfect place to find some peace and quiet.”

Apollo smiles too. “Yes, it really is.”

When you ask for his name, he tells you it’s Loukas. You repeat it, to be sure you heard him correctly, and it’s not as satisfying as he knows it would be to hear you say his real name, but it would have to do for now. Then you say Well it’s nice to meet you, Loukas and it’s heartfelt, yours smile amiable and extending a hand of friendship, should he want that. And yes, he does, very much so, and more still—as much as you’re willing to give.

You ask him questions about himself and he makes up information on the spot, but in an effort to avoid having to conjure up too detailed a backstory, and because he doesn’t want the focus to be on him, for you’re who he wants to learn about, he turns the tables on you and asks about you. It’s surface level, things he already knew by observing you from Olympus—your family and what they do, why you’re out in the forest early in the morning.

But what he gleans from conversing with you goes beyond that. You care for your family deeply, wanting to be a good daughter and older sister. You just want them to be happy, and anything you could do to make it possible, you would do. Hunting began as something practical, done to provide, but you’d grown to love it, energized by the cold air filling your lungs and the rush of blood through your veins when you’re set on a chase. Life for you is generally quiet, but in the forest, with your bow and arrow, it can be livelier, if only for a little while.

Apollo listens with rapt attention as your life unfolds before him and your eyes sparkle from the light of the sun overhead, but he’s more inclined to believe instead that they shine from the stars tucked away within you. Your soul is the essence of another universe and he’d like to live there, Olympus a distant memory but it wouldn’t matter to him, so long as you’re together.

He’d quickly been lost in his musings about you, the life he’d like to live with you, but he’s pulled from it at the mention of a fox and your quiet laugh of disbelief as you recount what a unique encounter it had been.

“Sometimes when my father asks for help watching the sheep, I’ll sit in the pastures and talk to them, but with the fox, it was different. I was sure it could understand what I said.” You chuckle again, embarrassed. “I’d been struggling to find any animals that day too, and that fox led me to a deer. It was like the gods were watching out for me.”

You glance at Apollo, nervous for what his response could be, because it does sound a little outlandish, but he simply smiles warmly. “Olympus rests in the heavens, but on occasion, the gods take care to remind us they’re closer than we think.”

“Well said,” you compliment, then continue teasingly, “Did you hear that from one of the priests?”

Apollo laughs and shrugs noncommittally. “They have a way with words.”

Time with you passes much too quickly and he’s saddened as it draws to a close. Your parting words include an apology for disturbing him, since he’d come to the forest to think, and he’s speaking to you as Apollo, not as Loukas, when he promises that you would never be a disturbance. He’d enjoyed your company, hopes that you’d enjoyed his too and that perhaps this wouldn’t be the end. Until the next meeting? It’s asked in a way that leaves it open, for there’s no set date and you’ll leave it to chance that you run into each other on another day.

You nod and your lips, stretching into a grin, look so soft. “If it be the will of the Fates, we’ll see each other again.”

“I’ll have to pray for their favor then.” He lifts a hand in a wave goodbye, and you return it before making your leave, gradually becoming concealed by the foliage.

But Apollo would do no such thing. The hands of the Fates keep the world turning but where it concerns you, he would pull the strings himself. He doesn’t bother to entertain the idea of what your thread might contain, whether there’s a place for him in it or not, because he doesn’t care to find out. He wants to be with you, and it’s a desire so powerful that he would dare to push back against the Moirai in order to fulfill it.

From the moment he’d said goodbye during your first conversation, he already knew you would meet again. He’d be there in the woods to wait for you. It isn’t the will of the Fates that turns this wheel, but Apollo.

Hermes had noted both the change in Apollo’s demeanor, his propensity for bouts of silence as he watches the earth below, in combination with his recent absences to go down there, but for what, Hermes doesn’t know. Apollo is forward with him as to what he’s been up to, like he had been with Ares, but unlike Ares, Hermes is privy to just what Apollo feels regarding the Fates and their plans for you.

“It’s no small matter to reject what they’ve ordained,” Hermes remarks. “The threads they spin, it’s destiny. Even for that girl who’s caught your eye.”

But Apollo isn’t easily swayed. It’s the strong who admit no destiny, and he would shoulder the burden of Atlas and carry the sky on his back. Where it concerns you, the Fates were a mere interference. He’d forge the future on his own.

***

The way your eyes light up when you do see him again makes everything in the world feel right, and upon your playful comment—It seems the Fates have been kind—he brushes aside the idea of destiny and the Moirai easily. In response, he hums, declares They have despite not meaning it since, well, it isn’t true. And he wishes he could tell you it was his doing, that it would always be him pushing you two together because he wants the praise which falls from your lips to be for him and him alone. Though he supposes there would be time yet to reveal such secrets to you, and despite the irritation he feels at needing to wait, he will do so without complaint.

Besides, he’s too preoccupied paying attention to you to bother complaining. You take up all the space in his mind, and there’s room for little else. It’s entirely unusual for the likes of Apollo to be this enamored with anyone, and he studies your form closely as you talk—the curl of your lashes, the sheen of your hair pulled into a braid, the color of your lips—wondering if you found your beginnings as a sculpture, not a human, and it was Athena who breathed life into your form. If such is the case, where was the pedestal off of which you stepped, leaving it behind without looking back in favor of exploring the world around you? Which lands claimed the privilege to have you on display? Those which he posits as possibilities are hardly worthy, but very few, if any, could be.

Had you come from Olympus? It’s the only place Apollo knows contains beauty to the degree you possess. He imagines you there, in the fields or in the courtyard, settled amongst the flowers and staring overhead at a sun unobscured by clouds. He imagines that you look right at home, and it would be ironic that you should be under his nose this whole time, his songbird easily spotted by glancing out the window of his bedroom. Your every word’s a dream and he delights to hear your honeyed tones. He wants you to pray to him with that sweet voice, and he’d honor all your requests so long as you sang for him.

You’ve started teaching him the calls of various birds which flitter overhead, and the ghost of a smile rests on his lips to hear your enthusiasm. There’s an occasional bout of hesitation on your part, unsure if you’ve identified the calls correctly and digging through your memory for everything Alexios had said, and you flash a toothy grin of satisfaction when the bird whose call you’d been attempting to guess makes its appearance, and you learn you’re correct.

Apollo enjoys this activity, but the only bird whose calls he’s interested is you. He trails his gaze along the column of your throat, envisions the vocal chords within them producing the melody and majesty you radiate. His fingers twitch with the urge to follow the path taken by his eyes, to slide along your jaw, down your neck, touch feather-light and and inquiring from you, in hushed whispers, to what artist he owes an expression of gratitude for gracing him with your existence.

As the days turn into weeks spent together, you only grow closer, and it reaches a point that you suggest he join you and your family for dinner. You look hopeful that he’ll agree, but he can’t, given who he is. He needs to keep his distance from everyone other than you. He hates to be the cause of your disappointment, however slight, and that’s why a heaviness settles in his stomach when he declines.

He’s polite, explaining that he doesn’t want to intrude, and the small smile you’d been wearing fades. Already he’s aching to see it again, wants to beg for it to come back and if you truly wanted him to accompany you, he would do it, any consequences be damned.

Was there a chance that you knew he was lying about the reason? Your head is tilted and you delay giving a response, and maybe you don’t know the real reason (he highly doubts you could figure that out) but you detect enough from the tone of his voice that he fed you a lie. If you do realize it, you don’t address it, and instead, like you heard his earlier wish to see your smile again, that charming smile returns. Now there’s a playfulness to it.

“Then I guess you’ll just be my secret,” you tease.

Apollo grins. It would be his pleasure to be your secret, held close to the heart like all secrets are.

He’d like the beat of your own to help him fall asleep at night. He lays in bed, staring at the ceiling, thinking about you and whether you’ve also settled in for the evening. If he were to extend arm outward, along the blankets to the empty side, as though reaching for you, he wonders if you’d sense it, the faint touch of his fingertips, a testament to what Apollo feels for you. No distance between you would ever be too great. His dreams are filled with you and perhaps this is a sign that you were thinking of him. He hopes so.

Apollo had been certain of his feelings from the moment he first set his sights on you, but the idea of confessing and revealing his true nature stayed far from his mind. It hadn’t been by any will of his own; he was enamored with you during every meeting, genuinely enjoyed talking, that he hadn’t bothered considering the next step, content in the current moment to just be.

But on a bright afternoon while out in the courtyard, he finally gives it thought, and it’s perfect, really, because sunny days remind him of you, and maybe that’s what prompted the last push. To be around you was to keep a piece of the blessed sun he governs right by his side, your presence warming him even on the stormiest of days, and he desires to know what it would be like to be the recipient of your love as you are of his.

He’s the god of the sun yet he wonders where you have been all these millennia. Maybe your essence had always been there, manifesting in the blooming of flowers one century and then in the powerful flow of a river the next. And on and on your soul drifted through time until it settled within you as you are now, a culmination of the lives you have lived, and maybe Apollo had always known where you were because whenever he looks into your eyes he sees eternity. You’d been with him since the beginning of it all; he was just looking in the wrong places.

There’s a chill in the air on the morning he plans to tell you the truth. You shiver, having come without a cloak, and he offers you his, throwing it around your shoulders before you get the chance to decline. You smile, accepting the help gracefully, and Apollo returns your smile automatically.

Do you remember, he starts, about what I said the day we met? You hum as you attempt to recall what he’s referring to but can’t remember. He doesn’t blame you, since you’d discussed many things then.

“It was about the gods, and how sometimes they’re closer than we think.”

Your eyes light up in recognition. “Oh, yes! But… what about it?”

Apollo doesn’t respond immediately, considering carefully how to phrase his next words. It’s unlike him to be this way, and he is aware, irritatingly so, of the slight hesitation in the back of his brain. It’s not that he’s afraid, because every instance he had imagined this moment, his heartbeat raced not with nerves but with exhilaration. He owes it to the pressure overcoming him to make this flawless, so that you can know the true depth of what he feels toward you. His gaze slides from staring at the horizon down to you, who watches him so attentively, and he realizes the pressure is unfounded. He just needs to be real, and you would understand by the parts he doesn’t say out loud.

So, taking a deep breath, the cold air filling his lungs, he speaks. “How would you feel to know one had been at your side?”

“You mean that fox?”

“Not just the fox, but every time you ventured into these woods. You hadn’t been alone.”

Your head tilts. “I wasn’t alone all the time: I had you.”

Apollo goes quiet, waiting to see if you connect the dots yourself. He looks at you and envisions the gears in your head spinning as you stare at each other. Saying it out loud, what he’d been implying, would have garnered the same result as staying silent. His lack of words is still a response to your unspoken question, and he notices the unease which settles on your face, expressive as always, unable to hide what you’re thinking and feeling.

“Loukas…?” Your voice is hushed. Maybe you only say the name because you want to ask what he means, wanting to hear it explicitly, or because you’re questioning if that’s even his real name.

Apollo notices that now you look at him as you did during your first interaction, when the first few polite greetings had been exchanged: like a stranger. You’re keeping yourself guarded, and there’s a tightening sensation in his chest and he hates it. He hates how it hurts and hates to see you look at him that way. And he would never fault you for it because he’d kept his identity a secret, but he loves you and the only way to show it to you, to make it real, was if he told you the truth of who he is first.

He shakes his head. “I go by another name.”

He transforms before you, his mortal covering falling away and giving rise to his divine form. The burst of light which issues forth from this process is so bright you need to cover your eyes. You bring your arm up, and he’d like to reach out and take hold of it, to gently lower it to your side so that he might meet your gaze, but he restrains himself and, instead, says your name quietly, a signal that it’s okay to look now.

And you do. Your eyes are wide in astonishment, your mind no doubt scrambling to process the fact a god is standing in front of you. Sure, you might’ve interacted with one before, in the form of that red fox, but this is something else. This isn’t a vague manifestation, like another animal or a dream, the mysterious—and more typical—methods gods tended to utilize for communication with mortals, but a literal god. No veil or disguise. No hiding.

Apollo studies you closely, contemplates the myriad of emotions which are no doubt flittering through your mind like a dozen little hummingbirds. He keeps his tone tender, for you’re already shocked, and he realizes the situation is a delicate one. Suddenly you start to resemble the deer who roam the forest—graceful in posture and magnificent to behold but still tense, prepared to flee the moment you detect there’s anything unusual.

My name is Apollo, he says lowly. And since I first laid my eyes on you, I have been with you here in these woods.

You take in his appearance: the long blond hair, tanned skin, golden eyes which match the sun shining behind his head high in the sky. He’s beautiful, and that should come as no surprise where it concerns an Olympian, but to witness his beauty yourself is an experience unlike any other, leagues above merely hearing from the priests how he might look or observing the sculptures fashioned as praise for him.

His eyes are what draw most of your attention, and they are kind as well as familiar. They mirror the brighten golden gaze of another being you had encountered in the past, and you let out a quiet breath of disbelief. He had been with you even then. Your intuition speculating that the fox had been a god wasn’t unfounded at all. It hadn’t been an aimless musing, a what-if because you’ve heard the stories of gods appearing to mortals. You’d been correct. It had been fact.

“But why…” You trail off, unable to finish the question because truthfully, how could you? The implications of his actions, of spending all this time with you, only to reveal his true self, speaks for a reality you are having trouble coming to terms with. Why you?

Apollo understands what you’re asking without you needing to continue, and in readying himself to explain from the very beginning, the corner of his lips lifts in a tiny smile as he reminisces on the first words he’d heard you say to him, indirect but meant for him all the same.

“The day was cold, fresh off the heels of a rainstorm the night before,” he starts. “You asked the sun to keep you warm and kept your footsteps to the places on the earth where it touched.”

You remember that moment, and it surprises you that it had reached him, because it hadn’t been a prayer, not a genuine one. Simply a playful aside.

Apollo’s smile grows. Sincere prayer or no, I heard it, and when I did, I wanted to know the one who said it. He explains to you it was your gentle tone which pulled him in, voice laced with affection which underlies your every word, and he wanted to hear more of it, to hear you sing and it could be about anything—your hunts, your family, gossip from the markets—and he would hang, and has hung, on it all because everything you say is the sweetest melody. You put the birds to shame.

And this, he hopes, is adequate to answer your query. He’d seen the confusion on your face, wondering why you had stuck out. He wants to help you understand, see things from his point of view, because even if you might not think so yourself, you’re remarkable. At the tail-end of his speech, throughout which a sense of eagerness had been clawing at him from the inside because this was it—the moment he confesses and might finally feel the softness of your skin against his, might finally hear you say his name—he tells you he loves you.

You’re at a loss for words, as his hang in the air between you, and Apollo had been expecting a reaction of this sort. To be loved by a god was no small matter. But what he isn’t expecting is the shake of your head, slowly at first, like you’re uncertain, but then again, more assertive. It’s his turn to be confused and he murmurs your name, a slight upturn at the end as if asking a question.

“You don’t love me,” you state.

Apollo’s brows furrow. “I assure you there’s little else which I have been so confident about before.”

“But a god and a human together…” You shake your head again. “It’s not meant to last.”

His heart wrenches painfully in his chest to hear you say that, though he understands where you come from. Such stories were common, himself being the god in some of them. The relationships are temporary, but this time, with you, he’s serious. His feelings for you are real, transcending the point of mere infatuation. He loves you and the declaration isn’t empty. He’s almost desperate now as he tries to come up with a way to convince you that your own story, between the two of you, would have no tragic end, maybe even no end at all. Because when stories reach the closing, happy or not, there is always inherent in the drawing of the curtains a perceived sadness, a pulling away from the world upon the stage and one is unceremoniously thrust back into reality, which is nowhere near as spectacular. It’s a disappointment he never wants to feel with you, and he would do all he could do keep you together.

“I sometimes wondered if there was anyone for whom I would change the course of the sun,” he tells you, his eyes drifting upward to glance at the sky. “And I could think of no one until I saw you. I told myself that if you so desired, I would keep the sky free of clouds so you might always feel the warmth of the sun.” His eyes slide back down to meet your own. “If you wished with that sweet voice of yours for the sun to rise in the west and set in the east, I would do it.”

You’re visibly more relaxed now, your gaze having softened as he spoke. It shines with the temptation to give in, to accept his love and give him yours in return, but a small part of you continues to struggle with the idea of loving a god. Apollo hopes you can see the sincerity on his face, as close to a desperate plea as he can get short of actually begging out loud.

“And if I were to ask for that,” you start, "for the sun to rise in the west and set in the east, what of the earth? The crops and the people who rely on its consistent path through the sky?”

Apollo shakes his head. “None of that would matter to me. Don’t you see?” He says your name again, and in a fit of irony the tables have turned because your name upon his lips is a prayer in its own right. “To be with you is to have the world fall away.”

Tentatively, he lifts a hand to set it gently on your cheek. You don’t flinch or back away, and he sighs, one of satisfaction to finally feel your skin, the softness of it to match that of your eyes and your voice and your everything. He declares it to you once more. I love you. And he would keep declaring it until you believed him.

You cover his hand with yours and lean into his hold. There’s still conflict in your gaze, a storm of emotion, and the way you murmur his name sounds like a call for help. You want to be saved. You want to be rid of the discord within you and to accept all he has to give, and you’re closer to the edge, have moved closer with his every word, but the last bit of hesitation keeps you from falling over. Apollo…

The breath leaves his lungs to hear you utter his name, a sound he has longed to hear since the first time he heard you speak. There’s a twisting in his chest but now it’s from that flood of love which he is barely able to contain. He wants to hear you say his name again and again, and he’ll fight against the hesitation you continue to feel, chip away at it until it’s only you and him and he could guide you over the edge and into his embrace.

His thumb strokes your cheek, a comforting back and forth motion. “We’re meant for each other.”

“You speak of destiny, but who other than the Fates can determine what any of us are truly meant for?”

Apollo is reminded of the conversation he had with Hermes what seems like many moons ago. All at once the fires of passion flare with him, magnified by his defiance of the Fates. When he’d declared to Hermes that where it concerned you, the future was his to forge, he’d been serious. He proclaims it now to you, promises that when it comes to the two of you, the Fates are powerless.

“The thread of your life is spun and measured by the Moirai, but I would pluck it from the hand of Atropos and her shears so that you might stay with me forever.”

It’s his final appeal, the ultimate supplication, to dare to go against the hand of fate. You understand the gravity of this assertion, and at hearing it, the last of those defenses in you drops, and there’s a clearing of the storm clouds, which he detects in the clarity of your gaze. As you look up at him, you do so with sureness, with love, and to bear witness to and be the recipient of your radiant affection is to make the task of intertwining your own fates as easy as waking up in the morning. You give him the strength to carry it out and there truly is no one else for whom he would go to such lengths for.

He kisses you and your lips are warm. Maybe you’re a piece of the sun that has fallen to earth, a shooting star which has made its home here until he found you. You’re the part of him that’s been missing, and holding you now, Apollo is aware of how complete he feels.

Upon parting, you remain close and watch one other. The silent look shared is intense, profound; two hearts beating the same lonely tune, fiercely longing for love and not caring what the world—or the heavens—might think.

#apollo x reader #apollo imagine #blood of zeus x reader #blood of zeus imagine #blood of zeus #apollo #bubble-tea-bunny #queue

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writingsbychlo · 3 years

Text

sun in the shadows (03)

word count; 12,706

summary; trying to make some headway on the study leads to an interesting revelation, and progress in your friendship with noah.

notes; if this part is a little sucky, I apologise. it was a last minute addition that I created because I realised I wanted to include some extras.

warnings; brief mentions of panic attacks/anxiety, but it’s very mild.

The weather was improving, the drizzle of the winter and the grey skies overhead were getting lighter, the showers of rain were getting less frequent and the winter was moving on. Spring was making itself known, bulbs of daffodils were finally taking root in the soil, and green was sprouting from the earth that had been frozen over and dead only a couple of weeks ago. The watery floors were drying up, limited ice was fading away, and graduation was sitting right on the horizon for you all.

Your fingers flexed around the strap of your bag, rooting through the contents to find a place to slip your file inside, all your notes for the class you’d be having were inside, and there was a blank page for your next session waiting to be filled out. Once it had its place, albeit getting a little bit crumbled against the other content, you removed your wallet, a few coins jingling in the bottom, and you hoped it was enough for two coffees.

There was a coffee stand not too far away, and you were hoping an extra shot of coffee before you went in might get your brain working a little faster. Only a couple of feet ahead of you was a face you recognised, a dark jumper to match dark denim jeans, a pair of boots for motorbike riding that were beginning to scuff along the edges and the toes. He was hanging over his money, a brown bag holding a pretzel and a tall cup, the tell-tale tag of a teabag hanging over the edge, and he walked away.

Joining the back of the line, you watched him go, sitting not far across the quarter with his headphones on, settling on one of the recently repainted memorial benches. He pulled the tab on eh coffee back, opening it up and a cloud of steam left the drink, curling up into the air that still held a slight chill, drifting away to disappear as he blew against the surface of the drink. In his other hand was his phone, scrolling aimlessly on it as a way to keep himself disconnected from everyone else around him and prompt nobody else to join him. His bag was out on the bench too, pushed a short distance from his body in an attempt to take up the rest of the space to deter company.

Ordering a simple set of black coffees, and finding you had just enough change for a muffin too, you waited patiently for your order, an assortment of condiments and the double-chocolate treat you’d paid for being handed to you first. There was a grinding, the slight screech of the machine as it crushed the beans to create two black coffees for you, plastic lids sealed on and two cardboard jackets fastened around them.

Balancing the load between them all, you headed over to him, using your knee to nudge the bag up the bench until it bumped his leg, and he jerked slightly, looking up to see you. Offering him a beam, his narrowed eyes lightened a little, and he sighed. Putting down his phone and moving his bag to the floor, he lifted the headphones away from his ears, and let them hang around his neck. Sitting yourself down, he slumped back into the wood, and you scooted up to sit closer to him, placing the spare coffee you’d bought for Stiles on the floor away from your feet.

“Hey, Noah!” He gave a short nod, still a little uncomfortable, and he turned to face you more. “So, what’s your schedule looking like this afternoon?”

“How did you know I was here?”

You shrugged, opening up the bag of extras and searching through for a couple of sweetener packets, and a wooden stirrer. “I didn’t. I was just gonna’ grab a coffee before class and head to my hall early, because, y’know, studying at home is distracting.” Your hand waved off the statement, finding the packets you wanted, and clutching your cup between your knees for stability. “So, anyway I was going to text you when I got there, but then I saw you, so I figured I’d come and say ‘hey’!”

“Right.”

“So, hey!” You waved a little before taking the top from your coffee, and leaving it on the bench beside yourself. “I ask once again, what’s your schedule looking like this afternoon?”

“Well, since I am the most popular guy at this college, I’m pretty busy.” He smiled a little at his own joke, particularly when you gave him a laugh, and your brow raised.

“Oh, he’s got jokes today, huh? I like it, I can roll with that.” Tipping the sugar into the cup, you added a couple of packets, before stirring it slowly. “I take it you’re free, then. I was hoping we could squeeze in some study stuff this afternoon. I have a class in a couple of minutes, but I wanted to see if you were free?”

“Well, I’m free all day. I had a six AM class.” His face screwed up at the idea, and you could feel his pain, having spent the entirety of your sophomore year with a teacher who held lectures at six AM so she could avoid her morning sickness before class, and rush home for it afterwards. Professor Anderson going off on her maternity leave was the best thing that had happened to your education that year.

“Great, I’ll sort it with Stiles, and we’ll text you the details.”

“Sounds like a thrill. I can hardly wait.” He smiles, the sarcasm just like his brothers as it came through, and you repaid him for the joke with a chuckle. While the two of you had made progress, you could tell he was still a little unsure around you. You were polar opposites and he didn’t take well to that, the atmosphere that you brought with you could be a little too much for him to handle sometimes, you couldn’t stop the guilt that was eating at you a little. “What’s wrong? You’ve got a look on your face like you want to talk about things. Just warning you, I’m not good at that heart-to-heart stuff.”

“Yeah, I’ve witnessed that.”

“Shut it.” He teased, sticking his tongue out at you childishly, and you grinned cheesily in reply to him. “You can tell me, though. Can’t promise I’ll help, but..”

“It’s nothing weighing me down. I just wanted to apologise. I clearly interrupted your free time. You got yourself a little pretzel to eat in silence, and everything.” He offers you a blank look at your slight dig, and you only winked, waving the muffin in a bag that you’d bought, and taking a sip of your coffee once the lid was sealed back on. “People usually like it when I stop by to see them, I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s okay, really.” His words were strained, the response bringing you no relief as he forced them out, and your frown remained. “I’m serious, okay? It’s alright.”

You were trying your best but learning the lines with Noah was different to you. Upon starting college you’d been thrown in at the deep end of socialisation and a whole world you’d never quite had access to before. Coming from a smaller town that had always limited your expectations was tough, and you’d taken it differently from the way Noah had. You’d had so many experiences, becoming legal to drink and venturing beyond your comfort zone, truly leaving home and facing the idea of having your life laid out before you, the first time truly having your heartbroken, and being too far to simply collapse into the arms of your mom or dad for support when things got messed up.

“When does your class start?” You jumped, lost in your thoughts as you slumped back into the bench, and you sat up straight again, turning to find that Noah was already looking at you, eyes scanning over you slowly. It was a good reminder, time had been slipping away from you and in the ease of his peaceful and quiet company, you could have sat there for hours.

Checking your watch, you sighed, lifting your bag strap back up onto your shoulder more securely, and packing everything you had with you inside, leaving you to hold a coffee cup in each hand. “In about ten minutes.”

“How about I walk you?” He picked up his bag, swinging it over his shoulder, and you nodded, a warmer feeling at his offer blooming where cold guilt had been. Standing up and making sure not to spill any of the scalding coffee onto your hand. Peering around the busy campus quarters that was more filled now than it had been for months, the lighter weather tempting groups to come out of their dormitories and the cafés to gather outside instead.

He fell into step beside you, toes scuffing occasionally on the slightly uneven stonework of the quad, before it fell away into smooth concrete pathways on the way to your lecture. The grass alongside each path was growing greener, dull colour fading away into something brighter. Paper crinkled beside you, the cup of tea in his hands being finished and the cardboard cup was crushed between string fingers, knuckles even paler than usual as he crumpled it up, and as you approach the closest bin, it was disposed of.

Your fingers flexed around your coffee cup, almost having forgotten that it was there as the heat from the two began to fade away a little. Taking a sip, the refreshing burst of sweetened caffeine was like a spark to your system, and you revelled in it. “How do you take your coffee?”

You lower the cup from your lips, swallowing your mouthful, and you couldn't stop the rise of your brows once you turned to look at him. “Creamer, usually. I like a caramel flavoured one. But, since I’m not big on creamer in packets or from street vendors, this one just has sweeteners.”

“Cool.” He nodded, and your lips pressed together tightly to try and contain the smile you wanted to let free, silence forming between you both for a moment, a further gathering of steps as the two of you went on, your building coming into sight again. “Did you watch the news last night?”

“Is this small talk?”

“It’s an attempt at small talk.” He winced, and you chuckled, a small smile on his features as the fear of judgement or humiliation washed away, and he gave a sigh.

“Okay, let's try this.” Your mind spun, searching for a track of something to talk about, and a thought clicked into space. “If you could watch one genre of movies for the rest of your life, what would it be?”

“Comedy. Like, comedy-action. You know, ones like ‘Jumanji’ or something?” He was quick with it, certain about his answer, and you nodded.

“Yeah? That was quick. How come you’re so sure?”

“I don’t know.” He shrugged, one hand coming up to hold his bag strap, swinging it to the side to be able to get inside, and fish out the paper bag with a pretzel inside. “I guess I just think they’re good for you. Good for the soul. They have action and it keeps you a little on the edge of your seat, but it’s funny. It's easy-going, when you’ve got anxiety, or you’re having a bad day, or you just want background noise, they’re perfect.”

“Alright. Fair enough. Okay, tricky one.” his eyes narrowed a little, but an amused look passed over his features while he waited. “If you had to choose specifically between comedy and action, which is it?”

“It’s got to be action. Because comedy usually means Adam Sandler or Seth Rogen, and some of their comedies are good, but some are jus-” He paused, jaw dropping a little, and his hand came out, pausing in front of your to bring you to a halt too. A smile curled on your lips, and he looked shocked. “Holy shit, you’re good!”

“Ask a basic question that people are passionate about, it always leads to more options, and everyone always wants to talk about something fun.” His head shook slowly, as though he was in disbelief, and you took a dramatic bow, trying not to spill the coffees in your hands as you giggled. “Give it a go, I bet you can do it.”

The paper in his hands crinkled, your footsteps taking up again, and the two of you were making your way towards the building once again. Taking a bite from his pretzel, a piece torn away with his teeth, he thought it over. “Does your family have any secret or ‘famous’ recipes?”

“Oh, that’s a good one. Kudos to you, Noah.”

“Thank you. I thought about it for, like, eight whole seconds.” He grinned, the joke moving away from you both as you left it behind, and you thought about his question.

“Maybe it’s not my family recipe, just a personal one, but I’m great at making lasagne.” He scoffed, and you nudged him with your elbow. “I’m serious! I make a great lasagne!”

“You don’t seem like a cook to me, is all! You seem like the sort of person who’d manage to burn a pit of water.”

“You can’t burn water, an.. oh, I just got it. You jerk.” It was a joke, your nose screwing up as you stuck your tongue out at him, thanking him a second later as he held the door open for him. The bright lights of the outside changed to artificial lights in the halls, not as much coming through the windows as trees outside managed to cast shade into the building. “Well, I can cook. I love to cook, and I’m good at it. Especially lasagne. My family are generally the only ones who have ever had it, and thanks to that insult, you’ll never have it.”

“Oh, woah, no! You have to let me try it now. Prove me wrong, or I’ll be forced to believe you’re bluffing.”

“You’re sneaky.” You scoffed, students filling the hall and filtering in from different sides of the building, lectures in different halls all waiting to take place, and you stepped to the side of the corridor once your doorway was within reach. “If you’re lucky.”

“I’m betting on that.”

Glancing back, Stiles was already inside, as expected. Stiles Stilinski had never once been on time, he was either twenty minutes early or twenty minutes late, and since he’d spent the night with Derek, who was an early bird, you’d figured which one today would be. His head was slumped on his hm half-asleep and on the verge of drooling as he sat there, and you chuckled, turning to Noah. “Thanks for walking me. Also, thanks for small-talking with me.”

“Thanks for the advice on small talk.”

“I’m gonna’ head inside, but, I’ll see you later, okay?” He nodded, confirming the times with you, and lingering a moment longer. It was quiet, but not so tense, and he rolled on the balls of his fete, the half-eaten pretzel in his hands was seemingly abandoned as one hand tucked into his jeans pockets, the other hanging limply while holding the delicacy by his side.

“Thanks for sitting with me. This wasn’t so bad. It was almost fun.”

“You know, one day, you’re gonna’ tell me you had fun with me. I look forward to that day.” He smirked, your head tipping to the side at the expression.

“If you’re lucky.” He was repeating your own words back to you, and you beamed at the chance. Backing away from him slightly, you fixed him with the cheekiest glance you could as you walked through the doorway.

“I’m betting on it.”

You could hear his laugh once you were gone, into the classroom and beginning to take the steps up to a seat beside Stiles that he’d reserved for you, his bag sitting on it. He’d already gotten his equipment out, notepads and pencil laid out in a somewhat organised mess on top of the desk.

Placing the two coffees down, you moved Stiles bag to the floor, tucking it behind his chair and a soft snore made itself known from him, the boy not doing well with early mornings but he never had, not once in your years of knowing him had he handled it very well, so it was no surprise.

“Opening up your bag, you dropped your notebook down onto the surface with a loud ‘slapping’ sound, and he jerked upwards, flailing as he did, and almost knocking the coffees over. Blinking quickly and shaking sleep away, he looked around, eyes wide as he finally focused on you.

“Jesus Christ, don’t do that.” He chastised you, leaning back in his seat and holding a hand over his heart. “I was dreaming about high school, I thought you were my lacrosse Coach waking me up for falling asleep in class again.”

“Maybe I am.” You winked, slamming a hand down on the counter. “Drop and give me twenty, Stilinski! Right now!”

“Don’t do that, it’s eerily accurate.” He cringed, shuddering a little, before a wide smile replaced the horrified expression that had morphed, and you pushed a coffee over to him. “You brought me a coffee?”

“Yes, I did. It’s bribery.”

“Oh? What am I being bribed for?” He was curious, rooting through the bag of condiments for it and taking the plastic lid from the cup, steam curling out into the air. Taking an ungodly and certainly unhealthy amount of sweetener and sugar packets to load into his coffee.

“Your free time this afternoon. I’m thinking about getting some of my study done, I can get all the work for the next couple of sessions sorted now, but how do you feel about being asked some later?” He tipped them in, a drop of coffee flying up over the edge and landing on the desk as he stirred his drink with vigour, that same hyper excitement that he always had.

“Can’t I just fill them out now?”

“It’d be better if I could get your responses with Noah.” He sighed, rolling his eyes and making a scene of it, but there was a smile that told you he already agreed.

“You should have brought me two coffees, but fine.”

You let out a victorious ‘aha!’, and shook the little brown paper bag that was still sitting on your half of the desk at him. “I also brought you half of a muffin!”

“Only half of a muffin?”

“Well, it was none, but since I didn’t eat it yet and I’d feel bad eating it in front of you, I decided to share it.” You tore it in half, pushing half across the scratched and vandalised wooden surface to him. Crumbs were left along the surface, and Stiles pressed the pad of his finger along them to gather them all up.

“Oh, right. Well, in that case, what I meant was; wow, a full half of a muffin!” He cheered, much more enthusiasm, and you nodded.

“Much better.” At the front of the classroom, your tutor entered, door slamming behind him as he kicked the wedge out from underneath, and his case was placed down on the desk. The room began a hushed quiet, save for the loud slurping of Stiles with his coffee beside you.

“You know,” Your best friend didn’t understand the concept of a whisper, everything he did was more like a dramatic stage whisper on a Broadway show, and a few dirty looks were sent his way. The professor was used to this, a year of experience and advice from previous tutors guiding him to ignore Stiles’ fidgeting and chatter. “You’re going to have to convince Noah to do this.”

Slumping down in your seat a little more, you turned your head to him, nibbling on your half of the muffin. “I already did.”

“What?” This time he was hushed, the man standing at the front near his desk, trying his best to give extra advice to everyone and answer any common questions that he’d been emailed. You’d have to catch the after-class notes in your emails. “When d’you do that?”

“This morning before class. I saw him while getting coffee for you and we walked over.”

Stiles huffed, his brows being pulled together slightly. “Okay. Damn, he was my last free shot at getting the afternoon off.” You grinned, pinching at your friend’s cheek, and he smacked your hand away. “Quit it, I’ve told you not to do that before.”

“In case I pinch your moles off?”

“That's where my power is. My funny is in my moles.” He hissed, only making you laugh more, and you covered your mouth with your hand over his silly superstitions.

“Whatever, freak.”

“Hoe.” He snarked back, and you grinned, punching at his shoulder as best you could from this angle, and he reached up a hand to rub at it. “So, if we’re doing this, I at least want to do it at my place. I’m going out this evening, I gotta’ be ready. Derek’s sisters are coming up to visit.”

“It won’t take long, don’t worry.” He hummed, pulling out his phone and keeping it ducked from view. He was texting his brother, letting him know to be ready, and at what time your class would be ending, giving him a little time to prepare. Opening your book up and flicking to the page you had marked, it was a journal written about the study of the ways that twins raised in different households could grow up similarly, and you were hoping to adopt some of the content for your study.

“So, what’ve you got done so far?”

Stile sighed, flicking open his notebook, and you were shocked by the fact that he was already at the end of it. There were pieces of paper stuck in, a list of book references on one of the tabs down the side of a page, and only a few blank pages left at the back.

“Oh, wow, okay.” You stared at your notebook, barely reaching a quarter of the way through with the notes you’d been making, and it looked like Stiles was ready to start making progress towards a conclusion for his hypothesis. “So, you’ve got a whole lot done, then.”

“Yeah, well, I want to spend as little time in a prison as I possibly can.” He rubbed a hand over his forehead, the pages crammed full of information as he flicked through to find a blank one. “Plus, I didn’t want to go and interview inmates on my own, so I wait until Derek has free time to go with me, and I get as much done in those sessions as I can.”

“You’re gonna’ be done weeks before I am.” You pouted, your pen twirling at the top corner of a page, drawing a collation of pretty flowers to form a border, and he chuckled.

“I have easier test subjects than you do. They’re already guilty and behind bars, they’re more than happy to open up. You’ve gotta’ deal with Noah.”

“That’s true.” You grinned, thinking back on the conversation you’d had with the other twin that morning. When he was alone, it wasn’t so bad, he talked more and he wasn’t so worried about judgements, but as soon as there was someone else who might hear, he completely closed down.

“Hey, seriously, we have ages left. You’re gonna’ be just fine.”

“I’m just freaking out a little bit, because this is the last hurdle, y’know?” He nodded, and you could see whatever it was he was thinking practically swirling in his eyes, because Stiles’ emotions were open to read like a book.

“It’s terrifying. It’s, like, what the hell are we supposed to do when we finish?”

“I don’t know.” Your head dropped to your hands, fingers soothingly rubbing at your temples. A large hand landed on your back, rubbing in comforting circles. “What I do know, though, is that if I don’t get on with coming up with some more content, I’m never gonna’ finish this study in time.”

“Well, put your headphones on and come up with some questions.”

You did as told, plugging your earbuds in and choosing some classical music that would make it easier to concentrate. Opening one of your survey works back up to the page you’d left off at, your eyes began to flicker over the pages, picking out the useful information. Once you had a list built, you had a foundation to work from, questions to create and organise into groups, different sessions being able to come together.

Beside you, Stiles’ hand never seemed to stop rising, a constant dialogue with your tutor as he checked his work and ironed out any kinks in his study. He was also full of chatter and laughter, getting along with everyone around him and asking about their works, making you turn your music up several times just to be able to concentrate. But, by the end of the session, when Stiles was tugging your earbud out and telling you your class was over, you had a solid three pages worth of questions that had been split up into sessions, and ready to be worked through.

“Pack up and get ready to go. I have plans to get ready for.”

Stiles already had his bag in his arms, notebook tucked inside and pens and pencils put away, two empty coffee cups and a muffin wrapper sitting out, which he quickly gathered up, once his bag was on his shoulder. He was gone, walking past you and down to the waste bin at the front of the hall to dispose of them, his fingers tapping idly on his thigh once he was done.

You gathered your belongings, packing them away and curling the wire of your headphones back up neatly, making sure everything had its correct place in your bag, before following him down and out of the steps.

The halls were filled once again, the two of you navigating through crowds to the outside of the building, and you followed him in his diversion across the pathway, all the way to his car. Some students had already left, spaces beginning to empty out as a bottleneck effect took place at the only entrance and exit to this carpark.

“Where’s your car?” The dirty blue jeep was one of the only ones left in the parking lot, Stiles looking around for your vehicle, and you sighed.

“Don’t get me started on that hunk of junk.” You growled, stomping a foot on the floor as Stiles laughed. Opening the driver’s side door, he hopped up inside of it, legs dangling from the chair. “I’m trying not to use it as much. It splutters when it starts up and I have to try it a whole bunch of times, so the less I use it, the closer to graduation we can get before it eventually taps out.”

“You ever think about just getting it fixed?”

“Oh, big words from the man whose engine is held together with duct tape.” Your hand rubbed over the hood of the car, a slightly dusty layer that made you cringe, and you wiped your hand off on your jacket to stop it.

“Touché.” Stiles only smirked. “C’mon, I’ll give you a ride to my place. I’ll be waiting for hours if you walk.”

He slammed his car door once his legs were inside, leaning over the centre console to pop open the passenger side door as you rounded the car, and he was sparking up the car before you were even fully inside. Slamming it shut, he was reversing from his spot as you clipped in your safety belt, swinging his car around, and you gripped onto the edge of the door. “Easy there, fast and furious.”

“Oh, relax. Nobody is around.”

“Except for me, and I’d like to live until graduation.” His eyes rolled, hitting the brakes and flicking on the indicators as he was leaving the parking lot, moving out onto the main roads. There weren’t so many other cars, the mid-afternoon meaning the other students were mostly in class, in bed, or eating their lunch. College was a weird time, and while you’d loved it, you couldn't wait to regain some kind of normality. “Can we swing by my place? I need to swap out my books. I don’t want to carry all these around.”

“Okay, but be quick! I have to be ready by six and out the door by six-thirty. Derek will kill me if I’m late for this.” His fingers were tapping on the steering wheel as he changed direction to head to your place instead of his own. The space between you both was filled with the radio, the simple tunes of classic 70s anthems, the songs Stiles had grown up with, his dad’s favourite records and he played them constantly. He knew all the words, mouthing along and banging his head, pausing occasionally to check the mirrors and the roads between dancing in his seat.

Rolling the window down as he slowed in his approach to the building, afresh air swept into the carbon of the car, the slightly musty smell of the older car was something you’d miss when it was gone. The shade of the concrete cover overhead was chillier than the sunny roads, and he swung himself haphazardly into a parking space.

“I’ll turn the car around and wait here, cool?”

“I won’t take long, promise!” Hopping from the car and closing the door, you leant on the open door frame, and Stiles slouched in his seat, as he usually did. “Lydia and Ally should both be out, so there’s nobody for me to even talk to.”

“Good, because you’re chatty.” He teased, and you flipped him off, a quick walk as you headed away from him to the stairs. Once you were there, you were taking a quick jog up the sets of stairs, headed for your floor, and balancing your books in your arms carefully. Rooting through your bag to find your keys, they were at the bottom, jingling tantalisingly for you to find.

Leaving your books on the countertop of the kitchen, you shifted through them, taking the notebook you needed and leaving the rest, piling them back up and taking them to your bedroom Abandoned on the desk, you rushed to change, throwing on a bigger and warmer jumper to get through the rest of the day, phone in your pocket and a bag on your arm. Passing back through the kitchen, you were ready to grab the notebook and bag you’d left there, keys hanging in the back of the door, and you eyed the freezer.

You’d made a bet, a point to prove, and you were certain that buried somewhere deep in the bottom, you had a frozen lasagne from the last time you’d made it for Allison and Lydia. You had a few spare moments, and so you moved over to the freezer, opening the door and crouching to scan over all the shelves.

Running your fingers over frozen plastic, you searched for the right one. Tinfoil crinkling in the back, behind a bag of dinosaur chicken nuggets and a tray of alcoholic ice cubes, was a tray of lasagne. Pulling it out, the cold chilled your arm, even through the layers of your hoodie, and you used your foot to close the freezer while wrapping the tray in the nearest tea towel for an extra layer.

Placing your notebook over it and holding it in both arms for security, you clicked the latch onto the door, keys in your pocket and bag on your shoulder to let it swing closed behind you.

Stiles saw you coming, his head snapping over to the metal door between the stairwell and the parking lot when it fell open, backing through it and his brows raised. Opening up the passenger side door, he took the lasagne from you when you handed it over, climbing back into the vehicle.

“This is cold. What is it?”

“Lasagne.” You settled it onto your lap once your safety belt was on, folding the towel underneath to keep your lap from getting chilled and painful, and he nodded. The engine was still running, and taking off the brakes, he was pulling out of the space again.

“So, not that I don’t love a home-cooked meal, but I’m going out for dinner. Why the traybake?”

“I have a point to prove to Noah.” You were looking out of the window, but you could feel his gaze on you, making you a little uncomfortable, and you turned to face him. His eyes were flicking between you and the road, brows furrowed, a stare like he was trying to figure you out, before he let it go. “He told me I looked like I couldn't cook, and it’s a battle I’m going to win.”

“Well, alright then. Save me leftovers?”

“We’ll see.” You winked, and he grinned, eyes flicking to the tray in your lap, before back to the road.

It was only a short journey, the distance between your place and Stiles’ building was short for a walk and even shorter in a car, on the edges of campus and conveniently placed, and it had been one of the building blocks of your friendship with him An easily accessible study partner, somewhere to hang out with, someone to walk home with you after a night out, someone to share a cab with, or simply knowing there was a friend so close to you.

“It’s going to be weird not living around the corner from you in just a few months.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” He sighed, pulling into his one building sparking area and it didn’t have the luxury of being covered or underground, it was exposed each flat having allocated parking spaces, and Noah’s bike was parked underneath the shelter, you could see it from here, with a clamp around the wheel and covered from the impending and risky weather of the early months. “I have a feeling that you’ll end up living next door to me someday.”

“You do?”

He parked the car, arm behind your head as he reversed into it, ready to make a quick getaway on the next morning, or this evening, when he would invariably be late. In true Stiles Stilinski style. “Yeah. Especially after I rock whatever gown you want me to wear for being your maid of honour, someday.”

“Lydia is going to fight you for that role.”

“I will fistfight her for it.” He challenged, and you grinned, clambering down from the car as Stiles had parked a little too close to someone else on your side. With your bag on your shoulder and lasagne in one hand, you tried to squeeze around the door without scratching someone else’s paintwork.

Stiles’ arm was slung over your shoulder as you set off toward the building, the elevator being fully functional, and it was a refreshing change not need to take the stairs up to your place, or risk your life in a rickety elevator.

Throwing his keys down on the kitchen counter, they slid all the way across and to the other side, hitting the floor, and he grimaced when you turned to stare at him. “I’ll pick those up later.”

“Uh-huh.” The sounds of video games and music were coming from behind Noah’s door, though it wasn’t fully closed, only pushed halfway, and you hoped that was a sign that he was still in a good mood. Leaving your bag on the edge of the couch that was facing away from you, your hands rubbed together, glancing around at the environment you were still getting used to. “You should put this lasagne in now, so that it’s ready for after the study. Medium heat, leave the full-on tight.”

“Where are you going?”

“To say ‘hey’ to your brother.” Stiles’ face scrunched up, a mumble of ‘good luck’ as he picked up the tray, lifting it over his head to look in at it from underneath. Wandering toward the sounds coming from the hall, you knocked on the edge of the door, pushing it open a second later when you heard the game pause, and the music following it. Leaning on the doorframe, Noah turned to face you, brows raising slightly, and he shifted in his chair. “Hey.”

“Hi. It’s, uh, time for the study stuff, then?”

“Yeah. You okay?” He shrugged, turning back to his game and closing it off, leaning forwards from where he was sat on his bed enough to turn the console off.

“I didn’t realise we’d be doing it here. It feels more personal, somehow.” He had a large hoodie on, comfortable in his own clothes as he wore a baggy and warm outfit, the same way you often had when everything started to feel overwhelming.

“Well, this study is going to get pretty personal.”

“I know that. It’s just that right now, it feels a bit like I’m naked, y’know?” You chuckled, a momentary smile on his face flashing past, and you were glad to see it. “I just feel exposed.”

“This study is gonna’ do that, but I promise that I’ll try and make it as easy as I can. I’ll break it up, I’ll make it comfortable for you, and we’ll stop whenever you’re getting overwhelmed.”

“That’d be great, actually.” His hands rubbed together, sleeves hanging slightly down over his palms, and he looked a whole lot less terrifying right now than he did with the armour of a bike and a leather jacket. “Okay, I’m ready.”

“Good, because I need you in high spirits. I brought a lasagne and I have a point to prove.”

You backed out of the room as he advanced toward you, the door closing and leaving you both standing in the hall, and he smirked down at you a little, a disbelieving expression. “You really brought that?”

“You bet I did. It’ll be ready by the time we finish.”

“Then I guess we’d better get started, huh?” He hopped over the back of the couch, settling in beside his brother, who scowled at him as his drink spilt down his shirt from the impact. Taking a seat on the other side of them both, your legs folded underneath yourself in the armchair, finding a glass of water laid out for yourself on the table, courtesy of Stiles.

They looked so different and yet so similar in this moment. You could understand how people may have confused the two of them before their styles became so radically different. In the beginning, before Noah turned to leather and a sleeve tattoo, when they both wore hoodies and band tees and had clean pale skin. With the sleeve of tattoos covered, and the pair both wearing hoodies, one with an etching across the front and the other with a faded logo from being washed one too many times,

Laying out your books, it was more of a note you’d keep to yourself, and following from that was your recorder, coated in the front pocket of your bag so as not to get crushed. Switching it on at the side, the red light flashed on to green blinking once to let you know it was active. “Can you guys do your confirmations for me while I get set up?”

“Surely can.” Stiles sat forwards, leaning down a little with his forearms braced across his knees, as opposed to Noah, who slumped back into the cushion. “Stiles Stilinski, happy to be recorded.”

“Noah Stilinski, aware of being recorded.” Stiles rolled his eyes at his brother’s dead tone, clearly not having as much fun as Stiles was, but you didn’t blame him.

“Okay, so, why don’t you guys tell me what it’s like to live together at college.” There was a beat of silence, and then a set of matching laughs from both of them, the two starting at one another. There was a look between them, one you didn’t quite understand, and it seemed like some kind of twin-telepathy communication.

“It’s, like, exactly the same as when we were in high school.”

“Uh, what?” Stiles interjected, and Noah turned to look at him. “It’s nothing like high school!”

“Yes, it is!” Noah insisted, and you smirked, picking up your water and taking a sip as the two stared in shock at one another. “We lived together in high school, we played video games, I did all the cooking and you did all the cleaning while dad was at work. The only thing that is different is that we can’t cheat from one another’s homework anymore.”

“We don’t drive to school together anymore, we’re on opposite sides of campus!”

“That so doesn’t count.” Noah scoffed, and Stiles twisted on the couch, his hand gestures much more emphasised than that of his brother’s and you watched the debate go down. “You can’t name any more than that.”

“I take that as a challenge.” Stiles’ head rolled side to side. “Our schedules don’t match up anymore, and we haven’t had our usual movie nights in almost six months now. I can’t bring Derek over because your room is right across from mine-”

“My room was across the hall from you at home. You just didn’t date in high school or have anyone to bring home.”

“Low-blow. Unlike some people, I didn’t want to traumatise my brother in high school by bringing someone home, for that.” Stiles reached out mid-sentence, swatting at his brother’s shoulder, before continuing; “Uh, let's see. Oh! We don’t talk anymore, you didn’t ride your motorbike so much at home, you used to ride in the jeep with me. It’s like a totally different world now.”

“I didn’t know you felt like that.” There was a palpable kind of feeling in the air, something between them that was sizzling with electricity, before Stiles sighed.

“It’s no big deal. The difference is just that we’re both so busy now.”

“That was really good, actually. Thanks.” The two seemed to have forgotten you were there, both flinching and turning to face you again, matching sets of honey-coloured eyes in varying shades were fixing on you again. “Speaking of what you said, though, does it ever make it hard for you guys when your class times are so different?”

“Hard to do what?” Stiles squinted at you, face set in a frown that his twin normally wore.

“Hard to hang out, talk, have that whole brotherly bond going on.” Your clarification did little for Stiles, his brows still pulled tight and frown never moving, but Noah’s face smoothed out.

“Oh.. well, I g-”

“Totally.” Noah pressed, and once again, Stiles’ head whipped around to look at his brother. “Don’t look at me like that. You basically said it, anyway. We don’t talk so much anymore. We barely know each other. You don’t even tell me about your podcast, anymore.”

“You never listened!”

“You used to tell me your problems, not broadcast them to the world with jokes and humour! I missed two episodes, and you just stopped keeping me updated on it.” The moodier twin crossed his arms over his chest, and you swallowed thickly at the environment you had unwittingly created. “I don’t know. Just feels like we used to talk a lot more.”

They both went silent, and Noah shot you a pleading look, but there was something darker behind it. It almost felt venomous, angry or defensive, as though to say ‘I told you so’ about it being more personal now that they were home. Stiles was occupying himself with pulling a loose thread on their couch cushion out and making it that much worse, distracting himself from it all. “Well, how about something a little bit lighter. Just some questions about hobbies. Stiles, what inspired you to first start a podcast?”

“Well, as you know, I never stop talking.” He smirked, Noah laughing beside him, and just like that, the awkward air between them both was completely evaporated. “I had a lot to say, I had a lot to get off of my mind. At first, it was just to get my thoughts out there. It was kind of like a recorded journey for myself, and to share with my friends from back home. But, then other people started listening. I thought it was going to be the end of my college social life, a social life that I was developing for the first time ever, and they liked it. I was just talking into a mic and getting things off of my chest, making no sense while telling stories and bitching about my homework and suddenly I had friends. It got a whole lot of followers and I made new friends,”

He paused, offering you a wink for the comment, and you beamed.

“-and I was going to parties, I met my boyfriend at a pep rally, and everything just kinda.. blossomed. The more I got out of it, the more inspired I was to keep going. I ended up making multiple videos a week, all differently themed. Sometimes movie reviews, sometimes songs, sometimes just talking. That’s how ‘Mischief Mic’ was born.”

“Alright. That was awesome.” Stiles bowed as best he could from sitting on the couch, and reached over to take a sip of his drink. “Okay, Noah, have you got any hobbies that you didn’t have in high school that you found when you came to college.”

“Not really.”

“Not even one?” You pushed, and the arms folded over his chest tightened, his gaze going to the floor, socked toes pushing into the twist cable rug. He took his glass, swigging all of it, the water draining from the glass in nervousness, and you could hear the crickets inside your mind chirping to fill the silence that had formed.

“No. Not really. I’m going to get more water, feel free to continue.”

“Uh, okay.” You pressed your pen down into your paper, drawing a line through the question on your paper as you realised you’d have no answer to that question when you listened back on the tape at a later time. “Stiles, back to you, then.”

Your next question came, and went, and Stiles was more than happy to answer them. Occasionally, Noah would answer a question, you’d be able to pin him down long enough to get a straight answer out of him, but there seemed to always be something that he needed to mess with, or fix. Almost half of your questions for him had a line drawn through, and you would have to ask them another time, and get a whole extra session in without Stiles, dragging the study out.

It was going to take you twice as long to get through it all if every time you had to ask them separately, and had to spend your time trying to force him to sit and answer. You were missing half of the information that you needed to be able to compare to Stiles’ answers, you couldn’t answer without them.

The clock ticked by, leaving you with all of your questions for Stiles answered. On a blank page, while Noah had once again been tinkering with something in the kitchen, you’d rewritten up all over the crossed out questions that would still need answers. You had doodled on the corner again, waiting for him to come and sit back down, a collection of hearts and flowers, the occasional bee or ladybug, even a couple of misshaped stars, forming a banner across the top of the page.

When he finally came to sit back down, he huffed, eyes moving to the clock as though he was waiting for this to end just as much as Stiles was, and you gave up.

“Okay, how about we just finish this up?” You had reached the end of your tether, not even bothering with the rest of the questions that were written down for him. “We got almost two hours in, that’s perfect.”

Noah sighed, something like an apology in his look as your eyes met his and he shrugged lightly. Stiles only nodded, eyes flicking up to the clock on the wall, and he was grinning when he came back. Tearing a page out of your notebook for each of them, you passed it over, blank paper sitting before them, and you searched for a pen or pencil in the bottom of your bag for each of them. Placing your pen down before Stiles and a pencil in front of Noah, they both leaned forwards, picking them up. Switching off your recorder and packing it away, you were left with the two staring at you expectantly.

“Okay, Stiles, come fill yours out in the kitchen. You can’t discuss these ones.”

“Oh, some mystery. I like that.” He picked up his paper and pencil, heading over to the kitchen counter, folding the sheet in half as he did, and you nodded. Standing from your place behind the coffee table, your bag slumped a little more from where it had been propped against your leg.

“Okay, I want you both to try self-diagnosing yourself.” Stiles gasped, a little excitement lacing it, and his pencil was already moving over the paper. Noah, however, looked a little lost, looking to you for guidance. “Don’t worry, you don’t need to use professional terms, just, describe what you think, I’ll be able to figure it out, and if I can’t, I’ll ask you about it at some point.”

He nodded, pausing, not quite as eager to get into the activity as Stiles was, before the pencil finally met the paper, and the slow scratching of graphite over paper filled the silence.

Moving away to the kitchen, you searched for plates, and a dish, laying them out on the counter before moving to the oven. A wave of hot air into your face once you pulled the door open, and when it cleared, you search for the kitchen towel you’d brought with you. Wrapping it carefully around the edges of the tray inside, you pulled it out, resting it atop the oven and closing the door back up.

Flicking off the handles, the light inside went dead, and Stiles loomed up behind you. “Smells good!” He presented a piece of paper to you, your eyes flicking over what he’d written once you’d taken it from him, and everything that he’d written about himself seemed completely accurate. It wasn’t a surprising self-evaluation, Stiles had spent almost four years studying this, just like you had, and so it was bound to be accurate and professional. Even if his handwriting looked a little bit like chicken-scratch.

Noah was still working on his, and Stiles was picking at the edges of the tinfoil, trying not to touch the glass of the casserole dish and burn himself, and as soon as he had some foil pinched between his fingers, he was pulling it back. “Wait, Stiles, watch out for the-”

“Fucking steam! Oh, my God, that’s so fucking hot!”

His hand snapped back, half unpeeled as all the steam from inside clouded in the air, and his hand was clutched to his chest. He was glaring at the pot, before moving away and running his hands underneath the cold tap at the sink, his thumb rubbing over wet skin to soothe it.

A second later, Noah was appearing, placing his paper face down on top of Stiles, which now lay on the kitchen counter. “Well, now that I’ve been scalded by pasta, I’m going to go shower and get ready.”

“M’kay.” He backed away, and Noah leaned on the counter beside you.

“Looks good, but does it taste any good, is the question.” The twin you were left with was teasing you, your eyes finding him, and you raised a brow.

“Yeah, yeah. Just get me something to serve it up with, alright?”

He smirked, pulling open the drawer behind him and searching for a serving spoon. Slicing it into pieces, you dished it up for him, a large slab on a plate, still steaming with cheese that had only just stopped bubbling. He grabbed a fork, and one for you too, waiting patiently as you served yourself, and put whatever was left into a dish for Stiles, covering it back up and leaving it to cool.

“Okay, prepare for the best lasagne of your life.”

Picking up the papers and your plate, the two of you moved back to the couch, sitting opposite one another, and you waited with excitement. Taking a piece off of his plate with the edge of his fork, he raised it, blowing cold air over it for a few moments, before taking the bite. There was a tense few moments, while he chewed, face unreadable, before he was swallowing the mouthful.

“Well?”

You couldn’t take the anticipation any longer, a smile on his face at the desperation you showed for his answer, and he gave in. “Alright, alright. This may actually be the best lasagne I have ever had.”

“Yes!” Your hands went up in the air, cheering excitedly and he laughed at your reaction, holding his hand up when you forced him to, palms slamming together in a high-five. He was tucking in again, and you reached for your plate, excited for the meal you had made, Taking a large piece on the tip of your fork, you tucked in.

The sound of Stiles’ shower was running in the background, and he was singing loudly, a song that you were certain was a TV show intro but you’d never seen the show, and there was a chance it was something from Disney Channel. Picking up the pieces of paper again, you turned Noah’s around to face you.

You’d had an expectation, you knew what you thought he was going to write down, and yet you were somehow surprised and entirely not surprised at the same time. It was what you expected but with a twist. He had confidence in what he’d written about himself he was sure of it, and while there were definitely elements that you’d disagree with, there was a lot of truth to it, and you frowned, reading it again.

Noah was watching you do so, the scrape of forks over plates as the lull in chatter came back, and you place the two pieces of paper into the front of your notebook, making sure that it was all sealed tightly away. “Is it alright?”

“It’s just not what I expected from you. But, it’s perfect.”

“That feels like a backhanded compliment.” He smiled softly, but he looked nervous, and you shook your head.

“Not at all, it just means that you have a better grasp on this whole thing than I thought you did.” It was the truth, and while you didn’t want to reveal so much to him about it all without compromising your work, but it made sense. “It just feels like with the way today went, like you weren’t really so interested in it, so I didn’t expect such an accurate self-diagnosis from you.”

“I know, I’m sorry.” He sighed, pushing what was left of his food around the plate, and you copied him, appetite dwindling. “It’s just that when you’re here, in my apartment, and you’re asking questions about what changed and making me confront everything, it feels like real therapy. You said it was going to be casual, and this didn’t feel casual.”

“I get it. I really do, and it’s okay. I can just email you the questions you didn’t answer, and you can get around to them whenever you feel up to it, alright?” He nodded, shaking off the evening’s stress. He continued to eat, polishing off the meal that was laid out before him and settling his hands over his stomach once he was finished. There was a satisfied smile on his face, and your empty plate was soon stacking on top of his own. Leaning forwards a little, you caught Noah’s eye, and one of his brows arched up. “I can try to make it more informal, in the future.”

“That would be great, actually.”

You smiled, the consolidation made between the two of you, and your ears picked up on another sound. “Hold on, is Stiles blow-drying his hair?”

“Oh, yeah.” He laughed, head turning to the closed bathroom door where his brother resided. “He thinks it makes his hair fluffy.”

“He gels his hair, though! Why does it matter if it’s fluffy?”

“He’s insane. Don’t you know this, yet?” Noah scoffed, and your giggles carried you back into the rest of the chair as you settled back into it. The evening was still waiting to come in fully. Comfortable quiet fell between you both again, and Noah moved away to take the plates to the kitchen. He left them in the sink, water running to wash them up, before storing Stiles’ lasagne in the fridge.

The aforementioned boy moved from the bathroom to his bedroom, skidding on the floors a little and clutching the towel to his waist as he hurried, making himself late with the extra-long shower and the blowdrying of his hair. Noah was washing up the plates, leaving them to dry on the draining rack, and you took that as your cue. The night was over, that much was clear, and you’d be willing to bet that he was more than eager to get back to his alone time.

Taking your bag and double-checking that you had everything, you swung it up onto your shoulder, and made your way toward the door. Hearing the shuffling of your feet, Noah turned, drying his hands on the towel beside him. “Are you going?”

“Feels like I should. Stiles will be going soon, anyway. I’m sure you have things to do, too.”

“I don’t have anything to do, if I’m being honest.” He cringed at his own words, pulling down the rolled-up sleeves of his hoodie and making his way over to you. Undoing the catch on the door, he pulled it open, leaning against it and you linseed in the doorway.

“Since you’re not doing anything, do you wanna’ get a coffee with me?”

His eyes narrowed, just for a second, and his fingers tapped anxiously on the wood of the door. “As a study subject, or..?”

“As friends.” You confirmed, his lips a thin line for only a second, before pulling up at the sides in a smile.

“Then, yeah. I’d like that.” He looked down, sweatpants and mismatching socks on his lower half, and there was a tint on his cheeks when he looked up. “Just give me two seconds to go change, alright?”

He darted away before you had a chance to reply leaving you there with the words frozen in your throat. Stiles was clattering around behind his own door, and Noah’s door slammed shut, leaving you alone in the doorway. Your hands tapped against your thighs as you waited, bag swinging on your shoulder, and only a second later, one of the doors was opening.

To your surprise, it was Stiles, flapping the flannel on his body to shake out any creases, and he stood before you. Doing a little twirl from where he stood, he began to button it up down his front, looking somewhat smart. It was a nice black and white one, no rips or tears or stains like most of his other ones, and the black stood out prominently against the white, thick patterns with flecks of grey within it.

“How do I look, then?”

“You look great, Sti. I’ve never seen you wear anything so plain before. There’s no colour.”

“Yeah, well, this is a new flannel. It’s my best one, and the skinny jeans are Noah’s. All my skinny jeans are blue or red, it was this or khakis.” He was nervous, resisting the urge to mess with his freshly-styled hair. “The place we’re going to is kinda fancy, but I don’t feel fancy enough for it. I’m gonna’ do something stupid like drop my glass and smash it or make a joke about something dumb.”

“Haven’t you met his family before?” You teased, and he huffed, searching for his keys, and finding them under the counter where he’d never bothered to pick them up from.

“No, not really. I’ve met his mom because she comes to visit a lot, and of course, his little sister, because she’s a sophomore here. But, he has a lot of family. His extended family are coming to graduation, but this is his older sister and his dad, and his uncle, and I’ve never met them before.” His keys were tucked into his back pocket, and his phone followed, your gaze moving over him.

“You got a blazer, Stiles?”

“Uh, yeah. One that my dad made me promise to bring, I wore it to my senior prom.” He shrugged, hands smoothing over his front. “You think I should wear it?”

“Go get it, show me.” He nodded, moving back to his bedroom, and you were waiting for something with orange and blue stripes to come back out, which wouldn’t surprise you. In fact, you’d always imagined Stiles going to his senior prom in a Beetlejuice suit. Noah emerged from the other side of the hall, hangers scraping over their post in a wardrobe as Stiles searched for them. “Did Stiles go to prom in a Beetlejuice suit?”

Noah paused, rolling the edges of his hoodie up, charcoal grey skinny jeans that were only a few shades lighter than the ones Stiles had stolen from him on his legs, and a pair of his usual scuffled boots. “What?”

He was laughing, loudly, shaking his head to hide his grin. “It’s a legitimate question! I have this mental image of it!”

“Unfortunately, he did not. My dad made us both go in three-piece formal suits. He saved up to have them custom made. Said that every man should have a smart suit.” He shrugged, crouching to start tying the laces on his shoes and Stiles reappeared. Over his shoulders was a dark black suit, crisp collar and pressed edges, and it was a beautiful piece of tailoring.

“You look good, Sti. Very smart, but casual. Like a polished version of your usual self.”

“Yeah? Good enough to meet Derek’s family?” His voice shook, and you wished you could ease him more.

“Totally. You look great.” He thanked you both, and Noah grabbed his wallet from the side, and his house keys, letting them both hang in the front pocket of an oversized hoodie.

“You ready to go?” He offered, hand on the top of the door, and Stiles’ head snapped up again from where he’d been checking his phone, presumably looking for texts from Derek.

“Where are you two going?”

“We’re getting coffee!” You beamed, and Noah nodded, stepping a little further out of the door with you.

“Oh, well, have fun. I’ll text you updates about how it goes. I might need bathroom-break pep-talk during the night.” You waved to him as you went, wishing him ‘good luck’, before the two of you were wandering down the halls. Thumbing the button for the elevator, the doors popped open, and you were stepping inside along with Noah.

“So, you wanna’ show off those new small talk skills to me, then?”

“Okay, okay. Let me think of something.” He hummed under his breath, glancing up to the top of the elevator and looking around at the posters on the walls for inspiration, and he seemed to find one. Turning his attention quickly back to you, you prepared for what he’d found. “Have you listened to any of the student bands? There’s been a lot of them growing, lately.”

“I’ve noticed that, actually.” There were several posters up around the inside of the elevator, different coloured flyers, some on shiny paper and some on smooth matte, varying fonts and designs, it was dizzying. “I haven’t, I’ve never been to see a student band. I should do that before I graduate, though. Have you?”

“I’ve been to a couple.” The door clicked open, the two of you stepping through it. Out into the setting chill of the evening that was threatening to break its way in. He chose the direction you’d be going in, heading toward the coffee shop on the side of campus that had been the first the two of you had met at when beginning the study. “Some of them are good, some of them are kinda’ average. They usually play at the bars on the edges of campus or in the places in the city, the less well-known, kinda’ alternative places. They can be fun.”

“You going out optionally to a night on the town? I’m shocked.”

“Uh, no!” He protested, grinning at you. “I’ve never been for a ‘night on the town’, and I never will. However, going to one of the few small bars around here that aren’t practically a nightclub, to listen to covers of good songs and get a pint without worrying about anyone bothering me or mistaking me for my brother, that’s nice.”

“Okay, well, maybe I’ll go to one sometime.”

“You should, I think you’d have fun.” The two of you weaved between other students, the small talk keeping up between you both as he did his best, and while it was sometimes a little stuttered and stalled, it wasn’t nearly as bad as you had expected. It wasn’t until the two of you had entered the coffee shop that he fell into tight silence again. The crowds, the rush of chatter from other groups gathered around the tables, and the friendly greetings of baristas whose chit-chat diverted to him due to his allegiance with you.

“What are you drinking? My treat.”

“Uh, just a black coffee.” He choked out, eyes flicking over all the boards, so many options up there, and you chuckled.

“Really, just a black coffee?”

“I’ve never really experimented. I just ordered whatever was the quickest and the easiest.” He confessed, already glancing back over his shoulder at the queue that was forming behind you both. “What would you recommend?”

“Hm, well, do you have a sweet tooth?” He only nodded, scratching around his cuticles on one hand and staring down at the flesh growing red, and you took his hand. Lowering it back down to his side, the hand formed a fist, flexed nervously, and you let it go, squeezing comfortingly first. Turning to the barista, she was still waiting patiently, and your eyes moved over the boards overhead. “Two mint and dark chocolate hot cocoas.”

“That sounds really good, actually.” He leaned down, mumbling the words into your ear to make sure you heard the quiet tone over the talk in the small coffee house.

“And, two croissants, too.” She rang it up on the machine, and you leaned in a little closer to her. “Do you have any of the warm and fresh ones straight from the oven?”

“We made a fresh batch about twenty minutes ago, they’re cooling. I’ll get them from the back for you.” She finished it with a wink, passing the card machine over to you once you’d produced your card from your wallet. Swiping it across the reader, you moved to the end of the line, and she moved away to begin preparing your order as someone else took over at the counter.

She was working, creating two beautifully constructed hot chocolates for you both. Placing them down on the counter before you, once they were garnished with chocolate sauce and whipped cream, she disappeared into the back room. Taking one of the ceramic plates with her, you were happy to see her bypass the glass cabinet with the older ones in, and only a moment later, she was coming back. Two fresh croissants on a plate, still warm and soft to the touch, and she handed those over as well.

Noah had been scouting for a place to sit, choosing which was the best one, and he carried both of the drinks while you carried the pastries, guiding you to the seat he’d chosen. It was tucked away in the back, a small loveseat sofa with a low sitting coffee table in front of it, and as soon as the paper cups were down on the surface of the table, he was dropping down into the seat.

“It feels like rush hour on the highway, but with coffee.” He mumbled, and you settled onto the couch beside him passing him his drink over, and he stared at it curiously. “What about the whipped cream. Do I eat that first? Scrape it off? Mix it in?”

“Any of the above.” You grinned, taking a wooden stirrer from the condiments tray in the middle and beginning to stir the cream into your hot chocolate. He placed it down, copying your actions, stirring slowly and trying not to spill any over the edges, but it was an impossible feat to achieve. Sticky droplets left over the edges of your cups and his, creating rings on the table that you had to mop up with tissues. “Okay, try it. This is one of my favourite orders here. It’s bitter because of the dark chocolate, but also sweet. Reminds me of you.”

“Now, that one is a backhanded compliment.” He muttered, taking a sip of the drink, and your lips rubbed together.

“Not everything is a backhanded statement, you know. I didn’t intend for it to be mean, it’s just the truth. You’re all dark and moody, but I can already tell you’re sweet on the inside.” You sipped your drink to finish your statement, and he filled the time where he didn’t know what else to say by pulling a chunk off of his croissant. Chewing on it idly, he settled back into the cushions, and you lifted your legs up to fold underneath yourself as you turned to face him. “Can I ask you a question?”

“You’ve already asked me a lot of questions today.”

“You didn’t answer many, though. You kinda’ have to give me this one.” He scowled falsely, but nodded, licking a flake of pastry from his lower lip. “Not that I think you need it, because personally, I think you’re just fine, but why are you so scared about therapy? The idea of it, anything to do with it, it makes you so closed off. Even more than usual.”

His eyes moved over the room, nervously, before scanning both you and the table, and you put your drink down, holding open palms up to him.

“No recorder, no study. I’m just curious.”

“Okay.” He sighed shakily, and slumped back. “Well, after my mom died, my dad made me and Stiles have therapy when we started acting out. We had a therapist who came to the house, and she was great, don’t get me wrong, but I hated it. I didn’t want her to tell me how to grieve or mourn, and I didn’t want her to tell me how to move on. Stiles needed all the advice he could get, but I didn’t want it. I wanted to do it my own way. Now, the idea of therapy, brings back all those feelings of sadness and pressure and stress.”

“I’m sorry, Noah.” You reached out, rubbing a hand over his shoulder, and his gaze fell to the contact. “Genuine sympathy and sorrow, not just that thing girls do that you hate.”

“Stop hanging things I’ve said over me, I don’t remember half of them. I blackout in social situations.” He grinned, moving past the moment, and you withdrew your touch.

“You know, if it makes you feel any better, I understand the nervousness of being in a study.”

“Yeah?” He picked up the rest of his croissant, a large chunk of it being eaten, as he waited for you.

“Yeah. When I moved here, I was so nervous. I was beginning to take my course and I didn’t really have any friends, and there was a senior who needed freshmen for her study.” Noah grinned, settling in for the story and sipping his drink. “She was doing a study about the difference between kids who travelled far from home for college alone as opposed to those who were still close to home, and whether it impacted social clubs, grades, all that. To be fair, it was an awesome study.”

“It sounds like it.”

You smiled, swirling the cup in your hands to gather any loose powder that may have begun to separate and gather at the bottom. “Well, I got drawn into it. She was a senior, and she was nice. I had no friends yet, I was in a flat-share with Allison and Lydia and three other girls who were all too busy getting adjusted to college themselves. So, this senior, she invited me to a party, and then another one, and suddenly people started wanting to be my friend because I was the freshman who hung out with seniors. I figured it would all drop away when her study ended and she didn’t need me anymore, but by then the whole social hierarchy had done its thing, and there I was.”

You shrugged, and Noah was hiding a shit-eating grin behind his mug. “So, you were just a little freshman lab rat, then?”

You scoffed, your laughter mixing with his, and the two of you were left in subtle amusement. His laughter was cut short, though, brought a rapid halt when a set of legs bumped against your table on the other side, followed by two more behind them.

“Hey, girl!” One of the girls on the cheer team, a lacrosse player behind her and a girl who you recognised from your psychology class texting on her phone. “Saw you over here, wanted to know what your plans for the evening were. We’re going to do some karaoke and get some food, you wanna’ come?”

Your eyes moved to Noah, whose attention was fixed on the floor again, as though the splintering wood was of utmost interest. “Maybe another time. I think we’re good here for now.”

“Oh, you sure? I think it could be super fun, you should both come.” The invitation was now extended to you both, and you shook your head at her despite it.

“Seriously, you should go, if you want to,” Noah whispered, and when you turned back to him now, he’d dared to look up, chewing on a lower lip that would go raw, but he met your gaze.

“No, I’m sure. I’m having fun here.” You held his gaze for a second longer, before turning to her, and confirming your denial, and she smiled, promising to make plans with you soon, before she was walking away. Noah was fidgeting beside you, shuffling in his seat, and you could practically feel the nerves rolling off of him in waves. “I’m serious, Noah. I’m having fun, and I’m perfectly happy here with you, right now.”

He was trying not to grin, a smile that was being bitten back on the inside of his cheek. “Well, for the record, I’m having fun too.”

“What was that?” You cupped your ear, challenging him to repeat it, even though you had heard it perfectly, and by the look on his face, he knew the game you were playing.

“I said I’m having fun. I won’t deny it.”

“Two victories in one day, for this gal. I’m breaking down all your walls, Noah Stilinski.” You poked at his cheek, and he swatted your hand away, taking a bite from your croissant as punishment, and you tried to snatch it back from him.

“Two victories, one loss. You’re not getting this croissant back, now.”

208 notes · View notes

granolabird · 3 years

Text

Life Is So Busted

Tonights episode had me all kinds of upset that Beth’s parents would just leave her after telling her they’re divorcing so you KNOW I had to fix it with soft Hournite. That’s the only way. (Sidenote this was entirely written while listening to my Hournite playlist, hence the title. Link to the playlist is in my pinned post!!)

The thunderstorm starts as soon as Beth’s parents leave the house. She’s alone, sobbing on the livingroom floor as thunder wracks the home. Fitting weather for the solemn mood she’s in. She should’ve known it would go this way, should’ve known that her parents wouldn’t provide much solace, but she had held out hope.

Beth was getting tired of holding out hope.

She’s not entirely sure what to do with herself, so she resolves to call the one person she knows will know what to do. It’s a slow trek as she sniffles her way to where her phone is plugged in, and she winces as lightning illuminates the window. He’s at the top of her contact list, the only person she’s called in the last few days, so all she has to do is press the small green phone icon beside his name, and wait.

She prays to whatever higher being is out there that he answers.

Rick is in the woods. It’s terrible weather and he’s soaked to the bone but he has to check if Grundy’s shown up. After the Eclipso-induced visions he had of Grundy back at the school he can’t stop himself from checking for the creature, even if it means being out in such terrible weather. There’s no sign of Grundy though, and all Rick has received for his efforts is water weighing him down and a terrible case of the chills. He lets out an exasperated groan as he flops into the driver's seat of his car, slamming the door and letting his head fall onto his steering wheel. He really doesn’t feel like going home to whatever drunken insults Matt is going to throw at him, especially after everything he saw at the school. And so Rick mulls over the idea of staying the night at the Pit Stop, like he usually does on the days when Matt’s being particularly cruel. As he slides his keys into his ignition, his phone rings from where it’s been discarded in a cup holder. He slowly lifts his head and squints at the screen. His heart skips a beat when he reads the name.

Beth :)

He scrambles to pick the phone up, wet fingers sliding uselessly against the screen as he attempts to answer. By some miracle he manages to hit the right buttons, answering the call.

He presses the phone to his ear,

“Beth?”

Silence for a moment and then

“Rick.”

She’s crying. That’s clear the second she speaks, her voice quivering as she says his name.

“I’ll be right over.”

“Beth, hey. What’s up? Are you okay?

“My parents are getting divorced. Or at least, they’re pretty sure they are. They just told me and left. I’m just… I just need someone to talk to. If that’s okay.”

He hears Beth sniffle before she hangs up. Rick grips the wheel of his car and takes off, not caring about the weather, not caring about much of anything really. At this moment, all he cares about is Beth Chapel.

“Rick, the weather is terrible! You don’t have to come all the way over here if it’s not safe-”

“I was planning on coming into town anyway. It’s alright. See you in a bit, okay?”

“Okay.”

Beth hates the way she’s waiting at her door like some sort of sad puppy, but there’s not much else to do. She’s managed to slow her crying as she stares out the small window beside her door, waiting to see a bright yellow car pull into her driveway. She’s starting to get worried, her anxiety telling her Rick had gotten into some terrible car accident, when she sees his car. She can’t help but smile, standing as he parks, and opening her front door when she sees him get out of his car. The storm is forgotten for a moment as she runs down the front steps of her house, leaving her door wide open behind her as she throws herself at Rick, engulfing him in a hug. She’s crying again, sobs wracking her body as she presses herself into his soaked sweater and he holds her. No questions or objections, he just presses one hand on her back and the other into her hair, and holds her. Rick feels his heart break as she looks up at him with tears in her eyes, but he forces himself to stay calm.

“Beth. We should probably go inside. It’s raining.”

“Right.”

“If you don’t wanna be at home I could drive you to the Pit Stop? That’s where I was headed.”

Beth has gotten Rick a towel and turned on the electric fireplace which he’s not even sure provides heat, but it’s nice anyway. She’s in the kitchen now, steadying herself while she makes hot chocolate, and he towels off his hair and clothes to the best of his abilities as he waits for her to return. After a few minutes Beth enters the living room with two mugs, one with just marshmallows and the other piled high with whipped cream. She offers a soft smile as she hands Rick the whipped cream-topped hot chocolate, before settling in beside him on the sofa.

She shakes her head.

“You’re soaked. I don’t want you to get sick because of my stupid emotions, come in. I’ll make us some hot chocolate, if you want?” She manages, gesturing for Rick to follow her inside. He nods, and the pair walk into Beth’s house.

“You remembered I like whipped cream.” He laughs and it warms his heart to see her chuckle along with him.

“How could I forget? You scarfed down that whipped cream off the milkshake at the diner like it was your last meal!”

Rick is fumbling his words and he hates himself for it, but he really is trying his best.

They laugh for a moment, and it’s a relief to see that Beth is feeling at least a little better. After a brief pause Rick knock’s Beth’s knee lightly with his own, and she looks over at him. He searches her face, struggling for the right words to say.

“How are you holding up? I mean, I guess not very well but... I mean, is there anything I can do? I’m not very good with parent things, but if there’s anything I can do…”

“I’m just glad to have you here. I didn’t know what to do, and my parents left me alone, and I really didn’t want to be alone. So I called the one person who I knew would be there for me.”

“Me?”

“You.”

Beth is tearing up again, and she looks down. There’s one question at the front of her mind that she really doesn’t want to dwell on, but she knows she has to ask.

“Do you think it’s my fault? The divorce, I mean.” She sets her mug on the coffee table and wipes her eyes with the back of her hand.

“What? No. Beth no, if anything you were what held them together. You talked to them every day, made sure they had at least some time together as a family. There is nothing you could’ve done, this is entirely on them.”

“But I could’ve done something. I know I could’ve. When Eclipso showed up at the school he showed me my parents, and told me it was my fault. Rick, he said it was my fault. I couldn’t fix their relationship.”

Beth slowly lifts her head, still trying to no avail to wipe the tears from her eyes.

Now Rick is the one to put his mug down on the table as he leans towards Beth.

“Hey. look at me.”

“It’s not your fault. It will never be your fault. You tried so hard, you did everything you could. This is on them. You are the kindest, sweetest person I know, you could never cause something like that. Okay?”

He’s subconsciously laid a hand on top of hers as he spoke, but he leaves it there as she offers a small nod. He smiles at her as they settle into a comfortable silence. Rick is the one to break it.

“How about we watch a movie? Nothing cheers you up like a good movie marathon.” He tips his head towards the TV. This seemingly breaks Beth from her stupor as she leaps up to turn the tv on, separating their hands swiftly. Rick awkwardly picks his hot chocolate, taking a sip as Beth grabs the converter.

“Rick, you’ve never seen Megamind!? Well we have to watch it now!”

“Yes! Megamind just got put on Netflix, and it’s one of my favourites.”

“I’ve never seen it.”

About halfway into the movie, Beth comes to a rather abrupt realization. She had told Rick all about what Eclipso had shown her, but she hadn’t actually asked him what he had seen. She remembered how shaken he had been when they returned to the Pit Stop after the mission, but he hadn’t talked about it. A feeling of guilt settled into the pit of her stomach, she had forced all her problems onto him, but hadn’t taken the time to listen to his own struggles.

Beth’s mind is still lingering on her parents, lingering on the way Rick had held her hand, but she can’t dwell on it for too long. Rick is right, she needs to distract herself. So she does, settling back into her spot beside Rick, the duo quietly drinking hot chocolate as the movie begins to play.

“Hey Rick?”

He turns quickly, and she can see he’s scanning her face, trying to gauge what she’s feeling. He does that a lot, and it takes everything Beth has to not smile, knowing that he cares so much. Always checking up on her.

Rick takes a moment to think. As much as he wants to tell Beth the truth, he knows he can’t. He can’t tell her he was too much of a coward to kill Grundy, but he can tell her at least some of the story.

“Yeah?”

“When we fought Eclipso at the school, what did you see? I saw my parents, but you never said what you saw.��

“I saw Grundy. And I saw myself. I saw myself at my worst moment. I was so angry, and I just let my rage take over. I let it consume me. I don’t think I’ve ever hated myself more than that moment. Looking back on it, I was so stupid, just letting myself go like that. And you tried to tell me that, back then. You tried to stop me, and I didn’t listen.” That’s the truth. He does hate himself for that, but he also hates himself for letting Grundy go. It’s a whole whirlpool of conflicted emotions that he hasn’t taken the time to process. He’s not sure he ever will.

Beth is silent for a moment. There’s a lot to unpack there, and she’s not entirely sure what to say. Megamind drones on in the background, entirely forgotten.

“I’m serious! You’re my closest friend. You’re the only person who listens to me, who’s there for me. Courtney and Yolanda are great, but they don’t stick up for me the way you do. They don’t care about me like you do. There’s no reason you should hate yourself. You let your anger take over, so what? Everyone makes mistakes, there’s no reason that you should hate yourself for having real emotions. I literally sobbed into your sweater in the rain like an hour ago, and do I hate myself for that? No!”

“Rick… You shouldn’t hate yourself.”

“Wow, very insightful.” he lets out a spiteful chuckle, and Beth halfheartedly slaps his arm.

“That was different.”

“It wasn’t! I was feeling really, really sad. You were feeling really, really angry. And you had every right to feel angry. Grundy killed your parents. If I was in that situation, I’d probably have done the same thing.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“You don’t know that.”

Rick locks eyes with Beth when she says that. He feels something inside him break, and he almost slips up,almost tells her how much he cares about her. How much he loves her. He wants nothing more than to kiss her at that moment. But now is not the time, the thoughts of failed love leading to divorce still fresh in her mind.

“I do. Beth, you're always looking for the good in people, always looking on the bright side. And I’m me. I’m always angry, always ready to fight. I hate everyone and everything.”

“You don’t hate me.”

“Beth. Thank you.”

“Rick, I should be saying thank you to you! You’re the one who came rushing through a thunderstorm to rescue me.”

“And yet somehow you’ve managed to find a way to flip the tables. You’ve rescued me.”

They smile at each other, and lean just a little closer to one another as they turn back to the movie. Things are far from perfect for both of them, but together they’re working to make things at least a little better. And in that moment that’s all that matters.

#OK I'm really proud of this one #Made me almost cry-#Listening to So Busted by Culture Abuse that's where the title is from #Bc it's true they're both struggling with life #but they have eachother :)#Hournite #Beth Chapel #Dr.Midnite #rick tyler #Hourman #Stargirl #stargirl cw #Hournite fic

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girlucifer · 3 years

Text

"what's love...

if not a waiting to be seen?" camille norton - corruption poems

below are little blurbs regarding simeon/solomon/diavolo + undressing because y'know, i am feeling down! so what better remedy than vague excerpts to project onto as a means of intimacy. thanks for reading :)

simeon: they promised luke with a golden smile and clasped pinkies that they'd sleep over with him in purgatory hall- he had been particularly upset that the brothers seemed to eat up all of the human's time. as they held his hands and with the chandelier lights a halo above the human's head, he excitedly made plans to have a tea party at midnight and eat cookies under the stars! the human must've been so tired- simeon knew it with their stifled yawns and heavy eyelids as they danced with brother after brother. but they'd crucify themselves for just one smile from someone they loved- they accepted luke's invitation with stars in their eyes. a part of simeon hated the holiness that emanated from them- he couldn't escape god if he tried. they almost seem unattainable. tucked away in the land of milk and honey as he remains tempted in the desert, left to turn to dust. luke runs inside the house, exclaiming all the things they'll do- play that game leviathan was recommending, make celestial-inspired honeyed cookies with lavender tea, and oh, don't forget--- within a moment he falls asleep upon the couch and with a laugh, solomon takes him in his arms and leaves with the dozing child, leaving the two alone. the air is suffocating- he looks over to the human who almost seems to be sleeping while upright. a touch upon their shoulder jolts them awake and the two share a laugh in the softened light of the hall's lamps. starlight spills from the window from the moonless sky- simeon watches as the human looks through the window, their lips always fixed with a small smile. eternally blissful. 'you must be tired- i'll fix up the guest room for you.' the human follows as he walks towards the end of the hall. the room was small- it isn't very often used except during nights where mammon hides from debt collectors or asmodeus needs to store a delicate dress- and maybe even nights like these where the human finds themselves alone with simeon, who suddenly finds it hard to breathe. 'this stupid outfit- lucifer chose it. i don't very much like it- he claims it's devildom-styled formal attire. to me, it's just a nightmare to take off. do you mind?' they turn around, tilting their head to reveal a small zipper near the back of their neck. suddenly everything becomes so slow as simeon takes off his gloves, his bare fingers finding their warm skin in the dim room. temptation is a dirty thing and he finds the taste of their skin like liquid gold, almost suffocating in it.

solomon: lightning struck as rain drummed upon the foliage before them, the only cover for the two the stone above their heads. a trip in the north european forests, foraging for whatever magic-imbued items they can find for potions and spells turned futile as dark clouds blanketed the sky and rain poured, the two finding shelter within a cave. they were far from any village, having trekked and camped for days to make it to the deepest and most untouched parts of the wood, hoping to stumble upon authentic fairy circles and catch will o' the wisps. solomon sighed- another failed attempt of making a fire. something was dampening his powers, and he really wanted to attribute it to the thunderous skies and chills that made its way deep into his bones, but his heart knew by the way it beat so strongly it had to do with his apprentice, who shivered with such fervor that he kept trying to light a fire or spark a flame between his palms- something to make them feel just a little better. he shook his head, clenching his fists: 'nothing is working. the twigs are wet and the wind blows out every spark. i'm so sorry for dragging you through this. god, you're freezing! we got to get you out of these soaked clothes!' his hands found their buttons and not even a moment later, he stopped in his tracks. with averted eyes, he brings his hands back down, the small space becoming even more constricting- warmth finally being found spread across his face and upon his ears. he grew red as the human laughed through chattered teeth, a small cough ending their light giggle. with trembling hands, frosted by the howling wind, they unbutton their shirt as solomon inspects the lines in the stoned wall with such intrigue. their bare skin reveals itself in his periphery as the blush creeped further, his heart pounding within his chest. they moved to their trousers, the sounds of fabric rustling sending his pulse spiking. what on god's name is he on about? they need to remove their soaked clothes to avoid hypothermia- such a simple notion his head can wrap around... but the small cave grew ever smaller as he could barely restrain himself from taking their waist and...

diavolo: a million apologies whispered and he didn't want to hear a single one- it was something else that drew his gaze to their lips. it was a quiet moment in the castle's garden- he had invited the human to drink iced tea and enjoy barbatos' freshly made scones, still warm from the fire-magic oven. their eyes grew with the homely scene- a white iron garden table adorned with native devildom flowers, handpicked by theirs truly- diavolo proudly displayed the cuts upon his hands from where the hellish flowers pricked as he gathered only the finest specimens. the human laughed- something he'd never get tired of. the two sat and enjoyed the dark afternoon of a particularly hot day. within a moment, a wave of warmth splashed upon his dress shirt and the human exclaimed in shock, standing up with abject horror upon their face. the air around them was strung with apologies as they frantically took the white towelette in front of them, dabbing it upon the growing stain. diavolo stifled laughter- what a scene, the two standing in the dark of the devildom, having the human dote on him with a flushed face and shaking hands. 'please, don't worry. it's just a blouse!' the human looks up with such eyes that the breath in his throat hitches and he finds himself flustered. this human... 'allow me to wash it. i'm known to be able to remove just any stain. please- let me make it up to you.' he could never refuse them- even with such an absurd offer to restore a shirt he has dozens of. not even a moment later, the human reaches their hands, their fingers finding the buttons, unclasping the golden halos one by one before he realized what was happening. they wrap around him, the dress shirt falling into their hands. they fold it, and suddenly diavolo feels exposed. the now-stained shirt was from a set of garments inherited by his father- princely garb. without them, he stood in his ordinary undershirt with the human looking at him with a playful expression, as if it was all a trap to lead him to the simple feeling that with them, he isn't the prince of hell but a lovestruck fool, head over heels. what a clever trick. he takes their face within his hands and kisses them between laughter, smiles pressed against each other's lips.

#no barbatos because. my sister is in love with him so he's untouchable. sorry!#anywayyyy yeah i wrote intially diavolo's to be one where he questions his place as the human is hurt in front of him #and he undresses them to tend to their wound. but it was getting very depressing and angsty and im like Ok No!#surprisingly enough it was hars to come up with scenarios in which one is undressed. besides the obvious.#anywayyyyy hi. how are you guys.#text #um... what was my fic tag #well its not even a fic. whatever #obey me fic #obey me solomon #obey me simeon #obey me diavolo

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layniapetrovnaaa · 4 years

Text

“No boys”

Request: @soytrash

Hey beautiful 🤍 how about a cute little moment between reader and Logan with Laura regarding a crush 🥺And Logan is just overprotective, but prior to Laura coming home from school and talking about a crush, Logan is trying to get some from reader 🥵 please and thank you hun let me know if that’s okay or not 🥰 (maybe with the baby from your family series too) sorry if it’s too much I love your writing 🥺🤍

Warnings: Smut, swearing (if you squint).

A/n: Do you guys picture yourself when reading fanfiction? Cause I do and don’t haha. Typically when I read/write for Logan I picture myself as Scarlett Johansson in Match Point and The Island lol. I’d love to hear about you guys, so just let me know!

Reader is written as under 30 y/o, if you are older, just change the number :)

I hope this is good enough (I’m not really that confident in this one). Let me know if you have any constructive criticism.

[The Howlett Family series]

It was a particularly warm day in the Canadian Rockies, warm enough to open a few windows and have the cozy log house smelling of the fresh outdoor air. the window above the sink that you were currently standing at let a breeze into the house that tickled you just enough to have your body bear a small chill.

As you rinsed one of the bowls you had used this morning to prepare breakfast, your hips swayed side to side in a fluid manor that matched the rhythm of the song that lightly boomed out of the speaker which sat by the fruit bowl on the counter. The reason behind the low volume was that Logan was currently trying to put your youngest daughter down for her daily afternoon nap. If the wails and grumbling coming from the baby monitor was any indication, it wasn't going very well.

You dried off your hands and picked up the monitor, holding down on the button that allowed your voice to come through on the other end.

“You need some help?”

“We’re fine. I just cant find her goddamn pacifier.”

“Did you check on the shelf by her changing table?” you spoke again.

Suddenly the crying stops and you smile knowing he found it.

He lets out a quiet “Thanks.”

You set the monitor back down and go back the the half a dozen dishes left in the sink.

“Kid’s quite the screamer hm?” you announce as Logan walks out from the hallway a few minutes later.

“Yeah she is, I think she got it from her mother.” he jokes walking around the island to be closer to you.

You let out a breathy gasp like-laugh.

“Oh really?” you say in an exaggerated tone, humor still consuming it.

“Mhm, and speaking of screaming...” he places his hands on your waist and squeezes a bit.

“We can’t baby, Laura's gunna be home in like ten minutes.”

“Ten minutes is enough time. I can’t help it, you just look so sexy--”

Before he can finish you interrupt.

“Logan, you know damn well ten minutes isn't enough time.”

“I just need something [Y/N].” he says as his hands find your breasts and you let out a small moan, abandoning the dish towel and griping the counter.

He kisses your neck, sucking and nipping at the soft flesh, which brings forth light breathy moans from your mouth.

You turn your head to kiss him and you can feel yourself throb a bit when your lips meet. his hands dip into your top and pull your breast out of their confines, teasing your nipples with his fingers.

He continues to grope and kiss you as his dominant hand makes its way into your pants.

You moan loudly into his mouth as the pad of his middle finger circles your clit a few times.

His lips separate from yours so he can speak.

“Hmm, You like that?” he says in his breathy and gruff voice.

You can’t seem to make out any words, so instead you offer an almost whiny sounding “Mhm.” as his fingers inch lower.

You gasp, throwing your head back onto his shoulder, your right hand coming up to hold the back of his neck, as his middle and ring fingers enter your tight lubricated hole.His fingers curling in the classic “come hither” position, making you squeeze around his digits.

Even after all of the time you had spent with Logan, your body still didn't know how to handle the pleasure, that being evident in the way that your back arched and you sporadically bucked your hips back into his crotch with every jolt of pleasure that you felt.

Your moans were absolutely erotic as he seemed to push further into you, finding that spot that did in fact make you scream.

And the explicit squelching noises were making you even more desperate as he fucks you with his fingers.

As you let out another slew of loud moans, you feel his hand come up to cover your mouth.

“As much as I love hearing those pretty noises you make, baby, you gotta be quiet.”

Your eyes rolled back and fluttered shut at his his words and the vibrations from your moans bouncing against his cupped hand.

His thumb starts to circle your clit in the same rhythm that his fingers were moving in.

God, you were so done for.

He releases his hand from over your mouth before he asks:

“You gunna cum?”

“Mhmm” you let out in high pitched whine.

“Ouh! Don’t stop.” you pleaded as that marvelous feeling started to take over.

“That’s right baby, jus like that.” he speaks, egging you on until your mouth falls open and your eyes squeeze shut, your orgasmic euphoria taking over.

Eventually your body comes back down to earth.

“Look at that, you got three minutes to spare.” he coos in a triumphant tone.

Your breath is heavy and you whimper slightly when he pulls his fingers out of you.

You glance over to the built in clock in the stove before readjusting yourself and catching your breath.

Turning around, you plant your hands on the space where his shoulders and neck connect, and kiss him. Your tongues danced together sensually until you pulled away.

“I wish I could return the favor...” you hum and he kisses you again.

“You will later.” he says as the screeching of the school bus tires alerts you of Laura’s homecoming.

You look up at him and bite your lip, giving him a sensual smile as you nod.

You separate from him as you hear the front door open, going over to greet Laura.

“Hey honey, how was school?”

You could hear Logan in the kitchen, chuckling at your total change in demeanor.

You turn slightly to roll your eyes at him, but the small amused smirk on your face gives you away.

You turn back to your daughter as she answers you while getting her homework and lunchbox out of her backpack.

“It was alright. We got to watch a movie in my english class, so that was nice.”

You follow her to the kitchen where she sits at one of the bar stools at the dark wood island, slapping her purple folder and pencil onto the table.

You noticed something off with the young mutant, like she wasn’t telling you something.

When she looked up to see you and Logan analyzing her, she knew she would have to put on a better performance if she wanted to keep her secret. Fortunately for you, she wasn’t feeling up for a challenge today. And it’s not that she wanted to hide what her friends had told her was called a “crush”, but she knew how her parents would probably react.

“Laura, is there something you need to tell us?” Logan spoke.

“Sweetheart, you know you can tell us anything, right?” you squeeze her shoulder in a loving manor.

She nods, taking in a breath before turning to you and muttering: No puedes decírselo a papá... (You can’t tell daddy...)

Hearing this concerned you. Laura and Logan had a pretty open relationship, despite their constant bickering.

Your eyes quickly flick over to Logan, who was watching you and Laura, his arms crossed while he leans against the kitchen counter.

“Que es Laura?”

Logan was accustom to yours and Laura’s more private conversations you had in spanish. He wasn't really a fan, only because when they would occur, he felt left out. But, he figured this must be important and waited patiently before asking you what she had just said about him.

“Hay un chico en mi clase que está enamorado de mí.” (There is this boy in my class who is in love with me). Her voice is quiet, but her tone sounds exasperated.

Logan's brows furrowed when he heard “un chico”. He didn't know much spanish, but he did know that un chico meant a boy, and he did not like the sound of that.

You snort, your hand quickly flying up to cover your mouth before you speak.

“Aww Laura!”

A shy grin spreads across her face.

“What did she say?” Logan speaks up

You bite your lip, trying to hold in your small bit of laughter. You look over at Laura and can tell that, although she is nervous for what her fathers reaction may be, it would be best to tell him about her dilemma.

“Laura has a not so secret admirer.”

“He wrote me a note.” she says, grabbing a crinkled white paper from her pocket.

You could tell by her humorous tone that she found the situation comical, and didn't seem to reciprocate the feelings.

Logan on the other hand had immediately gone into full protective father mode, snatching the note from her hand, and reading over it to make sure nothing obscene had been written/drawn on it.

After he is finished looking at it he crumples it up and puts it in the garbage.

“No boys until you are 30.”

“Logan don’t be ridiculous.” you say, walking over to fish the note out of the can.

“I am not being ridiculous.” he scoffs, incredulously.

“In fact, I think I’m being a bit lenient. 30 years old is a perfectly reasonable age to start being romantic with someone.” he says, and now it was your turn to scoff as you hand the paper to Laura.

She makes a disgusted face and holds the very corner with her pointer finger and thumb. You couldn't tell if it was because it had been in the trash, or because of it’s contents.

You turn back to face Logan and cross your arms.

“You do realize that we’ve had a baby together and I’m not yet 30, right?”

He retracts slightly, and grumbles:

“That’s different.”

“Uh-huh” you reply sarcastically.

“The feelings are not mutual by the way.” Laura finally speaks up. Deciding to clear the air before an argument started brewing.

“I don’t have a crush on him.”

“That’s my girl.” Logan says, and you chuckle.

“That conversation is not finished by the way.” you say while you walk over to the pantry to get Laura a snack, Logan grimaces, thinking of the conversation that would come later.

“Daddy?”

“Hmm?”

“How did you and Mama end up together?”

“Uhh, well...” he starts, glancing up at you, not sure if it was the right time to share.

Yours and Logan’s story was a bit controversial. The reason being that you were only 19 when you first “got together”, and Logan was your ex-teacher. And it wasn't exactly the most orthodox either. Instead of the typical flowers and a dinner date, it was more like neither of you could sleep one night, and one thing led to another, which led to you waking up in his arms in the morning. You had always had romantic feelings towards The Wolverine. Though they were never truly discussed, you both knew they were there, and you knew they were unbreakable. So, after that night, you two became exclusive.

“We met at Charles’ school, you know that.” you speak, setting the packet of crackers in front of the pre-teen, and walking over to grab an apple to cut up for her.

Laura sighs, knowing that she probably wouldn't get the answer she was looking for if you weren't willing to share it.

She rips open the wrapper, glaring at Logan when he steals a cracker from her.

“Well, how did you know you had a crush on each other?”

You chuckle lightly as the knife cuts into the ripe and scarlet colored fruit.

“We didn’t exactly have a crush on each other, Laura.” Logan starts, but a dry cough finishes the sentence.

You look up at him, asking if he was alright with your eyes.

He gives you a blunt nod as he lets out a deep breath.

You notice your daughters furrowed brow as she munches on the biscuit, and elaborate on Logan’s previous statement.

“Your father and I’s relationship is a bit complicated and unconventional, Laura. What he was saying was that we have and had a connection on a level so much more than a crush.”

She nods and pops another cracker in her mouth.

“But,” the crisp sound of the apple interrupts you slightly.

“usually when you have a crush on someone, you get the feelings of butterflies in your stomach whenever you see or think about that person. You smile when they smile, and laugh when they laugh. You want to be around them all the time, and you try to get their attention. You sometimes get nervous, and jealous of others that are close to them.”

You place the apple slices on a plate and slide it over to her, cleaning up the slight mess you had made and you glance over at her.

Laura sat starring at the plate as she thought of all of her symptoms you had just listed.

“Why were you asking?” Logan asks, his voice stern and suspicious.

She looks up, once again nervous.

You smile, getting an inkling as to where this is going.

“Well, there’s this-”

“No Laura. No boys, remember?” Logan interrupts, his custodial protectiveness resurfacing.

“It’s not a boy.” she mutters.

Logan blinks a few times, looking over to your grinning face.

“It’s a girl?” he asks, making sure that he wasn’t getting mixed up at all.

Laura looks up from the oxidizing apples a second time and nods.

“Well,” he leans back in his seat, breathing out.

“Tell me ‘bout her.”

She grins and you smile back, lovingly.

And then she doesn’t stop talking about the girl with the dark umber skin and curly caramel highlights until you have to remind her to eat her apple slices.

#old man logan #wolverine #old man logan imagine #old man logan x reader #old man logan imagines #logan howlett #old man logan smut #Smut #laura howlett #laura kinney #logan 2017 #wolverine x reader #logan howlett smut #wolverine smut #wolverine imagine #wolverine imagines #logan howlett imagine #logan howlett x reader

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lindsaywesker · 2 years

Text

Good morning! I hope you slept well and feel rested? Currently sitting at my desk, in my study, attired only in my blue towelling robe, enjoying my first cuppa of the day. Welcome to the working week although, for those of you in the NHS, welcome to just another day!

Many thanks to everyone that listened to the show on Saturday afternoon, and many thanks to those that will listen to it on Mixcloud. Naturally, because of the Queen’s passing, we had to keep it downtempo and mellow, so I jumped straight into The Letter J and selected two hours of relatively chilled music. Next week, The Letter I (Pt. 4) featuring a tribute to Gregory Isaacs, ending The Letter I with a two-hour tribute to The Isley Brothers on September 24th.

In my humble opinion, it was the wrong decision to postpone the football games at the weekend. These games were perfect opportunities for ordinary people and the football community to express their love and grief. The players could have worn black armbands, there could have been a minute of silent reflection and the crowd would have needed little encouragement to sing ‘God Save The King’. Which is EXACTLY what they did at the test match at The Oval! It could have been a huge cathartic experience for many people. Did my gas and electricity and Sky and BT and council tax bills get postponed this week? Did they hell!

Really glad to say the pain is subsiding. I’m now actually walking in shoes! I’ve been living in sliders for the last three weeks! I am moisturising like crazy, particularly my feet, and this is going to be a major change in my life. Straight white guys are not that hot on moisturising. Dry, cracked skin? Not a problem! We all imagine we are indestructible; no ailment will affect us, nothing can infect us. I was wrong. So wrong. Cellulitis has been painful. Almost as painful as listening to one genre of music for hours on end. Almost. So, from now on, I am actually going to moisturise my skin every day. My wife does it every day and so can I.

On Saturday, people marched to Scotland Yard to demand justice for Chris Kaba, who was shot and killed last week by Met. police. Sky News showed aerial footage of the march and actually told viewers it was ‘well-wishers’ on their way to Buckingham Palace to pay tribute to the Queen. Gross incompetence or racism? You decide which. Amazingly, Sky News corrected themselves later in the day but did not apologise to viewers for this horrendous faux pas!

When I was a kid, attending Highgate Wood Secondary Modern Comprehensive, one of my best mates was a kid called Lewis Nicholson. He used to live on Muswell Hill Road and I hung out at his place a lot. His mum, Mavis, had her own TV interview show; she was like a female Michael Parkinson. To many, she was a big star. To me, she was Mave The Rave. One day, Lewis and I were making a lot of noise up in his room. Mave shouted up the stairs, “What are you doing?” “Nothing!” we innocently replied. “Well, stop doing it!” she said. Makes me laugh to this day. Anyway, Mavis Nicholson passed away on Thursday. Very sad.

On Sunday, The Trouble and I went to a wonderful soiree at The Crazy Coqs inside Zedel’s in Piccadilly Circus, to celebrate my cousin and his wife’s ruby wedding anniversary. Delicious champagne and canapes and no DJ but a live quartet playing beautiful songs from the thirties, forties and fifties. 40 years of marriage! That is some good going! I guess it’s actually quite a skill to choose a life-long partner? To look at someone and know – confidently – that you’re going to be comfortable to spend a lifetime with them.

It was a brilliant Sunday until we got home to ANOTHER speeding ticket for driving 24 m.p.h. Really? The cost of living is affecting all of us. Food, fuel and energy bills have gone through the roof. A speeding ticket for driving 24 m.p.h.? Is that not a little heavy-handed and insensitive? Yes, I understand the police are trying to slow drivers down by making more streets 20 but these are exceptional times!

Have a marvellous and momentous Monday. I love you all.

#mixcloud #mi soul #dj #music #lockdown #new blog #coronavirus #books #weekend #democracy #brexit #cronyism #election #autumm

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mommymooze · 3 years

Text

Angelic Vision

Claude x Reader

Angelic Vision

“You look like an angel. Have you come to take me to heaven?“ Claude lies on the ground, the back of his hand across his brow.

“No, but when I pull that arrow out of you it’s going to hurt like hell.” You say as you put your knee on his chest and with both hands pull the arrow back out of Claude’s shoulder.

“Yeeowch!” Claude hollers.

You then pour healing magic into his shoulder, feeling the muscles weaving themselves back together. You stand up reaching out your hand for his other hand to help Claude up from the ground.

“Go easy on it. If you reinjure it, go find Marianne because I’m not going to fix it again.” You tell him before running off to the next injured party.

Hilda walks up to stand by the House Leader of the Golden Deer. “Why do the super smart ones always have to be so pissy?”

“Beats me, if they would loosen up or relax a little, they would have a lot more fun.” Claude shrugs.

Mail is delivered and there is a shipment of three boxes for you. Pretty darn heavy boxes. You carry them one at a time from the front gate to your room. Unlocking and opening your door you suddenly find you are not alone. Claude gives a look of shock at the number of books in your room. One entire wall is nothing but books.

“You do know they have a library here.” Claude quips

“It is useless for my research.” You grumble. “The books are old and out of date. They also do not have any ancient texts that may have useful yet forgotten applications.”

Claude is looking at the subjects and titles. “Hey mind if I borrow a few?” You raise an eyebrow at him. “I’ll think about it. “

You’ve been hanging out with Linhardt a lot lately. He’s supposed to be helping with a project you’re working on.

“When I saw them in the library, they were getting pretty cozy.” Hilda snarkily jests.

Claude decides there is a book that he must have right now from the library. He walks in to see you back to back with a very unconscious Linhardt. You’re trying to support him with your back so he doesn’t fall over completely while you are still reading your book. You look trapped?

“Having fun?” Claude grins.

“Yeah. When Lin’s on empty he just crashes. Since Caspar isn’t here, well, I don’t want him to fall and get hurt. I can’t move him.” You groan

Claude helps you get the sleeping cleric to a couch to catch his z’s.

“Thanks. Squishy magic users don’t quite have the strength for these things.”

“I’d be happy to help you out with anything.” Claude smiles. “Call me and I’ll be there!”

You spend the afternoon gathering plants and mushrooms in the nearby woods for your studies. You’ve been working on creating antitoxins and other cures for poisons. You have several bags tied to your waist with different plants in them. Just as you’re about to reach for a particularly ugly and poisonous mushroom you hear a voice calling out your name.

“Hey! Those are really poisonous. You better watch out!”

“Oh Claude, of course I know they are poisonous. How am I supposed to make a potion to neutralize them if I don’t collect them?” You roll your eyes at him.

“Since when have you been interested in poisons?” He raises an eyebrow at you.

“Since Leonie took that poison arrow last battle. We didn’t have anything to counteract it and she had to suffer for over a week until the poison made it through her system.”

“You’re right. He muses. “Maybe we can work together on them sometime?”

An envelope is sealed and addressed to you. It’s the regular update from your father. Sitting down in the dining hall you groan miserably as you read.

Hilda has to know what is troubling you. “Family feud?”

“Just kill me now.” You whine.

She pats you on the shoulder. “Can’t be that bad, can it?”

“My father. I love him dearly but he meddles so much. He agreed that I could come here to further my learning. But…” You hesitate.

She looks at you, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“He told me I have to find myself a husband, preferably a noble while here. I am extremely busy with class work, spell practice, spell development, antidote, and concoction creation. I hardly have time to sleep. Oh, and don’t forget Byleth’s special projects. The guys want someone fun and outgoing like you. You’re cute and entertaining and I’m a dowdy old bookworm.”

“Awww. I am pretty awesome, that’s true.” Hilda grins. “You just need a fake boyfriend while your father is here. I bet I can find someone to help you.”

“Not Sylvain. I will kill myself.” You frown.

“I gotcha fam. Give me the deets and I will set you up.”

“Thanks Hils I owe ya.” You curtsey to her.

“Sky watch for the next month to start, hmmmm…” She ponders.

Later that evening Hilda corners Claude. “One big fat amazing opportunity has just dropped into your lap, loverboy. You better not mess this up!”

“Do tell…” Claude winks.

Tomorrow is the day your father is to arrive. You find Hilda to see if she has anything set for you. Hilda says she’s got everything under control. You’re shaking in your boots, the only thing going through your mind is that your father is going to drag you out of here kicking and screaming because you don’t have a boyfriend.

The day arrives. Standing next to the gatekeeper you watch as the carriage rolls closer and closer to the front gate. Suddenly an arm slides around your back and a familiar voice speaks, “Shouldn’t we go down and greet your father, my deer?” You look up into the sparkling emerald green eyes of Claude. Blushing terribly, you can only nod as you walk down the steps to greet your father.

Your father rushes to you with both arms open to give you a hug and spin you half way around in a circle. “My baby. It’s been so long. In these few short months I daresay you’ve grown in to a fine woman. So beautiful.” Your fathers’ cheeks are rosy and eyes are filled with love for his only daughter. “And who is this young man?” He curiously asks.

“My apologies, father.” You are gasping for breath. “This is Claude von Riegan.

Grandson to-”

Your father finishes your statement. “The Duke of the Leister Alliance!”

“And her beau.” Claude announces proudly, first bowing to your father then taking your hand and intertwines your fingers before placing a gentle kiss onto your knuckles. Your face flushes redder than a summer tomato.

Claude continues to hold your hand as he escorts the both of you to your room. The future Duke and your father are already excitedly discussing Leister business, trade and the safety of trade routes.

“I will leave you to your visit. I’ll be back in time to take you both for a grand lunch in town just across the way.” Claude smiles as he bows to your father and kisses your hand again before he leaves, his cape swishing as he turns.

You open your door to find a small table with a pitcher of ice cold water and lemons as well as two glasses and a small stack of cakes. A beautiful bouquet of daisies and roses accompanies them. Two comfortable and decorative chairs are alongside of the table. You swear you recall those chairs were in Seteth’s office not too long ago.

“Please take a seat, father.” You pour him some of the deliciously refreshing chilled water. “Tell me about your trip.” Trying to keep him focused on what has been going on at home. Every time he tries to ask about your relationship with Claude, you ask about your brothers or your aunt, anything to steer the conversation away from you. An opportune knock on the door disrupts your fathers latest attempt to discuss your relationship with the grandson of Duke Riegan.

“My apologies, we do have a reservation for lunch in town.” Claude bows deeply to the both of you. As you leave your room, Claude swiftly takes your hand. You smile nervously at him. This man is a master of deception.

Claude manages the conversation with entertaining stories of Byleth and the Golden Deer. He makes certain to include some accounts of your healing accomplishments, swearing that none of the deer would be here without your amazing abilities. You spend the entire time blushing or begging Claude to stop praising you, but he keeps going, his smile wider and wider.

At the restaurant, the waitress brings you to the table and Claude attends your chair for you. The waitress comments that it is always lovely to see you two lovebirds in here again. Does Claude have the entire town in on this? Geeez. Claude orders lunch for the both of you, as if he has done this a hundred times.

Lunch is anxious yet enjoyable. You are on the edge of your seat at all times. Claude explains how you met through the Golden Deer. You’re both supportive and loyal to the class. You found common interests in seeking cures for poisons and are very supportive of each other in battle, that you fell for his charm and good looks and that he is incredibly impressed by your intelligence and knowledge. Nothing he says is a lie, except that you two aren’t really together.

The waitress asks about dessert. Your father declines, Claude tells her the usual and your eyes get big. He squeezes your hand that he has clasped in his on the table and gives you a wink.

A small cake with two forks is placed between you. Claude quickly takes a fork and holds a piece of cake in front of your lips. You glance at him and your father. Feeding you? That’s pretty intimate. Claude smiles wider as you open slowly while he feeds you a bit of cake. You look into his eyes and tell him it is wonderful.

He cuts off another bit and takes a bite. “Delicious.” Is that an indirect kiss?

Your father is grinning at you as the cake is finished. You slightly roll your eyes with embarrassment and that fact that you can’t believe Claude is doing this.

The men argue a minute over who will pay the tab, Claude graciously thanking your father for a delightful lunch as your father foots the bill. Your father commenting that this has been the best and most entertaining lunch he has had in a long time makes you blush harder.

The conversation is quieter as everyone his happily full walking back to the monastery. Claude happily swings your hands back and forth together as you walk. Your father asks what things you will be doing soon. Claude advises they have a mission at the end of the month, and also the two of you have a date this Saturday just before sunset.

As you head back to the grounds, your father’s carriage is ready to go. Saying your goodbyes, your father gives you a long hug and whispers “Don’t let this one go, he’s a great catch.” He steps back and gives you one long admiring look.

He shakes Claude’s hand warmly, asking him to watch out for his baby girl.

“I’ll do everything in my power to protect her, sir. You can count on that.” Claude gives him one of his classic winks.

Standing at the gate, holding hands, you both wave as your father’s carriage rolls out of sight.

Claude holds his hands out to you, “A kiss for your boyfriend?” he says as he closes his eyes and puckers his lips. You laugh as you lightly slap his shoulder.

“I cannot believe you pulled this off! I thought for sure I’d be riding back with him, but you actually had him eating out of your hand!”. You laugh as you walk away. “Maybe you should see about getting into acting or the opera. I don’t think Dorothea could have pulled off a performance like that.”

You get back to your room and thankfully Seteth’s chairs are missing. The pitcher of water is still there and the flowers. You didn’t notice before, but there was a card with them.

Every day is heaven with you, my angel ~Claude.

P.S. You keep the date on Saturday at sunset.

#fe3h #fe16 #feth #fe3h x reader #fe Claude #claude von riegan

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spencesglasses · 4 years

Text

sweet creature (spencer reid x f! reader) pt 2

a/n: ah yes, a case chapter. this was gonna be longer but i didn’t want it to just drag on and i just ended up cutting out some parts soooo enjoy this 3k word chapter of y/n using her big galaxy brain to solve a case with just a pinch of fluff w spence :)

part one | part three

It was only the beginning of the movie when the weight of the day hit her. She snuggled further into the couch, trying to gain some extra warmth. Spencer had his apartment so cold, she could nearly feel the chill creeping up her body. Her eyelids began to close shut slowly, and the sound of the television lulls her to sleep. She was far too tired to keep herself awake, so she hoped that Spencer didn’t mind if she rests, at least for a few minutes.

Spencer keeps his eyes glued to the television screen, having been making commentary throughout, he didn’t even notice Y/N fast asleep. “You know, it’s actually scientifically impossible for someone to-“ He turns his head to look at her, and she lets out a quiet snore. The TV’s sound was barely audible now, Spencer turning it down so it wouldn’t wake her. He stood up to his full height and the freshly cleaned floor squeaks as his feet carried him to the cupboard that held spare linens and duvets.

He laid a blanket over her figure gently, careful not to disturb her. Taking the extra blankets, he spread them out, making a makeshift bed on the floor below her. He flickered off the TV and all that could be heard was the pitter-patter of the rain against the windows. Spencer let the layers of blankets engulf him in warmth, letting his eyes fall heavy and drifts off to sleep.

The next morning, Y/N woke up to the vibrations of her phone ringing. It was Anna. Wait. I’m still on Spencer’s couch. Shit! I was asleep longer than I should have! She sits up, checking the time, “I’m late to work!”

She tossed the blanket off her and tried to push herself off the couch. But then she sees him. Spencer curled up with a blanket that was much too small for him. She stifled a snicker and covered him with the blanket she was once using.

Before Y/N could leave, she noticed a pen and notepad sitting atop his desk. Maybe I should leave a note, she thought. She grabbed the pen and the black ink slid smoothly across the page.

Sorry to leave so soon… and for falling asleep during the movie. Lets reschedule? Keep in touch, 187! xx

-Your favorite barista

She heard Spencer stir in his sleep, and just before he could wake up, she was gone.

“Surprise?” Garcia questioned. “What surprise? What’s going on-” and then she realizes. “Oh, Coffee shop girl! You’re the girl from the coffee shop!”

Y/N hid a giggle behind her hand as she stood. “You told them about me?”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see JJ’s head shoot up. “Yeah, Spence,” she says, tilting her head at him. “You told us about her?”

“I told Garcia,” he grumbles.

Spencer can feel the five pairs of eyes on him. He didn’t think that not telling the team about her was such a big deal. Why was it such a problem he kept something to himself for once? They practically live together. Spencer just wanted to keep someone who makes him feel like a person. He wanted to keep her so close to him because he finally had the chance to think about something other than work and the cases, and the people he couldn’t save. He wanted to be someone; to feel normal. In the time that it’s silent, he understood why Y/N didn’t tell him, but he sure as hell wishes that she did.

Spencer’s eyes flicker back and forth between her and the team. “We should focus on the case.”

The first case Y/N works on with a team is fairly close, which she appreciated. She wasn’t particularly fond of plane rides but that was something she had to get used to. Joy, who she found out is Rossi’s daughter, had been writing a piece about violence against women on campus, and noticed a series of mishap in the area. After finding what she believed was more of a case than a possible story, she brought attention to a series of disappearances to the team’s attention once a young woman by the name of Bahni Desai had gone missing.

“4 cases in 9 years.” Derek speaks into the cell, sitting in the driver’s seat. “How come this hasn’t been on our radar?”

“Because the disappearances were in different states with different M.O’s.” Rossi explained over the speaker.

Y/N claimed her spot on the middle seat in the back, reviewing a case file. “The first missing woman was Kathy Miller in 2006,”

Morgan questioned. “So what’s the plan once we land on campus?’

“Track Bahni’s movements. Campus police checked her room, she’s not there. They taped it off for you.” Hotch instructed.

“What about her cell phone?” asked Spencer.

Y/N shifted in her seat, passing the file to Spencer and whispered to him. “It’s kind of cold in here, don’t you think?”

He turned ever so slightly to look at her. “I have my jacket in my bag if you need it,”

She dug to find the much-needed jacket and threw it over her shoulders. It was his FBI issued jacket, tapered at the sleeves and a bit oversized. It smelt like him, she noted. Cinnamon and coffee. She offered him a gentle smile. “Thanks, Spence.”

Spencer returned the smile, handing her back the file.

“It just pinged in her room overnight,” Garcia informed. “No credit card activity. I’ve confirmed with all the ticket agencies she didn’t take a boat, bus, blimp, or plane last night. Oh! The Dean's office just sent us her file from Judy Temple College. It looks like- Oh dear…” She trails off.

“Looks like what, Garcia?” Y/N urged, tugging the jacket closer to her.

“She voluntarily withdrew!”

“She definitely didn’t plan on leaving town,” Spencer surveyed Bahni’s abandoned closet. “Her clothes, shoes, and luggage are all still here.”

“Well, it looks like she was trying on different outfits,” said Morgan.

Y/N shuffled past Spencer, standing next to Morgan, and observed the clothes laid out. “Miniskirts, heels. Seems like she was going out.” Y/N added.

“But why not take her phone?” Reid asked, picking up Bahni’s cell. “She’d need it to meet up with her friends.”

She spun on her heel and inspected her desk, noticing two chemistry textbooks. “Unless her friends were already here,” she suggests, her finger brushes against the lettering on the cover, then beckons Morgan to look at the books.

She turned the cover of the textbook, Morgan doing the same to the one to their left. Y/N pushes out a sharp exhale out of her pursed lips. Paddy Morris, she read.

Morgan is the first to speak. “Same textbooks, different names. “She wasn’t studying alone.”

Spencer moves closer to the pair and peers over Y/N’s shoulder. “That could be the last person who saw her.”

Y/N trailed behind Morgan and Reid with her hands tucked into the pockets of Spencer’s jacket, and her eyes wandered around the halls of the building. This is going to be her first interview. She wasn’t nervous, per se, but her mind couldn’t help but fill with possible scenarios. Don’t mess this up, Y/N. Only ask questions relevant to the case and remember, don’t say the wrong thing.

“Nice jacket,” Morgan commented, slowing down to reach Y/N’s pace.

“Nice face,” she joked, reaching up to tap his cheek.

Y/N quickened her pace, walking past Spencer, and she could practically feel his stare burning into the back of her head. She found the correct door, and it was Reid and Morgan’s turn to trail behind her. Finding Paddy’s correct door number, she taps her knuckles against the hard wood. “Paddy Morris, this is the FBI,”

“Very funny, Josh,” They heard through the door.

Y/N turned to the men behind her and they shrugged their shoulders in unison. She scrunched up her nose, knocking once more.

The trio held up their badges as the door flung open, exposing the girl. “You’re not Josh.”

“Great observation,” Y/N nodded.

Paddy opened the door wider for them, and they took their spot on the three chairs to the side of her bed. “We have a few questions about Bahni Desai,” Morgan told her. “Is there any information you have that might help us?”

She let out a sharp exhale. “I was with her last night. She was fine,”

“Any idea why she left her cell phone in her room?”

“We didn’t take purses, and we didn’t have pockets in our skirts.” Paddy draws out.

Y/N saw Spencer shift in his seat. “Ok, walk us through the night, you guys were studying before you went out?”

“Yeah, um,” her voice is shaky. “I knew about this party. She didn't want to go.”

It was Y/N’s turn to ask a question. “Did you two come back to the dorm?”

Not too bad, not too bad, she reassures herself.

“No. I made her stay.”

“Why?”

She gulped, looking over their shoulders and out the window. “There was this tennis guy that I’d been trading tweets with. He said he’d show up, but he was late, and then the later it got, the more I drank.”

“How much did you have?” asked Reid.

“Her, I don’t know. Me, a lot. Until Peter arrived…” she trails off. “She told me she was going right after that.”

“Did anyone walk out after her, maybe try to escort her?”

“Not that I saw,” she frowns, face streaked with tears and day old mascara wiped beneath her eyes. “God, it’s my fault, isn’t it?”

Morgan reassured her. “No, it’s not. But there’s still a way you can help us.”

She perked up, wiping the stray tears away. “Anything. Name it.”

Y/N straightens up and asks, “Where was the party?”

“This was the last spot she was seen. The next camera is 100 feet down,” Spencer pointed forward. “Which makes this the abduction zone,”

Y/N walks with him, investigating what the team has found, all thanks to Garcia, Bahni’s last location before she went missing. “Alexandria police searched the buildings, nothing was there.”

“Well, if she got in the car with him, they would have shown up on the camera down the street.”

Her eyebrows knit together, suddenly coming to a stop. “Right, so it would be too risky,” she looked to the camera, and observed the shops behind them. “Just shoving her in the trunk of a car. And out in the open like this? Someone would have been bound to see them,”

“Well, that leaves this.” Spencer gestures to the near alleyway. It’s empty. Secluded. Low chance of anyone seeing the attack.

Spencer and Y/N shared a look, walking further into the alley. His phone went off, signifying that he’s gotten a new message, and she watches him as he fetches his phone out of his coat pocket. She could see the wrinkle between his brows that he would when he was worried about something,

She stops in her tracks and gently places her hand on his bicep. “Is everything okay?”

“Actually, no. My mom’s not doing so well,” Spencer says, biting the inside of his cheek. “The doctors have had to change her medicine 3 times to try to stabilize the schizophrenia,”

Y/N knew about his mom and her conditions. He had mentioned it a few times to her when he would go into her shop during her break. She let out a soft exhale and rubbed languid circles in his arm as a comfort. “Spencer, why didn’t you tell me… or the team?”

“I- I didn’t want to bother you,” he averts his eyes

“You could never bother me,” Y/N’s voice is hushed. “You can never bother any of us, got it? How long has this been going on?”

Spencer’s frown deepens, looking down to the asphalt beneath their feet. “It’s gotten really bad the past few weeks.”

“As soon as we’re done here, you need to go help her. She needs you,”

Y/N watches as his eyes narrow, looking at her this time. “I know. Right now so does Bahni.” he said firmly.

She watches him as he moves to leave the alley, and a frown etched on her face. Y/N knew he would rather keep something to himself than bother anyone about his problems, but this was different. She just wanted to be there for him, to help him, to make sure he doesn't feel alone. He was her friend, after all. Spencer turned to her, looking at her expectantly, and she followed him.

“Alright, let's think this through,” Spencer said.

Y/N added. “Okay, so, if he took her this way, it is a busier street,” they both observed the cars passing. “The traffic was much lighter last night, but it would be a risk to abduct someone in plain sight.”

“So he was able to control a drunk woman and it didn’t look suspicious.”

“He probably just put his arm around her and walked off, and was too drunk to realize she was in danger.” she replied.

“You know, if this was just about the assault, he could have done that back in the alley. I think this gotta be some sort of long-term play,”

“Then he’s been watching Bahni,” she makes eye contact with Spencer. “Looking for the perfect opportunity.”

“Well, he certainly found it last night. She’s a straight-A student who never drinks and rarely goes out.”

Y/N nods, walking back to the alley to inspect it once more. She eyes the spot where the suspect was last documented, trying to think of anything that could possibly help them, and then it hits her. “Spence, tell Garcia to look for offenders with precursor crimes.”

“On it,”

The rest of the investigation went by smoothly and the team rescued Bahni successfully, arresting Tom Larson for abduction of Bahni Desai and Sam Burnett for the murder of Kathy Miller in the process. By the end of the night, Y/N stayed behind as the majority of the team left, having to finish paperwork for Hotch. She heard shuffling, and it brought her attention to Spencer sitting on the edge of his desk. Following his gaze, she noticed a framed photo of JJ’s newborn perched on her desk. Then she examined him closely, noticing visible bags under his eyes, and his hair slightly disheveled. She gathers the loose paper into a folder, then places them into the drawer of her desk.

“You were that little once,” Y/N says, catching Spencer’s attention.

“It seems impossible, doesn’t it,” he smiles fondly at the photo. “That we all start out so helpless.”

Y/N got up from her chair, joining Spencer at his desk. “Yeah, well, we all end the same way.”

A moment of looming silence passes between them and Spencer stiffens, suddenly becoming hyper aware of the proximity. It’s not that he didn’t like it. It made him more aware of the flutter and flit of the butterflies in his stomach. That he didn’t like.

Y/N is the first one to break the silence. “You’re gonna call your mom?”

Spencer is brought back to reality by the sound of her voice, and he’s back at ease. Y/N did a good job at doing that; easing him. He furrowed his brows, checking his watch. “It’s not too late there, is it?”

She gently grabs a hold of his wrist to check for herself. “Shouldn’t be,” she whispers.

Y/N let her arm fall to her side. “I wanted to tell you, by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“That I was joining the team,” she crosses her arms over her chest. “I wanted to tell you.”

“Why didn’t you?” he counters.

“I didn’t want to intrude. I thought it would’ve been weird if some girl from the coffee shop you go to just suddenly started working with you, but I guess that happened anyway,”

Spencer’s eyes flick down to her. “You’re not just some girl from the coffee shop,” he says slowly. “And if it makes you feel any better, I really enjoyed working with you today.”

Y/N’s lips curled upward, bumping his shoulder with hers. “Hmm, I guess we just make a good team,”

“Guess so,” Spencer says with a soft laugh that makes her heart swell. “You know, I actually didn’t mean to tell Garcia,”

“You didn’t?” She raised her brows.

He shook his head. “She saw your number written on my coffee cup.”

“I see,” she hummed.

There’s a moment of comfortable silence. Y/N scoots away from him slightly, barely realizing the closeness. Her stomach twists and tumbles within her, nerves spiking, trying to find words to add to the conversation. She finally looks at him and she feels heat creeping up her neck when she saw that he was already looking at her. And she finally says, “I guess I should be getting home,”

Spencer followed her movements, trailing behind her as she retreated to her desk. “Would you like a ride home?” she asks.

For a second, it is silent again. It’s clear to her he’s thinking way too into the question. “It’s no bother,” she adds, giving him a kind smile. “I promise.”

She held out her arm just like she did that morning and waited for him to link his arm with hers. He visibly relaxed, hooping his arm beneath hers. This is what he liked about Y/N, what drew him to her. She allowed him to break down his walls when he was with her, and he guesses that that was why he let himself be so comfortable with her because if he was being completely honest, he wouldn’t do this with anyone that wasn’t her. Yeah, he was close with JJ and Penelope, but the connection was just different. He just couldn’t put his finger on it, and for the first time, Spencer Reid didn’t know why.

taglist: @eevee0722 @ceeellewrites

#spencer reid #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds imagines #matthew gray gubler #matthew gray gubler x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid fanfic

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fuckallthegood0nesweretaken · 3 years

Text

Runs in the Family CH. Two

Book: Chamber

Title: Dirty Blood

Words: 2705

Warnings: Use of a slur (mudblood), broken bones, Reader gets petrified

A/N: Enjoy chapter two!

Previous Chapter - Next Chapter

RinF Masterlist

Harry Potter Masterlist

Masterlist

~~~~~~~

Your first month at Hogwarts was amazing. You found out that you were an amazing flier and that you had an affinity for potions. Madame Hooch loved you and Snape had begrudgingly accepted you as one of his best students. Most of the students had figured out by then that you were Harry Potter’s cousin and they either hated you or loved you.

Most of the Slytherin’s hated you and you thought it was just because of your cousin. But it turned out to be because you were a Muggleborn. One day, you were passing by a group of Slytherin students in the hall when Marcus Flint shoved you into the wall.

“Get out of the way, stupid mudblood,” he said. You had just rolled your eyes, but those words stopped most of the people around you.

“What did you just call her?” Cedric said.

“I called her what she is. A mudblood.”

It looked like Cedric was fighting himself on whether or not to do anything, but it didn’t stop the twins. They hexed him at the same time and Flint went flying against the wall.

“Guys, stop!” You said, getting in between them.

“He called you a mudblood,” George seethed.

“He deserved what he got,” Fred said.

“I don’t know what that means and I don’t particularly care. It’s not worth getting in trouble for.” You put your hands on their chests and held them back.

“Weasley!” Everyone turned to see McGonagall rushing down the corridor, Snape close on her heels.

“What happened here?” She asked.

“Flint called [y/n] a mudblood, professor,” Cedric said.

“And why is Mr. Flint currently on the floor?” Snape said.

“Those Weasley twins hexed me!” Flint groaned, trying to get up from the floor.

“Detention, both of you. And twenty points from Gryffindor,” McGonagall said. She turned to you and Cedric. “Ten points to Hufflepuff for the two of you not starting anything and ten points from Slytherin for the use of a slur. Mr. Flint, go to the hospital wing. The rest of you get to class.”

Everyone started walking again and you looked at Cedric.

“Slur?”

“Mudblood is a nasty way of saying Muggleborn. It means dirty blood,” Cedric explained. “It’s mostly used by witches and wizards that believe in blood purity and that anyone other than a pureblood is not deserving of having magic.”

“That’s awful,” you said, voice hushed. “How can some people think like that?”

“It’s deeply rooted in our society and it’s disgusting. Don’t let it get to you, [y/n].”

“I-I’ll try.”

Cedric gave you a smile and patted your shoulder, walking to his next class. You didn’t have any classes for the rest of the day, so you made your way down to the Great Hall to study. You sat down next to Ginny and she frowned at your upset demeanor.

“[Y/n]? What’s wrong?”

“Flint called me a mudblood and the twins got in detention for hexing him.”

“He called you what?” Ginny was shaking from anger and you put your hand on her arm to calm her down.

“I’ll be fine. It’s just a word. We don’t need you getting in trouble either. Let’s just study and try to forget about it, okay?”

“If you say so.”

The two of you didn’t talk about it for the rest of the night and when it was time for bed, you found a small pile of chocolate and a note from your Housemates. The other two girls in your dorm weren’t there yet and you let out a watery laugh as you read the note.

[Y/n], don’t let that bigot get to you. You are more than your blood and you’re better than him already. We are lucky to have you be a part of Hufflepuff House and don’t let anyone tell you different.

It was signed by everyone and you smiled, putting it on your bedside table. You had already changed into your pajamas so you curled into bed with a book you had brought from home and fell asleep while reading.

---

Soon, it was Halloween. The castle looked beautiful all decorated and you were excited to spend the holiday at Hogwarts. Since it was a Saturday, there were no classes and you spent the day flying outside. You had gotten permission from Madame Hooch to practice flying in order to get on the Quidditch team next year, and Cedric was helping you. He was Captain of the team and he had seen you start learning how to fly and thought that you would make a great addition to the team.

The two of you had spoken beforehand to try and determine what position you would play and after reading about the game, you had chosen to be a Chaser. So the two of you practiced throwing the ball back and forth and throwing it through the goalposts. You did that through lunch and only stopped once it was dinner time.

“I’m not saying that you’re definitely going to get on the team next year, but if you keep up with your practicing over the summer, you should do well in tryouts,” Cedric said.

“You really think so?” You said, eyes lighting up.

“I do.” Cedric ruffled your hair and you laughed as you tried to get away.

The two of you went into the Great Hall for dinner and you said bye to Cedric as you walked over to the Gryffindor table.

“Hi guys!” You said. You sat down next to the twins and they grinned at you.

“We saw you practicing earlier,” Fred said around a mouthful of food.

“You planning on joining the team next year?” George asked.

“I’m definitely going to try out. I love flying and the sport seems fun,” you said.

“Well then we’ll meet on the field.”

“Fred and I are the Gryffindor Beaters.”

“We won’t go easy on you.”

“Then I won’t go easy either.” You gave the brothers a wink and Ginny laughed.

The rest of dinner went by without a hitch and after, when you were going back to your dorm, you ran into Harry, Hermione, and Ron. There was water all over the floor and when you looked at the wall, your eyes widened.

“Enemies of the heir, beware,” Draco said. “You’ll be next, mudbloods.”

He glared at you and Hermione and you glared at him. There was a chill settling in your chest and you only heard Dumbledore telling everyone to get back to their dorms. Shivering slightly, you followed your House to your common room.

---

Mrs. Norris being petrified and the Chamber were the only things everyone was talking about the next couple days. The only thing that stopped that talk was the fact that Gryffindor and Slytherin would be playing against each other in the first match of the Quidditch season.

You were cheering for Gryffindor, and standing with the younger two Weasley’s and Hermione. You were in awe at the game and how fast paced it was. It was one hell of a game, your eyes darting everywhere, trying to take everything in. You could feel your throat starting to get scratchy from yelling and shouting, but you didn’t care.

When Wood’s broom got smashed by a bludger, you flinched. It looked like it would be super painful to be hit by one of those. Then it started chasing Harry.

“That’s not supposed to happen, is it?” You said.

“No. That’s a rouge bludger and it’s been tampered with!” Hagrid said. Ron went to stop it, but Hermione told him not to.

The bludger followed Harry for a minute, crashing into everything until Harry managed to lose it for a little bit. Draco said something to him, but you couldn’t hear what it was. That was when the bludger came back and Harry had noticed the snitch. The bludger was still chasing after Harry and it hit him in the arm. You gasped but he managed to catch the snitch. Lee Jordan announced that Gryffindor won and you ran down to the field with Ron and Hermione.

The bludger still wasn’t stopping and was still going after Harry. He barely managed to dodge it before Hermione blasted it to pieces.

“Harry, how’s your arm?” You said, kneeling next to him.

“I think it’s broken.”

“Not to worry, Harry,” Lockhart said. “I will fix that arm of yours straight away.”

“I think we should wait for Madame Pomfrey to fix him up,” you said.

“Nonsense. I’m here and I can do it. This won’t hurt a bit.” Lockhart rolled up Harry’s sleeve and cast a spell. A blueish light came from Harry’s arm and when it faded, you could tell that something was wrong. When Lockhart held up Harry’s arm, there were very clearly no bones left.

“Oh god,” you said, squeezing your eyes shut.

“Yes, well, that can happen sometimes. But it’s very clear that the bones are no longer broken.”

“Broken? There’s no bones left!” Hagrid said.

“He’s right.”

Harry’s arm was flopping around and you shook your head in disgust.

“Come on, Harry. Let’s get you to the hospital wing,” you said. You helped him up and walked him to Madame Pomfrey.

“You should have come to me straight away!” She said once you got there. “I can mend bones in a second but to regrow them entirely? That’s going to be a process.”

“But you can do it, right?” You asked.

“Yes. But it’s going to be painful. You’re in for a rough night, Potter.” Pomfrey poured something into a glass and handed it to Harry to drink. He drank it and immediately spat it out.

“What did you expect? Pumpkin juice?” She was exasperated and rolled her eyes before pouring more. You had wanted to stay, but she said that Harry needed his rest. So after saying goodbye to Harry, you walked out with everyone.

---

The next day, it was announced at breakfast that a student had been petrified. You were scared for a couple reasons. It was highly plausible that what happened to Collin would happen to you and if it did, or your parents heard of what happened at school, they would never let you come back. You didn’t want either of those things to happen so after you steeled yourself, you went to talk to Professor McGonagall.

“Professor, can I speak with you?” You asked her.

“Of course, Miss Dursley. What can I help you with?” She put down her quill and you sat down in front of her desk.

“You saw how my parents were, right?” You said, twisting your hands.

“I did.”

“Can you promise me that if what happened to Collin happens to me, you won’t tell my parents?”

“I can’t promise that, Miss Dursley.”

“But if they figure out what has happened here, I’ll never be allowed back. You said yourself that I need to learn how to use my magic or something bad will happen to me,” you said. “I looked it up. What would happen. I don’t want to turn into an Obscurus, Professor.”

McGonagall sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose.

“Alright, Miss Dursley. I won’t tell your parents anything if something happens to you. But only because you’re right.”

“Thank you, Professor. I really appreciate it.”

“In return, I expect you to practice your transfiguration more. It needs work,” she said.

“Of course, Professor. Thank you!” You gave her a smile and walked out of her office. A huge weight was lifted from your chest and you went about your day with a smile on your face.

---

A few weeks later, there was an announcement of a dueling club being formed. You were excited to learn some defensive spells but when you found out who was leading it, you frowned.

“Lockhart? Really?” You said to the twins. “He’s such a sham.”

“Might be.” Fred shrugged.

“But he is the DA teacher. He has to know something.” George put his elbow on your shoulder, Fred following suit.

“I hope so.”

Soon, Lockhart was knocked back by Snape’s disarming spell and you had to hold back a laugh. When Lockhart said that he let Snape do that on purpose, you accidentally let out a snort.

When Harry and Draco were called up to duel you were a little nervous to see what would happen. Both of them hated the other so much that something was bound to go wrong. So when Draco cast a spell that wasn’t expelliarmus, you weren’t surprised. It was only when Draco conjured a snake and Harry talked to it did you start to get worried.

Everyone backed up when the snake landed after Lockhart tried to get rid of it, and that’s when Harry started talking to it. Him doing that brought you back to Dudley’s birthday a couple years ago where he spoke to the snake at the zoo and set it free before trapping Dudley in its enclosure.

As Harry spoke to the snake, you saw it turn to Justin. It went to strike but then backed off. That’s when Snape got his head about him and got rid of the serpent.

“What’re you playing at?” Justin said.

That was when the club ended for the day. Everyone dispersed and you caught up to Justin after telling the twins bye.

“Are you alright?” You asked him.

“I think so? I mean, I thought that we were on good terms, but I guess not.”

“I don’t think that he meant anything by it.”

“Did you know that he was a Parselmouth?” Justin said. He stopped walking and turned to you.

“Parselmouth?”

“That he can talk to snakes.”

“I think so? I saw him doing something with a snake from the zoo a couple years ago. I guess he was talking to it. But it can’t be that big of a deal, right?”

Justin was about to answer when Nearly Headless Nick showed up.

“Miss Dursley, Mr. Flitch-Fletchley! How are you?” Nick said.

The both of you looked at Nick and everything went black.

---

When you woke up, you sat straight up.

“Giant snake!” You said.

“Miss Dursley?” Madame Pomfrey said.

“There was a giant snake, where is it?”

“It’s been taken care of, Miss Dursley,” Dumbledore said. “The Basilisk is dead and the situation is over.”

“Basilisk?”

“That’s the giant snake you saw. Now come on. I’m sure there are some people who would love to see you.”

You got up on shaky legs and was immediately engulfed in a hug. You knew it was Hermione because of her hair and you let out a laugh.

“Thank goodness you’re alright! Harry was worried sick,” Hermione said after she let you go.

“You got petrified too?”

“I did. I had figured out that it was a Basilisk and saw it through my mirror. Let’s go get some dinner.”

You walked out of the hospital wing with Hermione and once you got to the Great Hall, you immediately ran over to Harry and gave him a hug.

“[Y/n]!”

Hermione was the next to hug Harry and you waved to the twins before making your way to the Hufflepuff table. You sat next to Cedric and he was happy to see you back. After Dumbledore made the speech saying that finals were cancelled and you were happy about that seeing as you missed half the year.

The last week of school passed very quickly and soon you found yourself on the train back home. Harry had explained everything to you then and you were glad that everyone was okay in the end. You were also glad that you had asked McGonagall to not say anything to your parents. Even if you had to come up with an excuse for missing Christmas.

It was a nice train ride home and when it stopped at the platform, you didn’t want to get off. With a sigh, you grabbed your trunk and your things before walking with Harry. You said goodbye to everyone, giving hugs to the twins, and left to where your parents would be waiting to pick you and Harry up.

You couldn’t wait for summer to be over and to go back to Hogwarts.

#RitF #Runs in the Family #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #hufflepuff reader #george weasley x reader

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