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mjolnir-steve · 3 years

Text

Foolish

Frank Adler x fem!Reader

Word count: 5027 (oop)

Warnings: light drinking, very brief mention of suicide, some cursing, smut (18+ ONLY!!!), unprotected sex (m/f) ... Please let me know if I missed anything!

A/N: Hi, y’all! Here’s my entry for @stargazingfangirl18 and @navybrat817’s Shameless Hoes for Chris Challenge!!!! I haven’t written smut in a LONG time, so please be gentle with me LOL. Here’s what I got:

Frank Adler

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.”

Breeding / mutual pining 🥴

I’d like to dedicate this to @rodrikstark for always sharing the Frank Adler feels and @sparkledfirecracker for bullying me (with love) into finishing this. ❤️

If you like this fic, please comment and reblog!!! I hope you enjoy. :)

Fridays never seemed to come soon enough. You looked forward to the beginning of the weekend as much as the next person, but over the last few months, Friday nights took on new meaning for you. You moved to the trailer park a little less than a year ago, wanting to buy a small place of your own and start making a home for yourself. It wasn’t perfect, but it wasn’t expensive, and it was only a ten-minute drive from your office where you’d just secured a promotion. Roberta, the manager, helped you make it feel like home right away, insisting on going with you to pick out paint samples and providing copies of menus for the best take-out in the area.

Before long, Roberta introduced you to the trailer park’s resident certified genius, Mary Adler. Mary and Roberta spent Saturday mornings with you when you were free, which unfortunately, was pretty much all the time. You played games, sang karaoke, and even let Mary’s one-eyed cat Fred come over. He took a liking to your swinging chair in the living room, and if Mary couldn’t find him at home, odds were he somehow squeezed through your window and ended up in that chair.

Another two months had passed, though, before you met Mary’s uncle and guardian, Frank. You came to learn that Mary stayed with Roberta every Friday night because “Frank needs time to be an adult” and she was not allowed to come back to the house until noon on Saturdays. This information made you feel like Frank must be some kind of sad, perpetual fuckboy. You were right about the sad part, not so much about the latter. One morning while Mary played with your watercolors, Roberta let slip - ironically over a cup of tea - that Frank did have the occasional hookup, but usually, he drank himself sleepy on Friday nights and just needed the time to himself. He worked himself to the bone as a boat mechanic, often late into the night because it was too hot to do some jobs during the day. Frank took Mary in when she was just a baby after his sister, her mother, tragically committed suicide. He spent the majority of his scarce free time with Mary, so when Mary was still a toddler, Roberta offered the Friday night deal. Frank countered that he would do any repairs in the trailer park for free, but she refused to let him do that work without pay, saying he deserved to have a life, too.

She also informed you that Frank was a former philosophy professor, single, and very attractive, especially if you were into the rugged thing. You rolled your eyes with an amused exhale and took another sip of your tea. You’d be lying if you said your interest wasn’t piqued. Mary then shouted over her shoulder, confirming that she’d been listening to your entire conversation, “Frank is great, but he’s a grump. Good luck cracking that egg.” You snorted, nearly spitting out your tea, and she went back to reading your color theory book to Fred.

With that, you heard a sharp rap at the door. You set your tea down on the kitchen table, curious who your visitor might be. You didn’t know anyone else in the trailer park, or in town, really. You opened the door, taking in the sight of possibly - no, definitely - the most handsome man you’d ever seen. You quickly guessed it was Frank, judging by the grease smeared on his quite large hands. His eyes, though tired, had the same bright look as Mary’s, and he had the most perfectly imperfect fluffy hair and overgrown stubble.

“Good morning,” he said with a sweet, closed-mouthed smile. “Is Mary here?”

You had to remind yourself to breathe. Stammering, you opened the door wider, gesturing inside. “Hi, y-yes. She is!” Why am I like this? “She’s just painting with Fred. Please, come in.” You moved aside so he could fit his broad shoulders through the doorframe and then held out your hand. “You must be Frank. I’m Y/N. Mary is just wonderful.” You smiled at him, feeling the heat rise in your cheeks.

He took your hand in both of his, gentler than you’d expected. “I’m sorry. Yes, I’m Frank. It’s great to meet you, finally.” He smiled wide for the first time and you were certain you’d pass out. Who LOOKS like this? “And thank you, she really is wonderful. I couldn’t do it without Roberta. She’s family.” He smiled and waved at Roberta, who was looking at you over the lip of her mug.

Mary didn’t even bother to turn around and face Frank. “What are you doing here, Frank? It’s only 11. I have a whole ‘nother hour with my friends.” You tried to keep your laugh quiet, covering your mouth with your hand and shaking your head.

“Well, excuse me for thinking you might like to go out on the boat with me this morning. I guess I’ll go by myself.”

Mary jumped up from the floor, scrambling to clean up your paints and books. “Can Y/N and Roberta come?”

Frank crouched down to meet Mary’s eyes. “Of course they can, if they’d like.” He looked back at you over his shoulder, trying to gauge your interest, then turning back to his niece. “But do you remember what I told you?”

You could see that Mary was making a conscious effort not to roll her eyes. “You told me that my adult friends have adult lives that include adult responsibilities, and they might not always be available to spend time with me.”

“And?” he looked at her expectantly.

“And I need to invite them to do things without assuming they will do them.” She couldn’t hold back her eye roll any longer, but she made sure not to let Frank see. “Roberta, Y/N, would you both like to join us on the boat today?”

You were amazed by the exchange taking place in front of you, able to see where some of Mary’s brains and tenacity came from. The conversation between the two flowed so easily, playful yet intelligent. It was clear that Frank treated Mary not as a child, but as a person, and you chided yourself internally for thinking that was kinda hot.

Shaking yourself out of your mildly inappropriate thoughts, you responded. “I’d love to come, Mary.” You smiled at her, bending over to help her pick up the last of the paints from the floor. “Roberta?”

Roberta gave you a look and you just knew she planned this somehow. “I actually do have some of those adult responsibilities to handle today, but thank you for inviting me.” You sent a glare in her direction, quick but no less scathing. “Maybe next time.” She winked at you before washing out her mug and saying her goodbyes.

You spent the whole rest of the day and night with Frank and Mary, doing everything from building sandcastles to cooking dinner together. Mary eventually fell asleep in your lap as you were watching Oliver & Company, Frank’s favorite Disney film that had become Mary’s, too. “An underrated classic,” they told you in unison.

You helped Frank put Mary to bed, a task made easier after such a tiring day. “I guess I should get going.” You stood awkwardly in the small kitchen, unsure of yourself and painfully aware of how close your hand was to Frank’s resting on the counter.

“Yeah, I have a job early in the morning.” He looked down at his shoes, unable to look you in the eye, and you wondered if he hadn’t found your company as enjoyable as you’d found his.

“Listen, I don’t know if you’ve been to Ferg’s? The little bar down the road? I go every Friday night just to relax and have a few beers. Maybe you’d like to come with me next weekend?”

Is he asking me on a date? You could feel your heartbeat racing. The look on your face must not have matched the excitement you felt at the prospect of spending time alone with the dreamy, kind, sarcastic man in front of you.

He felt like an idiot when you hesitated to answer. He clearly read everything wrong. He had to fix this. “It’s a good place to meet people, you know? I know you’re fairly new to the area, so if you’re looking for more local friends, it’s a good place to start.” He winced, hoping you couldn’t sense his embarrassment at thinking that you would want to go on a date with him.

You swallowed, trying not to let your disappointment show outwardly. Of course he’s not interested in me. Stupid. “Oh, yeah! That would be great, Frank. What time?”

Frank let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding, relieved that you didn’t seem offended by his offer. “How’s 7? I’ll pick you up? We can walk over together.”

And that’s how Fridays came to mean so much to you. Almost every Friday for the last six months, Frank met you at your door and you walked to Ferg’s together. Frank told you it would be a good place to make new friends, but you paid no mind to the other patrons. You only had eyes for each other, yet neither of you could see it, even though Roberta pointed out (repeatedly) that neither of you had taken anyone else home in all that time.

The more time you spent with Frank, the more certain you were that God was real and your life was His favorite trainwreck reality TV series. Even if you could have customized a dream man Build-A-Bear style, Frank still would blow your creation out of the water. He was smart and funny, not to mention an adoring parent to Mary, to whom you grew more attached each day. He was kind and thoughtful, talented and hard-working. Although he was a grouch, as Mary would say, he always was sweet to you. He took a genuine interest in anything you had to say, whether you were venting about work or filling him on the latest episode of whatever show you were binging. He was ridiculously sexy without even trying. All those hours he spent doing manual labor in the sun did wonders for his physique. You’d only seen him completely shirtless on one occasion, and the image of him with sweat dripping down his chest was burned into your memory, fueling your late-night thots and causing you to break out your vibrator on what was now a regular basis.

Six months had come and gone in the blink of an eye, and you’d begun to accept that Frank didn’t want to be anything more than friends with you. You decided tonight was as good a night as any to talk to someone new, to start letting go of your unrequited feelings.

You swapped out your usual jeans for a sundress, t-shirt bra for a push-up, and lip balm for lipstick. Putting your phone and some cash in a wristlet, you considered wearing your new strappy sandals. The walk to Ferg’s was about five minutes each way down a sandy road, though, and memories of the sticky floor inside aided your preferred pair of Converse in their victory for the night.

Just as you finished tying your shoes, you heard a knock at the door. You adjusted your cleavage and fluffed your hair a final time with one last look in the mirror. Here goes.

Frank felt like he had the wind knocked out of him in the best possible way. He suddenly felt entirely underdressed in his aloha shirt, even though it was his go-to for nights out of the house. He’d never seen you dressed so nicely when you weren’t going to work.

You were the kind of beautiful that didn’t require makeup. Your natural hair always framed your face perfectly, even if you didn’t think so. He thought you were adorable when you were concentrating on something, blowing your hair out of your face with a huff. Visions of your soft curves made their way into Frank’s dreams on more than one occasion. He had seen you in your swimsuit several times, sunbathing with Roberta and swimming with Mary at the beach. It wasn’t even all that revealing, but it accentuated your figure in ways that forced Frank into needing a cold shower or two. Above all, though, he admired your heart. You’d allowed Mary into your life without hesitation, spending time with her because you wanted to and allowing her to ask all those questions that Frank just wouldn’t be able to answer. It killed him that you didn’t see him the way he saw you, a perfect partner for him and a worthy maternal figure for Mary.

“Frank? You okay?” Your concerned voice shook him out of his thoughts, prompting him to close his mouth which apparently had opened wide in astonishment when you stood in the doorway.

“Yeah, um... You look…” He looked a little confused, his brow furrowed and lips pursed. “Why are you all dolled up? It’s only Ferg’s.” He wished he could’ve kicked himself in the teeth when your face fell at his question. He rubbed a hand over his face. “Shit. Let me try that again,” he nearly begged, running up to you to stop you from going back inside. “You look really nice, honey.” He ran his calloused hand up your forearm, but quickly returned it to his side when he realized what he’d done. “Is it a special occasion, though? Should I change?”

You gave him a watery smile, given that you were three seconds from slamming the door in his face and crying. “That’s better. Thank you.” You lightly pushed at his shoulder, trying and failing to ignore the electricity you felt at the contact. “No occasion, though. Just thought maybe it was about time I actually introduced myself to someone new.”

You couldn’t quite read his reaction. Little did you know he was certain he just felt his heart physically crack in his chest. “What do you mean?”

The two of you started walking, the tension between you thickening the very air you breathed. “Well, when you first invited me to Ferg’s, you said maybe I’d get to know some other people in the area, right? But we’re always with each other. I’m sure you’re itching to talk to someone other than me. I don’t want to hold you back.”

“Ah. Gotcha.” Frank abruptly reverted to the quiet, distant state he usually occupied before he met you. He sped up a bit, walking ahead of you and desperately attempting to school his features before you caught up with him.

Frank practically ran to the restroom, not slowing down even to hold the door open for you. You took a deep breath and rolled your shoulders, relaxing before entering the bar. Normally, whoever made it first would order drinks for you both, but Frank made it painfully clear that he had no desire to be in your company tonight. You ordered your usual, an Angry Orchard with a shot of Fireball in a tall glass. The combination tasted like apple cider, but the burn in your throat was caused by liquor rather than heat. It was strong enough to get you buzzed, but not so strong that you’d be stumbling home. You swallowed half the glass in one gulp, wanting to feel the warmth in your veins boosting your confidence as quickly as possible.

“Y/N? How are you?” You turned around, eyes meeting those of Jamie, your coworker. He leaned in for a hug and you accepted somewhat reluctantly, having interacted with him only in passing.

“Hey! I’m all right. What’s up?” You smiled at him, taking another sip of your drink. Jamie was not very subtly staring at your chest. You weren’t crazy about him, but the attention felt nice, so you allowed it.

“Not much. Just happy it’s Friday, ya know?” He looked around for a moment before returning his attention to you. “You’re usually here with that mechanic dude, right?”

You stifled a laugh thinking about how Frank would react if he heard himself referred to as “dude” by this prick. “Yeah, he’s around somewhere. We’re just-“

“-Just friends?” he finished for you with a hopeful look.

You nodded in response, looking him up and down. He was no Frank, but you couldn’t deny he was handsome. It had been so long since you’d even been kissed, and though you hated to admit it, you were touch-starved. One night couldn’t hurt, could it?

Meanwhile, Frank was splashing his face with cool water. He couldn’t believe he’d fucked up so royally. He was sure you didn’t want him how he wanted you, and now he was sure it was too late to tell you how he really felt.

He knew from the moment he saw you that he’d never get you out of his head. Roberta had been talking you up to Frank for weeks, but he wanted no part of it, mumbling something about there being “a reason why no one used matchmakers anymore.” He had no choice but to make your acquaintance when he was looking for Mary, and he’d never been so happy that Roberta could say she told him so.

Later that day at the beach, Mary approached him while you were dozing on a towel in the sand. She sat on his lap and reached for his face, using her pointer fingers to turn the straight line of his mouth up into a smile. “Roberta says you have a ‘charming’ smile, Frank. We think you should use it more.” He chuckled quietly, careful not to disturb you, and pulled Mary in close, planting a wet kiss on her cheek. She grimaced at the feeling, dramatically wiping at her face until he let her go back to reading with Fred.

The sound of the jukebox starting up cut short his reverie. He had to get out there and explain himself. Frank dried his face and hands with a paper towel before smacking his cheeks and stretching his neck back and forth to each shoulder.

Frank exited the restroom only to find some douchebag staring at your ass as you leaned over toward the bar. He saw red when the piece of shit held out his hand behind his back while his friend slipped a twenty-dollar bill into it, seemingly winning some sort of bet.

Jamie didn’t stand a chance when Frank stormed in between the two of you. “That’s IT,” he yelled, so intense he borderline bellowed. He threw whatever cash he had in his pocket on the bar to pay for your drinks before he pulled you outside, almost getting to your door while you fought against his grip. He only stopped when you spun your body around like something out of Dancing with the Stars and jumped in front of him, forcing him to catch you.

“Jesus Christ, Y/N, what are y-”

“-What are YOU doing, Frank? What the fuck was that?” You put your feet back down on the ground but remained facing him, arms crossed over your chest.

He groaned in frustration, suddenly realizing he actually had no clue how to respond. “Fuck.”

You looked at him, tapping your foot in anticipation.

“I didn’t like the way he was looking at you.” He rubbed at his temples in the way he did when he felt a headache coming on.

“And how was he looking at me, Frank? What does it matter to you?”

“He was looking at you like you were a piece of meat and I… FUCK!”

You both turned when your neighbor opened his window. “Can you kids keep it down out here?”

You waved bashfully at the old man. “Sorry, Mr. Parker,” you said in unison.

“Come inside, Frankie.” The nickname that typically made him roll his eyes at you never had sounded sweeter, now that its use confirmed you didn’t hate him for the scene he made. You both toed off your shoes at the door before you made your way into the living room, motioning for him to sit next to you on the couch when he tried to sit in the armchair across the room.

You leaned forward, pinching his chin between your thumb and forefinger. “Now what’s going on in that sun-damaged brain of yours?”

He let out a laugh so soft you almost missed it, but you were glad you didn’t. Sitting back against the arm of the couch, you pulled a pillow into your lap and hugged it, giving Frank your full attention.

Frank cleared his throat, doing his best to accept that it was now or never. “That guy was leering at you, and it pissed me off. You deserve better, Y/N.” He pried your fingers from where they were locked around the pillow to hold your hands in his.

“If you want to meet new people, that’s great. If you don’t want to be with me, that’s a little less great, but I’d understand. He didn’t even pay for your drinks. And I th-”

You covered his mouth with one of your hands, and he knitted his brows in confusion. “You’re making it sound like it’s an option to be with you.” You were in disbelief, side-eyeing him, waiting for Ashton Kutcher to announce that you were, in fact, being Punk’d.

The corners of his mouth lifted into the soft smile he reserved for you. It was the same one he gave you whether you were on a tangent about how “Obsessed” by Mariah Carey is “the single greatest diss track of all time” or you were helping Mary put a harness and leash on Fred “just to see how he’d do” on a walk.

“For a distinguished professor, you’re kind of a dummy, Frank.” You took his face in your hands, thrilled to be feeling his stubble against your palms. Before he could talk back to you, you kissed him, unsure how you denied yourselves such a simple yet extraordinary pleasure for so long. It only took a moment for him to relax into it, his hands removing the pillow between you before finding your waist and pulling you almost into his lap.

You deepened the kiss, threading your fingers through his hair. He pulled away first, pressing his forehead to yours. “Seems like we’re both dummies, huh?”

You were going to ask why pulled away until you looked down to see a considerable tent forming in the front of his jeans. You laughed as he pulled you into a tight hug, one arm wrapped around you while the other hand held your face against his neck.

You kissed the side of his neck softly before leaning back to look at him. “All this time? I thought you didn’t see me this way.” You held his face, stroking his cheeks with your thumbs. “You asked me to go to Ferg’s and then said I could meet other people, so I thought that was it, you know?”

He covered your hands with his and pecked your lips softly. “Honey, I thought it was the other way around. I was trying to ask you out and you looked like you’d seen a ghost.” You giggled, spluttering a bit because tears had started falling at some point. He wiped your tears away before swiping his thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down a bit. “We’re fools, aren’t we?”

You nodded slowly and Frank saw something wicked flash in your eyes before you took his thumb in your mouth, sucking lightly. “Jesus, honey.” His length hardened underneath you and you could feel the wetness beginning to pool in your panties, prompting you to grind down into his lap.

You released his thumb from your mouth, pressing your chest into his before kissing him again. “I think we’re only fools if we don’t take advantage of the rest of your adult time.” You removed your dress easily, returning your hands to Frank’s shoulders to push off his shirt.

He surged forward to kiss you again, working magic with his tongue against yours. You wrapped your legs around his waist and he picked you up, walking you into the bedroom. Placing you on the bed carefully, he removed your bra and panties before pulling off his boxers and jeans in one go. You thought you wanted him before, but now that you could see everything he’d been hiding under his baggy clothes, you didn’t see how you could ever let him leave your bedroom.

The next few minutes were spent exploring each other’s mouths while Frank stretched you with his fingers. You didn’t think you’d ever been so wet in your life and thought you might pass out if you didn’t feel him inside you immediately. You gave his cock a few strokes before sliding his head through your folds, coating him in your slick.

“Waitwaitwait, honey. Do you have a condom?”

“You don’t need one if you don’t want one. It’s okay.”

He looked like you just gave him tomorrow’s winning lotto numbers, taking a deep breath to steady himself before he looked at you again. “Oh, God. Are you sure?”

“Mhm. I wanna feel you. Make me yours?”

“Anything you want, honey, but if you change your mind, just tell me, okay?” He lined himself up, seconds shy of entering you for the first time.

“I figured if you were gonna be possessive of me tonight, you might as well take it the whole nine, Frankie.” You laughed as he let out an exasperated sigh. “Seriously, though, I’m clean, I’m on the pill, and I’ve wanted you for a long time.” You reached up to scratch lightly through his chest hair.

“The only thing I wanna hear right now is you moaning for me.” He drove into you harshly, but waited a moment for you to adjust once he was seated to the hilt. “So damn wet and tight for me, honey. You’re so perfect, so beautiful.” He kissed you again before he began to move, slowly but surely making you lose your mind.

He dipped his head down to take one nipple in his mouth, then the other, effectively shutting you up and emptying all thoughts from your head. He nipped at the swell of your breast, soothing the bite with his tongue. “Fuck, Frank, please!”

“Please what, honey?” He picked up his pace, fucking into you so vigorously you moved up the bed. “Tell me what you need.”

“Make me cum, Frank. Please, baby, I need it. Need you,” you cried, leaning up to bite into his shoulder, stifling your moans.

“I wanna hear you, Y/N. I wanna hear those pretty moans while I’m making this perfect pussy cum for me.” The combination of his filthy words and the sight of him sucking on his own fingers before rubbing at your clit sent you over the edge, making you scream his name over and over again for what felt like forever and not long enough.

You could tell he was close, his hips stuttering and losing their rhythm. He began to pull out, unsure if you were willing to let him finish inside you, but knowing he was too close to wait for an answer.

You hooked your legs around his waist and pulled him close, pushing him back into you. “Fill me up, Frank. I wanna feel all of you. Please give it to me,” you whimpered. His release triggered another for you, chanting each other’s names surely loud enough for the neighbors to hear.

He stayed inside you as you both came down from your shared high, gingerly flipping you over so he laid on his back with you on his chest. He kissed the top of your head, fingers fluttering up and down your sides.

“What’s on your mind now, Frankie?” You looked up at him through your lashes, mildly terrified of the answer.

He looked down at you with the most adoration you’d ever seen, lifting your chin so your eyes met his in the moonlight. “That wasn’t too soon, was it? You mean so much to me and to Mary. I don’t wanna mess this up. I don’t ever wanna hurt you. You’re the best thing in my life besides Mary, you know that?”

You kissed his chest before looking back up at him, smiling. “First of all, I would argue that wasn’t soon enough.” He hissed as you clenched around his still softening cock inside you.

“You’re evil.”

Winking at him, you continued tracing patterns on his chest with your fingers. “Second, that all kinda sounds like you might be in love with me, Frank Adler.”

His hands stopped moving for a second before he responded. “Would you run away if I said I am?”

“Well, I wouldn’t run away. This is my house.” You thought your heart might explode in your chest.

“I didn’t even say it, but I take it back,” he huffed, throwing his arm over his eyes.

“What if I told you I felt the same way?”

He grinned, sitting up to kiss you feverishly on your cheeks, the tip of your nose, and finally your lips. You could feel him starting to harden again inside you, leading to round two of… well, you lost count.

You ate breakfast and showered together in time for Frank to return home before Mary did, agreeing to talk more later and to hold out on Roberta for a while.

Frank stood on your doorstep, leaning in to kiss you once more. All of a sudden, you heard a familiar meow and thanked God you were dressed and not in your robe.

“Frank, what are you doing here? I thought I’d come see Y/N since I’m not supposed to come home until noon.”

You bit your tongue to keep from cackling. Frank ran a hand over his face, his blissful bubble burst. He was getting you a hotel room next weekend.

#shamelesshoesforchris2021 #maggie's writing #frank adler #frank adler x fem!reader #frank adler fluff #frank adler smut

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spacedikut · 3 years

Text

the blessing of a blizzard ; spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x gn!reader

summary: a blizzard leaves the team holed up in the bau office. spencer can’t stop thinking about your elusive boyfriend, mike, who might not be your boyfriend after all. 4.3k

a/n: festive fic! kind of! im too scared to do a final check so if there’s errors or i misuse pronouns just lemme know ily happy holidays ! thank you to the incredible @homoose for helping with dialogue :D

Mike. His name is Mike, and Spencer hates him.

Full name Michael, Spencer presumes, which comes from Hebrew meaning “who is like God?” A rhetorical question, implying there is no person like God, Michael was one of the archangels in Hebrew tradition and the only one identified as an archangel in the Bible.

What Michael should mean, however, is the guy that stole your heart and left Spencer thinking things very unlike him – that Mike, a man Spencer has never met and that clearly makes you very happy, has a really stupid name, for example.

There are three things Spencer knows about him:

1. Ever since you started deciding on his wardrobe, ladies love him. It makes you a little jealous, apparently.

2. You love baking him homemade treats whenever you can. Like a movie playing in his head, Spencer can perfectly remember you excitedly chatting with Garcia and Emily, animatedly explaining how excited Mike gets when he sees you’ve made something just for him.

3. Mike can be a bit of a dick, actually. There have been several mornings you’ve come in with a long face, leaning back in your desk chair far enough to view the world upside down and whining about how grumpy Mike was that morning, how you had to tip-toe around your apartment lest he get mad.

You’d called him your soulmate, added that he’s a light in your life you didn’t know you needed until you had him. You’re a person who chooses their words carefully, so when you’re walking around putting Mike and soulmate in the same sentence, you mean business.

That business is ripping Spencer’s heart out of his chest, apparently. Because you’re busy showing JJ pictures of him on your phone right now, blissfully unaware of the subconscious glare Spencer is lasering into your phone as he leans against the jet counter.

Spencer’s never had the honour of seeing Mike (a genuine word you used – honour) and you know what? Spencer doesn’t want to know what Mike looks like. Spencer doesn’t care. Mike’s probably ugly, anyway, and Spencer’s confidence within himself grows day by day and if there’s one thing he’s learnt recently it’s that comparison is the thief of joy and-

“Oh!” JJ exclaims, “He’s gorgeous!”

Fuck Mike. Really, fuck him.

+++

The floor is slippery beneath everyone’s feet, the surrounding area slowly losing its mixture of colours to blend into one coat of white.

It’s snowing.

Garcia greets the team, a steaming cup of tea in her bejewelled hands, and everyone gets to work right away. There’s whispers of the snow getting heavier and sticking and covering more and more ground with more and more depth; people are rushing against the proverbial clock to get done and get home before they’re all stuck.

But that won’t happen, right? If people were genuinely concerned about getting snowed in, surely everyone would’ve been sent home early as a precaution. Right? Right?

Wrong.

Rossi’s the one to notice it, calling out, “Check it out. Snow’s pretty bad.”

He says it like it’s nothing, like they’ll race to the windows then deflate with disappointment because you couldn’t even create a single snowball with that light coat, but holy hell people are walking around with snow up to their ankles and it’s still coming down thick. And then the lights are flickering and JJ is making frantic calls home to Will and Hotch is exiting his office, phone pressed to his ear, calling everyone to attention:

“There’s a blizzard incoming. It’s too dangerous for anyone to be on the roads, so we’re being told to sit tight. You should all try to call home, just in case; we don’t know how long we’ll be here.”

Some people still brave it, still try to head on home, and whether they make it or not is up to the Gods. The team glance around, varying expressions – Emily and Derek look pissed, JJ is worried, and you and Rossi are straight-faced. Penelope is bouncing in excitement.

“It’s like a sleepover!”

All Spencer can think about is how Mike will have to suffer another day without you. He bites back a smile.

+++

Spencer’s straining his neck, butt barely on his desk chair, in attempt to see around all the bustling people that stand between you and him. Through the glass BAU doors, on the phone, your shoulders are slumped and you kick your boot against the floor a few times to channel your multitude of emotions into something. He hopes Mike isn’t giving you a hard time for something that isn’t within your control.

Emily looks up from her monitor, where she’s doing Christmas shopping even though it’s Christmas Eve, and looks thoroughly amused by Spencer’s internal battle of wanting to watch you but not wanting it to be obvious.

“You good, Reid?”

Spencer flinches like Emily pinched him. “Yeah, good. Fine. Are you good?”

Emily makes a show of slowly turning to look at you, still on the phone, then slowly turning back to Spencer’s wide-eyed gaze. She smirks. “You think they’re talking to Mike?”

Yes, Spencer does think that, but he’d made a point to not fully acknowledge it. And there’s something about Emily’s smugness that tells Spencer she’s teasing him – she knows something he doesn’t and it makes his eyes narrow. “Probably. Why?”

Whatever the response is, Emily’s barely opened her mouth before she’s interrupted by Penelope Garcia gracefully clapping her hands, getting the attention of every BAU member. The team quiets and all eyes are on Penelope. Except Spencer, who watches with concern as you sneak back to your desk, a furrow to your brow and downward dips either side of your mouth.

“I know these are less-than-great circumstances, and we’re stuck in work of all places, but that shouldn’t mean we can’t have a little fun! So…”

She wildly gestures for Hotch to step forward, a cheesy grin on her face and a gleam in Hotch’s eye that tells everyone he’s also smiling but internally, and she takes the three large boxes he was carrying like the good sidekick he is.

“We’re building gingerbread houses!”

There’s exclamations of surprise and joy; Emily lights up at the idea of doing anything other than work or sitting at her desk, and JJ takes a box to look it over before asking, “Where did you get these?”

Hotch answers. “They were supposed to be for the kids,” He shrugs, holding back a smile, “However, I guess we can use them now.”

“Yes,” Penelope nods, “Yes, we can use them now. Get your game faces on, because this is a competition. Hotch and Rossi are the judges, because they’re grumpy old men, and the rest of us will be in teams of two fighting to build the best gingerbread house the BAU has ever seen.”

Derek speaks up for the first time, just to insult Spencer. “I refuse to be on a team with Reid. He has no creative skills.”

Members of the team laugh and Spencer reacts indignantly. He wants to reply, but you’re already speaking.

“Hey! I’ll take him! Spencer’s great.”

Many heads snap to you when you speak, Spencer’s surely got whiplash, but you’re looking at him and smiling at him and him alone. He’s breathless at the sight, how you chose him and have literal stars in your eyes, yet all he can think is how undeserving he is of such a beauty. How undeserving anyone is, mostly Mike, to exist in the same reality as someone who puts the definition of beautiful to shame.

Spencer’s about to make the best damn gingerbread house the world has ever seen.

+++

So, building a gingerbread house? A little more difficult than originally thought.

Maybe it’s the sticky icing, or the temptation to simply eat all the sweet decorative candy rather than use it for its intended purpose, or…

Maybe it’s the pretty teammate Spencer has that keeps brushing against him, keeps brushing against his hands, and like a virus to a computer you completely wipe Spencer of all thoughts other than: Y/N.

Spencer caught you watching him while he was rolling up his shirt sleeves, caught you staring at his hands and trailing your eyes up his forearms, following the sleeves as they moved inch by inch up to his elbows.

Then, when Spencer was holding two pieces of gingerbread together, you were too lost in thought to put the icing between the cracks and cement them together. Your eyes were trained on the fingers pressing the pieces together. Spencer had to call your name three times to wake you up.

Then, something weird happened (if the previous instances weren’t weird enough). You two had been in your own bubble of hushed tones and accidental touching, surrounded by bickering and collapsing houses and at one point Emily offered Rossi twenty bucks if he just votes for her and JJ without them making a house, and suddenly it’s silent. All he can hear is his heartbeat, his blood pumping in his ears, and all he can feel is the warmth of your breath on his ear because you’re right there, over his shoulder, joining him in hunching over your creation to decorate it with all kinds of shapes and colours.

The close proximity is too much. It’s too much.

You lean even closer, shoulder and arm pressed directly against Spencer’s, and lift another hand to place a miniature candy cane next to the gingerbread door. The action causes your hand to brush Spencer’s, and for the first time ever he’s not jolting away like he’s been electrocuted, no, his hand stays there, hovering, waiting and hoping for more.

Hoping for more of you.

And you seem to realise, too, that Spencer’s reaction is abnormal. He can’t decide if you’re testing the waters, or if it was a mere accident. But what are you testing the waters for? Why are you trying to touch him? Why do you want to touch him?

He takes a sharp intake of breath. From the corner of his eye, he sees you turn to look at him, and he almost doesn’t reciprocate. Almost.

You’re so close, face so close to his own. You take the softest breaths, in and out, sending the gentlest puffs of air onto Spencer’s lips.

He has no idea what the fuck is happening. He doesn’t want it to stop.

Your eyes, always shining and full of an emotion Spencer can’t decipher, dance around his face – his eyes, to his nose, stopping on each cheek, back and forth and up and down. Spencer’s captured by them, unable to tear himself away, which has become quite the habit since he’s known you.

Then you’re looking at his lips.

Spencer blinks, hoping to clear away the obvious hallucination he’s having, but no. Nothing changes. Your gaze remains, unwavered, making Spencer subconsciously open his mouth. The softest gasp leaves it when your pupils dilate.

This is the perfect moment to kiss, right? Right here, in front of the gingerbread house you made together, decorated together, and now begin the start of something else together. It makes sense, it’s almost poetic, and Spencer’s thought about you and him in a relationship enough times to consider this opportunity good and sweet enough to regale everyone with in the future.

Can you imagine it? “We had our first kiss in front of the gingerbread house we slaved over together. We won the competition, too.”

There’s a loud clang – Penelope found an actual gong from somewhere – and Rossi announces that the timer has gone off and it’s time for the judges to vote for the winner.

When you gently pick up yours and Spencer’s creation and take it to a cloth-covered table, where Rossi and Hotch ominously stand with their arms crossed, Spencer is frozen in place.

Oh my god. Oh my god.

There’s no way you wanted to kiss him. It isn’t possible. You’ve never looked at him like that before. It must’ve been a mistake.

But you were so close…

No. If Spencer made that move, it would’ve ruined everything – your friendship, the festive fun, the atmosphere of the entire evening. Everyone’s expected to be stuck here for at least another six hours, and making it tense and awkward was not something Spencer is willing to do.

But your eyes…

Spencer can’t think about that fact too much. That could mean anything – dilated pupils don’t necessarily mean you’re in love. You could’ve gotten a good whiff of the gingerbread and felt hungry, or a song you really liked started playing from the playlist Penelope created. Or, most likely, Spencer thinks, you were thinking about someone else.

Your boyfriend, for example.

You have a boyfriend. Mike.

Of course, you were probably thinking of Mike. Your boyfriend.

Spencer almost kissed someone in a relationship, and he’s pretty sure you almost kissed him too.

+++

Much to Derek’s chagrin, you and Spencer win the gingerbread house contest.

Penelope was baffled, frantically gesturing to the Jacuzzi she made with icing and- Derek made miniature weights? Somehow? It looked chaotic.

“Practicality, my dear,” Rossi told her. “Who, living in a gingerbread house, is worried about working out?”

Even though you and Spencer were the winners, Derek and Penelope and their pouting (and calls for a rematch) took the attention away from the obvious awkward tension between the winners. Spencer stayed at the desk you worked at while you took your house to the judges, stayed at the desk when you were crowned and stayed at the desk when you cheered.

You looked at him, wide grin and happy eyes, and all he could do was tightly smile back. Give a thumbs up.

He gave you a thumbs up. You nearly kissed less than ten minutes prior. And all he could do was give you a thumbs up.

The light in your eyes dimmed, but you seemed to understand.

Understand what, exactly? Spencer’s not so sure either. But something clicked in your head – you nodded to yourself as if confirming whatever you’ve concluded, and turned your back to him.

That was an hour ago. Now, the team has spread across everyone’s desks. Turns out, Hotch is a big fan of gingerbread - he’s consumed most of Derek and Penelope’s creation, icing and all, while Rossi has decided now is a good time to open one of the many bottles of whiskey he has in his office.

Spencer believes having that much alcohol in your work environment is breaking some kind of rule, but the snow isn’t letting up and it looks like a sleepover in the BAU office is likely. He deserves a little whiskey.

And where are you in all of this?

Spencer won’t lie and pretend he hasn’t had you in his line of sight the entire time, so he’ll recap what you’ve been doing: laughing at Derek’s jokes, plaiting Penelope’s hair, eating the candy Emily and JJ didn’t use on their house.

You’d left the room to call home and check up on things (check up on Mike, Spencer thinks bitterly) and now you stand in front of the large window by the BAU elevators, watching the snow fall.

Spencer has the perfect view of you through the glass doors. When the call ends and you stay there, he grabs a paper plate, grabs one of the walls from yours and his masterpiece and makes his way towards you.

He doesn’t know what he’ll say, or how he’ll even act, but he wants to talk to you. Things feel weird after the almost-kiss, and Spencer never wants things to be weird with you. He can’t have things weird with you. You hadn’t talked to him once since the competition, and he has a feeling you’re waiting for him to make the first move.

So he does. If that’s what you need, he’ll do it.

(He’s making this more dramatic than it needs to be, really, but he feels everything so deeply when it comes to you)

“Hey.”

Spencer’s voice perfectly matches the snowy atmosphere. It makes you feel warm inside, like you’ve just taken a sip of hot cocoa, and so often he’s left goosebumps on your skin just from speaking.

Seeing the outstretched paper plate in his hand, you take it gratefully. “Hi there. Thanks.” You nod to the gingerbread that you begin breaking up.

You hand him the first piece even though he brought it for you, and it’s silent while you both chew thoughtfully and watch the pure white outside. It doesn’t feel weird, necessarily, standing here, shoulder-to-shoulder with you, but you’re certainly more in your head than usual. You’re thinking a lot and, as much as it hurts him, Spencer knows you’re likely preoccupied by your boyfriend and not what transpired between you earlier.

It’s that thought, that disappointment settling into his chest, that opens his mouth unconsciously: “How’s Mike? Does he know you’re not making it home tonight?”

He regrets it immediately, worsened by the way you stop mid-chew, eyes dimming like Spencer’s taken a baseball bat and shattered the lights inside.

This is unchartered territory – talking about Mike with you – and you know it. Who, in their right mind, willingly asks the person they have feelings for how their relationship with someone that isn’t you is going? Does Spencer enjoy pain?

Although this is the first time Spencer’s mentioned Mike to your face (he’s mentioned Mike plenty to a laughing Derek), he’s been so close to presenting the topic many times. He wants to know so badly – wants to know how well Mike treats you, really treats you (he will profile you), if you see a long-term future with him and if not, on average how long does it take you to get over your exes? Just an estimate?

You swallow the gingerbread you’re eating. “He’s okay. My roommate has to take care of him, but at least he’s got someone.”

Huh?

Since when do you have a roommate?

And why is your roommate taking care of your boyfriend?

Oh. Guilt blooms in Spencer when it registers that he’s been thinking ill of a person that might be sick. No wonder you dote on him so much and seemed devastated to make that phone call home earlier - Mike needs you, you can’t be there for him, and you feel horrible for it.

Spencer feels horrible for having the subject of his anger be someone you so clearly cherish, so deeply love. He’s embarrassed that if he was asked to explain why he hates Mike so much, he’d have to tell them it’s because Mike has you, and you’re what Spencer wants. What about what you want?

“Take care of him?” Spencer asks. The concern is genuine, which is an emotion he never thought he’d have in regards to Mike. “Is something wrong?”

“Oh,” You shrug. “He needs someone watching over him at all times, that’s all.”

That’s all?

You continue. “Make sure he eats – and only eats what he’s supposed to. Give him his meds. Make sure he poops. Those kinda things.”

What?

“Your… roommate makes sure your boyfriend poops?”

Now, Spencer knows what you look like when you’re confused. Honestly, he has every facial expression you’ve graced him with tucked away in a proverbial box he spends too much time thinking about. He knows that when you’re trying not to laugh, you bite the inside of your left cheek. When you’re frustrated but need to present a professional front, you bite the inside of your right cheek. Happiness fills your entire face, like every inch is consumed by it, and you’ve trained yourself to transport anger to your hands, where they twist into tight fists and leave fingernail marks in your palms.

Confusion is one of his favourites (second only to joy – for obvious reasons. Have you seen your smile?) because it takes many forms. You’ve pursed your lips, narrowed your eyes, tapped your foot on the floor. When you do them all, Spencer considers it a jackpot. There’s something about the way you look when you’re presented with something you can’t quite figure out yet, when you’re perplexed, that just-

You make it hard for him to concentrate. He can’t be a genius when you’re around because you’re so pretty. You’re a vision and he can never rattle off information to you specifically because he will trip up and divert to talking about the beauty that is you and that would be embarrassing for many reasons.

But this type of confusion? The way you’re looking at him right now? He’s never seen this before. Your jaw has dropped, your brows are furrowed so deeply they might fall off, and you look… horrified.

“My… my boyfriend?”

Spencer mirrors your expression. “Yeah, your boyfriend. Mike?” He looks around, waiting for cameramen to jump out and tell him he’s being pranked, because why don’t you know who your own boyfriend is?

You move slowly, placing the half-eaten plate on the windowsill before turning to face Spencer fully. You take a second to compose yourself.

“Mike is my cat.”

Mike is…

“And he’s having digestive issues, so he needs to be watched pretty much full-time.”

Silence. Tense, weird silence.

“…You thought Mike was my boyfriend?”

Spencer sputters, then, because of course he did! “Yes! The way you talk about him was… it was… it seemed…”

He flustered, oh so flustered, hands flailing and face enflamed and burning from the inside out. How had he not known?! How had… how had your wires gotten so convoluted, so mixed?

Does everyone know that Mike is a cat? Is Spencer the only one out of the loop? The look Emily gave him earlier, that knowing too-smug look, was that…

She was making fun of him. She knew he thought Mike was a person, not a pet, and was teasing him because of it.

All at once, the world seems lighter and dimmer – a contradiction that leaves Spencer’s chest heaving – because the past year feels like a lie. He’s spent so long seeing the way you come to life when talking about Mike, sitting opposite you on the jet as you awaken like a dying flower watered when home got closer and closer, and it was all for… a cat?

There’s a mist over Spencer’s eyes as he recalls every overheard declaration of love and coos of how handsome Mike is, and you’re laughing. Spencer’s having a crisis in front of your very eyes and you’re laughing. Hunched over, a single tear falling from your eye, clutching your stomach because it hurts from the ferocity of your giggles.

By the time you quieten, your hand is over your mouth to cover the big grin that grounds him, gives him something other than this revelation to focus on. Spencer’s still baffled, frazzled, but there’s the tiniest of smiles on his face because of how overjoyed you look. And he did that. Albeit his stupidity did it, but Spencer’s stupidity nonetheless.

You’re out of breath. “God I… I don’t even know what to say. You really thought my cat was my boyfriend?”

Spencer’s fighting a smile, lips wiggling. The way you’re looking at him now, all blinding smile and crinkled eyes, alleviates him of any anxiety he earlier had. Like you’ve wiped away his plate-full of worries, all the times it felt like he took an arrow to the heart, all the times he caught you smiling at your phone because you were looking at pictures of Mike, it’s all worth it. Because you’ve never looked like this while talking about Mike, and Mike is a cat. He isn’t a person, isn’t your boyfriend. Mike is a cat and Spencer has a chance.

Spencer has a chance.

“Does this… this means you’re single, right?”

A somewhat terrified look overtakes his face.

“Oh, shoot, you are single, right?”

You bite your lower lip and nod. “Yes, Spencer. I’m single.”

He lets out a breath. “Good. That’s good. I’m glad.” He repeats your nod, realises what he said could imply, and starts shaking his head. “Not-not good good. You’re incredible and need to be appreciated, but… good, because that means we could, you know…” He gestures vaguely. God, why can’t he get coherent words out? “If you wanted to, we could-“

“Are you trying to ask me out, Spencer?”

“Yes.”

Just to cause immense emotional distress, you raise an eyebrow, mischief clear on your face, and wait for him to continue.

“You want me to actually ask?” He winces.

“I’ve spent the last year convinced you didn’t like me, so, yes, I want you to actually ask.”

The new information sends ice down Spencer’s back because what? Since when? “You- what?“

“I’ve liked you for a while, Spencer,” You cross your arms over your body, slightly embarrassed. “But you always kept your distance so I did too, I guess.”

“I thought you were taken!” Spencer exclaims. “If I’d known I would’ve-we could’ve- I would-“

“You’d what, Reid?” There’s a teasing lilt to your tone, but there’s no denying you’re incandescently happy.

He takes a deep breath and asks what he’s wanted to for far too long. “When this is all over, would you like to go on a date with me, Y/N?”

Relief flashes in your eyes, like you didn’t fully believe what was happening until he finally asked, and words have never sounded as pretty as when you say: “Yes. Yes I would.”

Like lovesick idiots, you stand in front of the window with the snowfall as a backdrop, grinning at each other. You can’t help it – you lean up, press a kiss to his cheek that immediately sets his skin ablaze, and fall back onto your feet with a smile sweeter than all the sugar you’d consumed today.

“Merry Christmas, Spencer.”

Somehow, despite the nerves and the way his heart is trying to leap into your hands, he manages to tell you, “Merry Christmas, Y/N.”

+++

(Three weeks later, Spencer meets the Mike. Turns out he’s a nice guy. Spencer takes the first opportunity he can to apologise for all the bad things he said about him behind his back. The purring tells Spencer he’s forgiven)

+++

tags: @pinkdiamond1016 @bluerose512 @andreasworlsboring101 @bitchyreids @roses-and-grasses @ta-ka-shi-ma @rexorangecouny @unmistakablyunknown @goofygubler14 @gublertoon @averyhotchner @prettyboy-reid @shadyladyperfection

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fanfic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds fanfic #spencer reid imagine #genuinely if anyone reads this and has suggestions on how i can improve as a writer #and maybe as a person in general #pls message me #something about this feels OFF and i cant tell what

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barnesandco · 3 years

Text

Little Hands (V)

Series Masterlist

Bucky treats you to a day out.

This is an entry for @star-spangled-bingo 2021. Word count: 1625. Square filled: “Lucky (Clint’s dog)”

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: Police. Sad child.

A/N: This is so late and I am so sorry. Let me know what you think! And massive thank you’s to anyone who is still reading this disaster.

Morning brings a new perspective, a new ease in the way Bucky moves around Ana. He pretends he doesn’t know that you witnessed the way they bonded last night, and for that benefit you don’t bring it up. It’s discussed and laid to rest with the intelligent smile you give him, one that he lets dissolve through his sternum and curl around his heart. Tendrils of soft hope, wisps of quiet connection, strengthening the friendship you’ve established and glinting with promise of something more.

Something more might have to wait, but Bucky thinks you’ve made it clear that it is there, on the horizon, awaiting you both. A future, one that, on his part, also involves the little soul that sits on top of the kitchen island, swinging her legs into the cabinets. Children are early risers, and so are superheroes, but today, on this cool morning, Anastasia has them beat.

So, it’s just the three of you. Bucky, and Anastasia, and you. You’re cutting up fruit and washing berries for the pancakes he’s making while you also remotely monitor the tea. A minty brew, warm, topped with honey and lemon, sharp enough to wake lingering drowsiness while still soothing, syrup-soft. You know your stuff, and Bucky’s glad to have a change of pace after a fast week of too much too strong too sweet coffee, even if he chooses to have it that way.

This particular change of pace would give him whiplash if not for the fact that he got a good night’s sleep, Anastasia’s nightmares notwithstanding. It has strengthened his resolve to find her a child psychologist, somebody who can help her better than he can, once this ordeal with Tobias Zola is over and they are all safe.

He needs to keep her safe. It was her mother’s – no, her final caretaker’s – last wish and request, and now that they are tied by blood, it has become his. She really looks so much like him. Her hair hasn’t developed the same brown yet, it’s still a shade lighter, with hints of golden for the lesser age, the summer sun bleaching that has yet to pass. It’s curly like his never was, likely an affectation of whatever female contribution is in her genetics.

Her genetics. Bucky shakes his head at the frying pan. He doesn’t want to sound like one of the scientists that put her into this situation, into this cruel, cruel world.

A clearing of your throat breaks him out of the thought bubble, and he flips the last pancake out of the pan and onto a plate, much to Anastasia’s delight. The ensuing giggle is the closest thing he’s heard to laughter from the kid. That’s not good. Children need laughter. He makes himself, and Ana, a silent promise to be more uplifting.

“Do you think we could leave the Compound, today?” You ask, out of nowhere, as you place the assorted fruit on the table. Ana, whose hands is halfway to the strawberries, stops as she waits on Bucky’s answer. Clearly, this is something she wants, too. Who is he to deny them?

“Sure. Fury might want us to take some security measures, but we should be fine.”

-----

That’s how they wind up at an ice cream parlor by 10 am, after the security has been cleared with Fury and Sam, and the only addition to their little team is Lucky, a dog apparently shared by Clint and his protégé in the city, one Kate Bishop. They’ve been told that while not a trained security dog, Lucky has sensors that will let Kate know if they’re in danger, and she can provide and send further backup. The rest of the Avengers are busy with tracking down leads to Zola.

Bucky knows he can protect you and Ana just fine, should need be, and isn’t worried about the fact that the only bodyguard they’ve been provided with is canine. Ana has bonded with the dog and walks with one hand in the fur by its shoulder and the other in his own hand, her eyes flitting between the sights of the city and her companions. Her caretakers. Her guardians.

The ice cream place is a little business that another one of Steve’s children is working at on weekends. is a head shorter than Bucky, and terrifies the living wits out of him. She’s one hell of a people watcher, she has a sweet tooth and a thing for Jane Austen, and the world is lucky her foremost interest is in dessert making and not something far more nefarious, like say, espionage.

She greets Bucky at the door with a hug and shakes both your and Ana’s hands, and lets you all sit outside so you can be with Lucky. The rusty fall sun makes Lucky’s fur shine like spun gold and light Ana up in hues of ruby and topaz, and you turn your face to the light and sigh.

For a moment, the world is quiet. For a moment, the scent of sugar crystallizes on his face like the sensation of rightness does. And when it ends, it’s not with a crash landing. It’s a gentle reorientation. You open your eyes, look at him with immeasurable affection. Ana pets Lucky. Vivien says, “Let me know when you’re ready to order, Uncle Bucky,” and puts a menu on the table.

You decide on a mango ice cream shake, Bucky wants an Oreo sundae, and Ana, of course, demands the largest dish on the menu, the one whose picture is emblazoned across a good quarter of the laminated card. A massive ice cream and berry split.

When your order arrives, Anastasia laughs for the second time. Bucky thinks he should say something, make a joke, conversation, but in this moment, nothing else could feel so forced. He’s a man of few words and many services. That’s how he chooses to love, and Ana can see that. You can see that.

It's why you nod affirmingly when he meets your eyes over Ana’s mountain of ice cream. You carry entire sentences in your glances, words of silent confidence, the fuel he is feeding on right now.

-----

Ana is happy. The world, if for a few hours, is right. He knows it cannot last, even now, walking back to the car after a morning and afternoon of joy, arms laden down with bags of new things, treats he never had but can now provide. Despite the resignation that has started to weigh on him, he reminds himself: his daughter has a home. She will be safe, and he will take care of her, no matter what it takes.

-----

The car ride back is louder than he anticipated. You give the music a go, playing something by Raveena, a sweet voice he likes but that Ana talks over, making quite the chaotic symphony that he likes even more. Lucky contributes the occasional bright bark that makes Ana laugh, pausing her incessant chatter, if momentarily.

Mostly, she talks about what she saw, the things she has now started to process, asks questions about the stores she did not previously have the luxury to, presumably because her previous guardian didn’t have the means, and besides, they were on the run.

He’s grateful to her. Irene. Before he was confused but now it is obvious: Ana is his daughter, and he wants her as much as any other parent does their child, even if the way she was thrown into her life was unconventional, to say the least.

Looking at her in the rearview mirror as she twists in her seat to reach Lucky in the back, he knows he will move heaven and earth to remove the threats in her path. It makes him dangerous. It makes him a father.

“You okay?” You ask, following his gaze, and Bucky smiles, eyes returning to the road.

“Never better.”

Your hand finds his where it takes a break from the steering wheel to rest on his knee. He twists your joined hands until he can hold yours. Squeezes it, as if to say, thank you. As if to say, we’ll all be okay.

-----

Turns out, he’s wrong, and this is why you should never rely on routines. Promises are made to be broken. When they get back, the NYPD is waiting, and not to update them on the case. He sees the waiting handcuffs, and he knows you do, too.

You make the right move, trying to usher Ana out of the room with some excuse or other, but it’s too late. Her instincts have latched onto the fact that something is very, very wrong.

The DA says, “James Buchanan Barnes, you’re under arrest as a suspect in the murder of Irene Orlov,” and Ana screams, and screams, and screams.

Bucky tries not to close his eyes, knows it’s too late to put his hands over his ears as cuffs close around his wrists. Besides, he needs to show that he understands the charges, and yes, they’re reading him his Miranda rights, and yes, he understands.

He’s innocent. And his team will prove it. But it’s no use arguing with these people, so he goes silently, even as he hears Sam, Steve and Nat going at it with the police chief in the dull background of Ana’s roar. It’s no use. The police wouldn’t be here without reason, and they’ll let him go when his team finds them reason to.

Everything is going to be okay, he tells himself. It has to. Because he doesn’t know what he’ll do if it isn’t.

Bucky sees you, tear-sodden and holding onto a distraught Ana, in the reflection of the glass doors before they slide open.

#SSB2021 #bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #marvel #mcu #marvel fanfic #mcu fanfic #avengers #avengers fanfiction

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saphirered · 3 years

Note

Hey! I hope you’re doing well. You’re writing is always great and I get excited when I see you’ve posted something new. Would you consider writing a little something with platonic Caduceus and reader where they have similar personalities and interests, but different backgrounds? Maybe the reader doesn’t have any family to speak of? I’m open to any character class or race :) thank you!

I’m doing well. I’m glad you like my writing and thank you. It’s really nice to hear people get excited when I post new things. I never expected people to like it at all 🙈. I hope you like the way this one turned out 😘

You were typical city folk. Born and raised in the heights of civilisation; the pride and joy of the Law Bearer Erathis herself. Raised at the temple of the Raven Queen as a foundling the clergy were the only parental figures you knew and they were hardly parents. Your relationship with them is less of a parent-child dynamic. They were your caretakers and supported which is more than a lot of people can say but you missed out on parental pride, love and the ability to confide in someone in such a way. You missed out on the relation with siblings. No running around the hallways of the temple, no secrets between just you and them, no protective older sibling or a younger one that gets away with everything. You had no weird aunt or uncle to tell you ridiculous stories or take you on adventures every so often like the books you’d read as a child.

Your childhood never bothered you because it was good and happy, just in a different way. You found a mother figure in the Matron. You’d get dreams sometimes, waking up with a single black feather on your pillow. She gave you an appreciation of all things living. Death is a sacred thing but it’s the life that counts. You made it your goal to nourish that what needs a little extra attention and preserve what can be saved before its time, conforming to the natural order. The Matron of Ravens taught you death is just as sacred as life and so you valued it and vowed to upkeep her commandments and preserve that natural order of life and death.

As a child you spent much time within the public parks and gardens. You had an affinity unrivalled. Making flowers blossom in spring and keeping the branches and roots healthy during the colder months, curing diseases, healing ailments as well as returning to the earth what once came from it upon the passing. When you were old enough these habits carried over to ‘living things’; a term you had to disagree with because all that grows lives. You became part of the clergy and continued your life within the temple of the Raven Queen.

You were never confined to the temple life. Your work took you far and wide, your expertise wanted by the many. You had tended to the ailments of kings as you had commoner, treating no different. You had tended to the pristine gardens of royalty as you had the fields of a farmer. In the eyes of the natural order all lives are equal in the end and so you treated them in life.

When a group of strangers came knocking at your door looking for an expert you were surprised by the colourful bunch on your doorstep but heard them out regardless. You were faced with the story of a cursed forest, a sanctuary of the natural order to be disturbed, a family missing and a new one found. A story of beacons of endless stars, possibilities and souls of the preserved to be reborn, conflict, war and death. Stories of salvation, resurrection, a fight to preserve the natural order and save the lives of the many. Stories far and wide yet to be told.

You were needed. Your expertise was needed and when a raven landed on your windowsill staring at you, studying you and awaiting your response you knew it was time to leave behind the life you knew and venture into a strange new world of adventure and the unknown. How could you turn them down? Your help was needed and while the venture might be a bit longer and much riskier than your usual ones, the task remained the same. You’d travel with the Mighty Nein for a while and aid them for however long they needed you.

You grew to love the Mighty Nein like the family you never had but you have to say from the very beginning you felt a natural gravitation towards the colourful firbolg, a radiance akin to that of the life you vowed to preserve. Caduceus did not hide he felt a same sort of gravitation towards you. The two of you were often paired together on watches or went out together to stock up on supplies for the road, spell components and the likes. The two of you while at first glance are day and night, as your respective deities are when compared, but those who look closer know you are in a way, one and the same.

You’re sitting on the jungle floor eyes closed listening to the nocturnal critters make their way through, searching for food, hunting and finding their hideouts, burrows and nests before the sun rises and morning comes. A smile on your face, as you take everything in over the soft snoring and slight twisting and turning of some of the Nein. You hear someone sitting down next to you.

“Good morning.” You say peaking through one eye seeing the pink haired firbolg cup of tea in hand. The two of you had always been and probably always will be the early risers of the group. Old habits? Perhaps so.

“Ah, it is, isn’t it?” He offers you a cup of tea. You take it with a quick thanks blowing away the steam and cool it down a little before you take a sip. A good cup of tea never fails to wake you up properly.

“How are you feeling? Getting closer to where the Wild Mother has been sending you?” The two of you look out seeing the first light barely bleed through the trees. Caduceus waits a little before speaking, contemplating his answer. His brow furrows.

“I’m unsure.” Caduceus mentally retreats just a little bit, watching his expression you can see the thoughts rush through his head. You know he worries for his family and how you might find them. A lot is unsure at these times. You can only hope for the best and prepare for the worst but you have faith.

“You’re worried, for your family. For what might have become of them?” He gives you a bit of a smile and nods. It’s clear Caduceus hasn’t directly been faced with the notion of mortality in this sense close to home whereas in any other situation he’d be fine.

“I’ve been waiting to see them for a long time. While I trust the Wild Mother’s path, I can’t help but find myself doubting if they are well.” You try to find a way to best approach his concerns and ease his mind. The words of comfort either of you would offer to those coming into your respective places of worship do not apply to this situation nor would they be particularly helpful. You’re not dealing with the dead, just the possibility of death of loved ones.

“You trust her path and you believe she’s at your side?” You ask deep in thought as a light breeze rushes through out of nowhere. The Wild Mother must be listening. Caduceus relaxes a bit more knowing she’s there. Despite what some may think, the breeze may just tell you what you need to know.

“Yes. I believe so.” He smiles watching the leaves blow, the breeze being carried away into the distance of the early morning jungle, a couple of birds scattering as it comes along.

You take a moment, close your eyes and reach out your senses sending a little prayer to the Raven Queen. You’re met with a sense of warmth, a soft cawing of a raven flying away and a small light in the darkness.

“Then they’ll be alright in the end. I don’t sense my Matron’s presence in relation to you. You’ll be reunited with your family once more.” You interpret the signs she shows you. While they might not be a certainty you have faith she would not let you down.

“That’s nice.” You return to staring into the jungle in comfortable silence for a while.

“What do you miss the most? About home and your family I mean.” You ask a bit out of the blue but you couldn’t help yourself wondering with everything drawing closer and the uncertainty of how you’ll find the Stone family, and what you’ll encounter there.

“Old habits. The people. The simplicity of life. I’d say the piece and quiet but that wouldn’t be entirely true. Just different kind of noise. You know what I mean.” Caduceus reminisces, dopey smile returning at the memory of his family. You’ve heard some of the tales of his shenanigans when it comes to his siblings. He’s confided in you and you vowed to keep those a secret. Who knew Caduceus could be quite the prankster?

“I don’t actually. I never had a family like yours. The Mighty Nein is the closest I’ve ever gotten to the meaning of a family.” You look over to the sleeping shapes. You wouldn’t trade them for the world but can’t deny it’s still not the same. The others can attest to that.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. I apologise if I offended you.” You smile at him. You’d stated before you loved your found ‘family’, the clergy but they were never your real family. It just hadn’t come up your dynamic with them was not the same as a more typical even dysfunctional family.

“It’s quite alright. I never knew my birth family. I knew the clergy at my temple and that’s alright. I always wondered what it would be like to have parents to confide in, siblings to spend time with, perhaps even share interests with and people who love me unconditionally, people like me but also not. Do you get what I mean?” Caduceus nods in agreement and thinks for a second.

“I understand. Though you might come to take back the part about wanting to spend more time with siblings. They’ll grow on you like ivy in places you don’t want it.” He laughs a little and you join him.

“They can’t be that bad.” You joke the both of you laughing as quietly as you can trying not to wake the others up.

“I’d love to meet your family. From what you’ve told they’re wonderful.”

“They are, in their own ways but don’t tell Calliope I said that.” Caduceus bumps your shoulder and you bump back finishing the last of your tea. You’ve heard enough tales of Calliope to know you better not tell her or she might never let Caduceus forget he admitted it so openly to someone else outside of the family.

“I’m sure they’d like you too. If you wanted to you could come back to the Blooming Grove with us one day. Clarabelle always wanted another sibling. She thinks Calliope is a bit too stoic. The two of you would make great friends.” Caduceus finishes his tea and you’re a little taken aback. You look for any kind of jest. He must be joking right?

“You’re serious?” Caduceus laughs a little at your reaction.

“Unless you don’t want to. I think you’ll fit in right along. Our ancestor used to be a champion of the Raven Queen. She might appreciate the return of a new Clay. Not by blood but by heart.” You recall the story he once told about the champions Stone, Dust and Clay of the Matron. You feel a pull in your heart out of nowhere and swear you hear a raven’s caw in the back of your mind. She’d be satisfied.

“I’d like that very much if they’ll have me.” With Caduceus reassurance his family would very much like you and get along with you you’d see where this would go. Perhaps you would become an unofficial Clay. Your friends are just your chosen family after all so why should it be different?

You’ll see where your path leads and you’ll stick with Caduceus until either of you grow tired of each other. Not that either of you see that happen. You’ve grown thick as thieves to the point where you could call yourselves siblings. If the two of you claiming yourselves siblings extends into his family then you’d love nothing more.

A place. A purpose. A home. You’ll have to put the world back into tune first but once the Matron and the Mother call you both home you’ll stick to the path until homeward bound you both be. Both of you lost in thought come to the same conclusion. Caduceus pours the both of you some new tea, cooling it down a bit you both take a sip.

“That’s nice.” You say in unison watching the nocturnal critters go to sleep and the early risers come out and go about their daily business.

#critical role x reader #mighty nein x reader #critrole x reader #caduceus x reader

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innately-pretentious · 4 years

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Dating Klaus Hargreeves ❤️✨

A/N I’m back lads, and yes this is very long and super messy! Ik I’m super behind but I literally just finished the newest season of TUA and was feeling super inspired. Here are some headcanons for our favourite mess.

You probably ran into each other during one of his late night drug binges, finding him lying on the ground in your local park whilst you were clearing you head, his eyes were moving around, observing the stars in the night sky.

As you slowly approached him you became increasingly concerned, discovering that he was not only watching the stars but also yelling at the blank space next to him. You almost didn’t approach him, writing him off as another high person riding a wild trip, however, something told you to go and check up on him.

When you got next to him, interrupting his seemingly one-sided conversation, you asked him if he was alright.

Turning to you and muttering out a slightly coherent ‘yeah’, you insisted he sit and talk to you for a while, to unload whatever has got him so stressed out. You had nowhere to be and neither did he, that was how he found himself spilling the details of his extremely unique life to a total stranger until the early hours of the morning.

Nothing could prepare you for what he was about to unload, but when he is finished telling you about his family, his father, his powers, Ben and every other intimate detail he could think of, you knew you couldn’t just leave him here. After minimal persuasion on your part you drag him back to your apartment, making him some tea, putting him in the shower and getting him into bed.

Nobody had ever treated him this well, not even his own family. Now this stranger was showing him the greatest display of hospitality, he dozed off with tears in his eyes.

You watch him from across the room, this was probably the first good sleep he has had in a while. You didn’t know what drew you to this strange boy, but you were determined to help him.

He pretty much lived with you on and off for the next few months, hanging out with you multiple times a week. He discovered (with the help of Ben) his growing feelings for you, but he never wanted to act on them.

He is extremely shy initially with showing any signs of attraction towards you. Having been put down by his family for most of his life, he truly believes he will just eventually disappoint you. Ben has been bugging him to make a move for months, it is the first time he has ever seen his usually-confident brother act bashful. You would find yourself often initiating intimate acts or even talking about dating one another, due to his fear of dragging you into his mess of a life.

His insecurities do seem to fade as your relationship progresses, however, you often have to reassure him that his best is more than enough. You will always be there to pick up the pieces as long as he is willing to help.

However, when you do finally get together and comfortable, he is not shy about his displays of affection in any way! You often find that he always has to be touching you in some way. Placing his hand of your thigh while sitting next to each other, draping his arm around your shoulder, leaning into you when watching a movie, reaching for you in the middle of the night, half asleep. You almost wonder if he does it subconsciously. Pulling you into him for a quick kiss, even if it is in public. Not that you mind, you’re just glad he finally let his walls down for you.

Although he dislikes it in the moment, you make a point not to enable him. Instead you honestly ask him about his addictions and try to understand it, nobody has ever done this before. One of the proudest moments is finding him on your doorstep in the early hours of the morning, holding a fresh packet in his hand.

‘Take them, I’m gonna do them and I really don’t want to.’

You teared up at how far he has come, spending the night tangled in each others limbs, telling him how proud you were as he snuggled further into your waist.

Being there for him when his father dies, even though it really doesn’t take much of a toll on him, you tag along to make sure. When you finally meet his other siblings, you truly understand the reasons behind his addiction, often being pushed aside or ignored by his family members. The people that are supposed to care about him most, it takes a lot for you to hold your tongue.

Klaus can be quite a homebody when he wants to be, one of his favourite activities is just hanging around the mansion with you.

He loves finding you in the kitchen, drawn in by the smell of you making something delicious. He will come up behind you, arms snaking around your waist, head tucked into the crook of your neck.

He also loves to play his music loud, so the two of you can scream the lyrics to your favourite songs, dancing around the kitchen like idiots whilst simultaneously trying to cook a meal is a skill you have definitely acquired during your relationship.

Ben is completely in awe of you being able to steer Klaus in such a positive direction, he cannot be prouder of his brother. You often get Klaus to be the middle man in your conversations, even though the two of you have never met face to face, you honestly believe he is one of your close friends.

He introduces you to the clubbing scene, taking you out dancing every other weekend! You notice that he believes getting ready to go out is just as much of the fun, you both take turns picking out each others outfits. Blaring your favourite songs as you paint his nails or he does your eyeliner, leaving your bedroom in a massive mess that you would worry about tomorrow morning.

Dancing together in a packed nightclub, giggling as he attempts to spin you round, sneaking kisses here and there until the lights come on.

When Sunday comes around, you are both allowed to spend the day lazing in bed. Now Klaus is sober, he sometimes finds himself waking up before you. Finding you tucked under his arm in the morning is a dream, brushing your hair gently out of your face as he watches the sun pour in from a crack in the curtain. Nothing could be more blissful.

Occasionally you will wake up alone in bed, these days always make you slightly uneasy. Deep down you know Klaus is probably just downstairs making coffee or running a bath for the two of you, a small part of you can’t help but be scared he has relapsed.

He pretends he doesn’t notice, but his heart aches knowing that you still worry about him, even after all this time.

You always catch him staring at you, he is not really subtle about it either, even if you are concentrating on an important task.

‘Klaus I actually have to work this time!’

‘Hey don’t blame me! I can’t help it if you’re the best thing to look at.”

When you find out about the impending apocalypse, you make a pact to stick together til the end, desperate to get as much time together as possible. During this time he becomes even more protective, never straying too far away from you, even following you into different rooms of to need to go grab something. If any precarious situation arises, he pushes you back, using himself as a barrier between you and the action.

With Five botching the whole time-travel thing, you both find yourself in the 1960s.

When he first arrived in the alley with Ben, he began frantically looking for you, becoming almost hysterical as he felt really alone for the first time in a long time. It took almost everything he had not to raid the local liquor shop to just forget about his predicament for just a moment. Ben is the voice of reason for him.

‘Fuck off Ben, can’t I just feel numb for once, I’ve lost her alright?!’

‘This is the last thing she would have wanted and you know it.’

It’s not until a year later you see each other again. You were revisiting the town where you first arrived in the 60s, picking up some new clothes and planning to get back on the road. Klaus, on his way to the diner for a quick bite to eat could spot you anywhere.

You were shocked when you heard a bang on the shop window, looking up and finding the same hazel eyes you would never forget, Klaus.

He bust through the shop doors, not caring that he knocked over a few clothing racks as he bounded towards you, jumping into your arms. He smelt the same, cigarette smoke masked with fresh cologne.

Landing on the floor together, laughing with tears streaming down your face, you just hold onto each other. (The shopkeeper is yelling, but this is more important than some scattered clothes!)

Having lunch together and catching up on everything you had been up to. He was impressed with you living on the road, finding various jobs and travelling across America. Although the thought of you going out there alone made his stomach flip, scared something bad might happen. When he tells you about ‘Destiny’s Children’ you wish you could say you were surprised, but you really expected nothing less. Of course Klaus would do something as extravagant as this.

That night is one of the best of your relationship. Making up for a whole year of lost time, he holds you closer, your entire body on top of his, head resting on his chest as he lazily rubs circles on your back.

When you are about to pass out you hear soft sobs coming from under you. Sitting up and holding his face in your hands, you reassure him that you’re here, you’re ok, you’re not going anywhere and you’re going to be alright. He grips onto you tighter and sobs into your shoulder, overwhelmed with emotions about how you finally managed to find each other again.

The clinginess does not end there, a year is a long time! Refusing to let go of you waist when you try to get up, always having his hand in yours, picking you up and spinning you round in the pool etc.

He takes full advantage of shopping with you in the 60s, with the fashion being almost as loud as he is. Watching him dance in and out of the racks of clothing, throwing various garments for you to try on. He loves to sneak into your changing room to ‘help’ you change into your next outfit…

When Ben is gone, you are the sole person he goes to for comfort. Holding onto each other and reminiscing about the good memories you all shared. After that day promising not to cry over him anymore, instead you would happily remember everything the three of you went through, looking back at his life positively.

#the umbrella academy #tua #klaus hargreeves #klaus hargreeves imagine #klaus hargreeves x reader #klaus hargreeves headcanon #klaus hargreeves fanfiction #the umbrella academy imagine #the umbrella academy x reader #the umbrella academy headcanon #the umbrella academy fanfiction

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memory-mortis · 4 years

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Little Kitten (Dio x Reader)

Why hello there! First of all, I have no clue what this is. It’s not smut. It’s not fluff either. It’s just... huh. A random idea I had like 2 days ago. Secondly, to all of you who sent me a request months ago, I am really sorry. Don’t worry! I am still working on them! But it’s taking really long because I just went through a small writing block and I was feeling a little depressed. I will finish them one day, it just might take a while. Anyway, without further ado, let’s get this bread

WC: 1.8k TW: blood, the usual Dio stuff

So this was supposed to be a self-insert, which means the reader was originally meant to be female, but now that I think about it, it could be perceived as gender neutral too. The reader wears dresses, but fuck it, boys and nonbinary folk can wear dresses too, fuck gender stereotypes amirite?

This one contains NSFW themes. 18+ only.

“My, my… what do we have here? A soaked little kitten.”

Those were the first words he ever spoke to you. They came within a fever dream, his voice coated in honey and silk, reaching for the deepest desires hidden within your soul. He clenched your heart in his fists, dug his sharp nails into its tender meat. Figuratively speaking, of course.

Lord Dio had found you on the side of the road, soaked from the rain, beaten and bruised. You were trembling, barely conscious, and the memory of him walking towards you, his steps reminiscent of those of a proud lion, was hazy and blurry. It is safe to say that you were very close to death, and you would’ve had perished had it not been for him. You couldn’t tell to this day why he chose you out of all the poor women lying on the street, but he took a liking to you and while many men and women came to his mansion only to never return home alive, he kept you by his side and even fed you. In return… he made you his little play toy. You didn’t mind. You had nowhere else to go, and no one had treated you as respectfully as Lord Dio. He knew your boundaries, and whenever you asked him to stop, he stopped, and that is exactly why you chose to accompany him to Egypt.

The full moon hung low over the streets of Cairo littered with dots of light created by street lamps. A cool breeze of fresh air poured in through the open window which you stood by, your eyes pinned to the view of the city that opened in front of you. You did not feel cold thanks to the blanket wrapped around your shoulders. Lord Dio would freak out if you didn’t take care of yourself and that was the last thing you wanted. A sigh escaped your lips in the form of a cloud of mist. While the air in Egypt was hot and dry in the day, once the sun set, the temperatures dropped close to the freezing point. You admired your master for being able to sleep in the scorching heat. You had tried to adjust your own sleep schedule to match his but it was always just too hot to sleep and so you had to settle for seeing him late at night and early in the morning, despite how lonely that sometimes made you feel.

You started reminiscing of your first days spent with Lord Dio. The very first night he took you home you were sick and tired, so you didn’t protest when he cleaned you up and helped you get dressed into warm new clothes. Besides, from the aura he gave off, you knew you couldn’t escape even if you tried to.

“My poor little kitten, malnourished, your cheeks are so thin and your eyes so sunken,” he purred into your ear as he washed your hair. You were so exhausted you leaned back into his touch and didn’t move when he ran his hand over your throat. Dio was pleasantly surprised by your reaction, you could practically feel the smirk growing on his face as he leaned over to smell your neck. “So compliant, so submissive,” he whispered as he stroked your cheek. “I think I’ll keep you around.”

You were not a fool. You knew that Dio wasn’t human from first laying your eyes on him. Everything about him was so surreal, so ethereal, he was inhumanly gorgeous and radiated the glow of a supernatural being. You knew he was a vampire. It wasn’t your first time spotting one. But you didn’t mind. You didn’t care if you were just another meal for him. You fell prey not only to his predatory instincts and tendencies, but also to his otherworldly beauty. You craved every single look of those sharp, golden eyes, you needed his cold touch. His attention was a drug that kept you up at night.

To your surprise, it took weeks for him to show any interest in drinking your blood. In fact, he hadn’t shown himself to you at all in the first few days. Each morning, you would wake up to eggs, bread and tea on your nightstand, and every evening you would find dinner on the floor in front of your door. Lord Dio was elusive, nowhere to be found no matter how hard you tried. Sometimes you would run to the door upon hearing footsteps, only to find a completely empty hallway, and for a moment you thought that you were crazy or living in a haunted mansion.

But then… you found him. He was sitting in an armchair in the library, an open book in his lap. Despite having his back to you, he registered your presence.

“Hello there, kitten,” he greeted you without even looking at you. You shuddered at the sound of his voice, just as soft and alluring as you had remembered. Finally, he closed the book in his lap and set it aside, stood up and looked at you. The view was breathtaking. He gazed down at you hungrily, a couple of golden locks falling into his face. He had no shirt on and his broad chest and toned abs were clearly visible to you. You noticed the scar all around his neck and you would’ve questioned him about it had it not been for sudden anxiety rising within you. Before you could notice, he was behind you, brushing your hair aside to take a good look at your shoulder. “Hmm, you’ve put on some weight. Good, good… now you don’t look like a walking skeleton anymore. Tell me, kitten, what’s your name?” he asked, his voice low and somewhat comforting. You immediately felt at ease, as if intoxicated by his presence alone. “Y/n,” you answered obediently. “Y/n…” he rolled your name over his tongue as if savoring it, engraving it into his memory. “What a pretty name for a pretty little creature. Say, y/n,” he spoke in a low voice, his lips close to your ear. You couldn’t help but lean your head towards him in a trance, drunk from the vibes he radiated. You couldn’t explain it if you tried, but something about him made everything feel right. “What do you say about becoming my personal plaything? I’ll treat you well. I’ll take you everywhere I go.” You nodded all too furiously, which made him let out a chuckle that took your breath away. “Good, good,” he growled excitedly and in a matter of seconds he was gone and back in his armchair. “Go prepare yourself. There are some dresses in your closet. We’re dining together tonight.” You didn’t waste any more time.

Lord Dio didn’t need to eat. He mostly just watched you while drinking his wine. Or blood. Who knew what he held in that wine glass. At first you felt really awkward. The food was really good, but you didn’t like people watching you gobbling down on it. Eventually, however, you got used to it. Every now and then you would look up and see him either reading or smirking to himself. Sometimes, his eyes would linger on the lower parts of your body. The dresses he would bring you every now and then were very pretty, you almost felt like a doll in them. You rather didn’t ask where he got them. But what was even more exciting was him getting you out of them.

The first time, he was surprisingly gentle. You could tell that he wanted to ravish you right then and there, but he held back, just for you. You were his little kitten. He couldn’t let himself break you, at least not so soon. It was a difficult task, but he did his best to make it a pleasurable experience. Still, to this day, your favourite nights were those where he let himself slip. The ones where he would rip your dress to shreds, push your face deep into the sheets of his huge bed and tear your body apart. Every thrust of his hips felt like the first beat of your heart, every “little kitten” whispered in your ear brought you alive, the real you that was not afraid to scream. You didn’t care if Vanilla Ice, or anyone else for that matter, heard you. It was hard to do so with Dio’s cock stretching your insides, the spell he cast upon you made it hard to form a coherent thought during those times.

He loved to hear your moans, he loved the way you called out his name. It gave him an incredible power trip, and his satisfaction brought even more pleasure to you. He never even tried to tone you down. He liked it loud.

You ran your fingers over the laced choker around your neck. It was one of his many gifts, and by far your favourite. Because it was his favourite too. It quickly became a necessity to wear these. After all, you didn’t want to walk around with the bite marks on your throat exposed. He didn’t drink too much. Every now and then he would get excited during sex and drink more than usual, which caused you to be dizzy, but you didn’t mind this either. In fact, it became something of a pleasant ritual. Your brain connected the dots between drinking blood and breeding and after a while you were conditioned so well your core would throb if he so much as licked the wound.

You’d seen the corpses of all the women and men he would drain of all blood. Something about you was special, your blood was different. He said it was like a juicy cherry on top of a cake. That’s one of the reasons why he kept you around. That, and the fact that you didn’t really question his decisions.

“You’re up late,” lord Dio’s voice echoed from behind you and you didn’t even flinch when he put his hands on your shoulders. “Can’t sleep,” you mumbled. “Oh? What’s keeping you up? Need to burn some energy?” He stroked your cheek with his knuckles and you shuddered at his touch. He froze when he saw the tears welling up in your eyes, turned you around and lifted your chin up to take a proper look at your face. “What’s wrong, kitten? What’s making you shed those tears? Did someone try to hurt you?” You shook your head in response. “They’re getting close, aren’t they?” Though it was a question, your tone made it sound more like a statement. Dio went silent for a moment. “Are you worried about me, Dio?” he said with a growing smirk. “I am the greatest being alive. They can try to get as close as they want, there is no way they could ever lay a hand on me.”

You sniffled and did your best to stop your quivering lip. Dio looked at you like you were a fragile little flower, wiped the tear on your cheek away with his thumb and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead.

“Come, let’s go to the bedroom, little kitten. It seems that you need to be reminded of how powerful I am.”

#dio brando #dio jojo #dio x reader #dio x y/n #dio

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diaryofabeautyfiend · 3 years

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Small Time Witch (15)

The water in the stream lapped at its banks swelling from the melting mountain snow. You and Bethany brought out sand bags and placed them around the perimeter of the house. How high the water rose depended on the snowfall. It always flooded in the bend of the stream which is why you never understood why Helene built here. “Rushing water holds energy. It amplifies everything we do.” It also amplified the chance that you’d be redoing the floors in a few weeks.

“Why can’t your mother just use her powers? This would be a lot easier.” Bethany would ask as she dropped another bag.

“Because there are consequences to us using our powers which is why I was shipped off.”

“And here I thought it was so you didn’t face prosecution for almost killing Bobby.” You flicked mud at her.

“I didn’t almost kill him. He was fine.” She threw mud back.

“He pissed himself. Charles Xavier had to tell everyone he had a seizure.” You both laughed.

“Girls! Get cleaned up for dinner.” Helene called from the porch.

“Yes, Aunt Helene” you said in unison.

“Why can’t you stay? We miss you.”

“You know it’s for all our own good, Bethy. I’m the only one with a dangerous power.”

“Hey! I can freeze stuff!”

You giggled, “Yeah only if everyone is real quiet and you are well hydrated.”

🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕🌕

You often dreamed of being back home but it was rare they were good dreams. Mostly you had nightmares about the day everyone died. Rarely did you have dreams when you felt happy.

You woke up a little misty eyed. Goodness did you miss your family. You were so lost in thought that you didn’t hear Steve calling your name. “Earth to Y/N. You ok?”

“Yeah. Bad dream.” You got out of bed and started getting ready for your day. He watched you smiling as you hummed your way through your morning routine. You were not in your usual work attire when you finished.

“Where are you going today?” he asked confused. “Aren’t you usually a little more put together for work?”

“I have the day off. I have Strange all morning and then off to Dr. Calloway.” You wrapped your arms around his waste. He hugged you back.

“Will you tell your doctor about your bad dreams? You looked so lost this morning. I hate seeing my girl that way.”

“Yes, Captain.”

“I am not your boss. I am not giving you orders. Just the concerned boyfriend.”

“Yes. My very bossy boyfriend. I’ll tell him. It’s not like he ever really explores anything. It’s all ‘how does that make you feel?’ and ‘Let’s up your anti depressants.’”

“Does that work?”

“Would work if I was actually depressed. I think I might stop seeing him after today’s session.” Steve’s whole body got stiff.

“Why? Since you’ve been seeing him you haven’t accidentally shocked anyone.”

“That wasn’t his doing. I didn’t shock you in Germany did I?” No. Loki taught you how to control yourself. He would scoff at anti-depressants. Nothing was wrong with them if they were actually doing anything for you. They just dulled your senses and made you feel nauseous. “Well. I have to get going.”

“No breakfast?” You smiled at him over your shoulder.

“I’ll grab a banana on the way out. Love you!”

“Love you too. Hey! We have a mission briefing at four. Don’t be late.”

“Yes, sir.” They asked you to run point on an operation in Alaska. It was dealing with enhanced people and there was some intel that said they were a lot like you. That was the only information they gave.

Steve waited until he saw your car drive down the road before he called Tony. “We have a problem. She’s talking about leaving Dr.Calloway’s care.”

“Shit. Ok. I’ll call and give him a heads up. She cannot stop taking those meds, Steve. Not until we can convince Strange to bind her powers.”

Steve squeezed his eyes closed and pinched the bridge of his nose, “Are we sure we want to do this? Maybe Strange is right. With the proper training she can control it. She was doing well with Loki. She never hurt me again.”

“Cap, maybe one day you’ll be on our side. I read her SHIELD file. Fury was right. The girl is a nuclear bomb with a short fuse. This Alaska thing is huge. We need her to control herself. A lot of lives are at stake. Get it together, Steve.” With that Tony hung up.

Steve felt nauseous. He hated doing this to you. He adored you. If you found out he was lying to you...he hated to think what you’d do. He’d deserve it. He picked up the phone and called the only person he believed would be able to guide him.

“Professor? This is Steve Rogers. I’m wondering if you would have some time talk to me about one of your former students. I can be there within the hour. Thank you, sir. I’ll see you soon.” He grabbed the keys to his bike and headed to the school.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

You made it a few minutes early to Doctor Strange. You were spooked every time you went to the mansion on Bleeker. Wong greeted you at the door and said Strange would be meeting you shortly. You browsed the volumes on the bookshelves. You selected one that looked tattered but well loved. When you opened the pages it blinked out of your hands and was replaced by a cup of tea. You actually liked the tea.

“That is not for you. Let’s get started.”

“What’s that one about? Transfiguration? Can I learn that?”

“Not today. Focus, Y/N.”

Strange was always a bit terse with you. He had absolutely no patience. You wished someone else was teaching you. You received no feedback unless you did something wrong. He didn’t tolerate chit chat or small talk of any kind. At least when you worked with Wong he gave you treats when you did something well. The only consolation you got was that you knew he was looking out for you. That meant sometimes he told you things you wished you didn’t have to hear.

“Your boss came to see me yesterday. He asked me to bind your powers. I told him to fuck off.” You felt like the air left your body. You knew Fury had secret plans for you but Tony? He was supposed to be a good guy.

“Did he say why?”

“Yes. Some crap about you killing a kid when you were younger. That attack at the school. I know what happened that day. You don’t have to worry about me. Just saying watch your back. They are escalating from the Wolfsbane.”

You wanted to ask if Steve knew but you were sure he did. Tears started flowing down your cheeks which made Strange uncomfortable. “You are doing well here, kid. We can be done for today. See you next week.” Before you had a chance to say anything he shoved you through a portal.

“I know how to use a door!” You shouted towards the house. You shot Steve a text letting him know you were done a little early if he wanted to have lunch. When he didn’t answer after a few minutes you decided to completely blow off your doctor’s appointment and go shopping instead. It’s pretty rare when you had time to yourself these days so you decided to take advantage.

Escalating from the wolfsbane. It was entirely possible that your boss and your boyfriend knew they were poisoning you. It was also possible they didn’t if they were fed wrong information. There were some studies that showed Aconite in low low doses can help with anxiety and in rare cases heart failure. You had to know how to handle the herb correctly. Even the most practiced healer would try a thousand other herbs before this one. Dr. Calloway didn’t seem like he was on the up and up from your first visit. When you read the label on the medicine bottle you decided not to take it because you knew what it was. You showed it to Strange who suggested you call the police since you were being poisoned. “He’s clearly not a licensed medical professional. There are hundreds of safe drugs on the market to handle anxiety. This will kill you.”

The two of you compounded an antidote for the medication. You tell Steve it’s vitamins. The little person in your head was frantically waving red flags at you. Not a good sign that he watched you take the pills every day. Not good at all.

🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞🌞

The first time walking into Charles Xavier’s School for Gifted Youngsters was intimidating. It sat on a large expanse of land which was crawling with children. A few of the younger kids ran up to Steve marveling at him. “It’s Captain America!” They shouted. He gave high fives and pats on the head. Ororo greeted him at the front door.

“Captain Rogers. Nice to meet you. I’m Ororo Munroe. I am an instructor here and I work directly with Professor Xavier. He’s just finishing up a class. I’ll show you to his office.” Steve shook her hand. He was mesmerized by the crystal blue of her eyes.

“This is a cool operation you have here. Not unlike the Avengers compound except we only house adult children.”

“Trust me we have several of those ourselves. Tell me, the Professor said you were inquiring about a former student. I’ve been here for quite some time. Perhaps I can help.”

“Sure. Her name is Y/N Y/L/N. She’s working with us on a operation in Alaska. She also happens to be my girlfriend.” Ororo paused for a moment.

“Of course. How is she doing? Terrible what happened to her family. She was a great student. What kind of mission are you going on that you’d need that kind of fire power?” Steve stayed quiet until they were sure to be away from tiny ears.

“She’s doing well. Her power is what I wanted to talk to Professor Xavier about.”

A voice came from out of nowhere. It was gentle tinged with a hint of amusement. “Y/N is quite a woman. Your team is lucky to have her at your disposal.” Steve shook his hand and sat in the chair across from the large desk. Ororo and a few other X-men protectively flanked the Professor.

“She is, sir, though I may be a bit biased. The reason I’m here is because members of my team have expressed some concern about the strength of her power and her inability to control herself in times of great stress. She has been taking a medication called Aconite prescribed by a Dr. Calloway to help with stress and anxiety....”

A woman whom he did not immediately notice spoke up, “Aconite is Wolfsbane, Captain Rogers. It’s poisonous. It also strips powers. Why would she ever agree to that?” Based on your description Steve guessed this was your Aunt Agatha. The tension in the room grew considerably. He was unaware that he was poisoning you.

“You must be Aunt Agatha. I’ve heard a lot about you....” Steve stood to shake her hand when another woman interrupted.

“The doctor told her they are anti-depressants. I’m Jean Grey. Don’t get up, Captain Rogers. They lied to both of you. Stephen Strange will never agree to bind her powers. Not against her will. You people are unbelievable.” Steve’s jaw clenched. He ran his hands over his face and through his hair. The Professor saw him getting overwhelmed so he ordered everyone out except Agatha.

“Captain Rogers, Y/N is quite capable of controlling herself. There were a few incidents when she was younger but she’s come a long way. From what we hear she is doing quite well under Stephen Strange’s tutelage. Why bind her now?”

“I agree. There are those who don’t. I’ve read her SHIELD file. She killed a kid on these grounds under your care. For the safety of this mission we need her to be in as much emotional control as possible. We are working under SHIELD on this one so I’m afraid any details are classified.” He tossed the folder on his desk. Xavier and Agatha read over the incident report.

“This report is inaccurate. We were under attack on the day in question. As an older student she was charged with getting younger students to safety. This young man was too severely injured. He died in her arms. She was able to absorb his power of empathy. It took several months of therapy and training to cope with the gravity of this new skill.” Xavier looked away from him as he recalled the day. It was obviously very painful.

Steve grew more agitated. It was clear someone was lying to him and now he was an accomplice in poisoning you. He thanked the Professor for his time and decided to take the long way home to cool off. “Captain Rogers. Fear of our unique abilities is what started the war all those years ago. You need not fear what you don’t understand.”

“I love her, Professor. I’m not afraid of her. I’m afraid of what other people want with her. I’m not going to let anyone use her anymore. You have my word.” The only thing Steve wanted to do was get to Tony to find out why he was pushing so hard to bind you.

“Scott, find out what interest the Avengers have in Alaska. Why are they being sent there?” The Professor sent out a team to do some reconnaissance work. Perhaps the X-men would join the Avengers on their trip.

#steve rogers fanfic #captain america x reader #marvel witches #mcu x reader #loki laufeyson #loki x reader #marvel #steve rogers x reader #captain america smut

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coffee-or-murder · 3 years

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Harvest Day

Told from the perspective of my Drakewarden/smith half elf boy as he meets one Annabeth “Lemon” Bakhuizen. He has a crush, his family embaresses him, but he’s too lovestruck to really notice. Also his drake thinks he’s silly and just wants apples.

The door to his room was thrown open, the handle striking the wall with a crack, startling him and his drake awake with displeased grunts. Aodhán hissed at the short thin figure before pushing open the window and slipping out into the dark with a grumble. He turned bleary eyes to see his father striding into the room encased in a massive green sweater, a long thick yellow scarf wrapped around his neck that barely covered his wide grin and made his long eleven ears stick out horribly, and a pile of knitwear bundled in his arms.

“Da’ what-”

“Get up Tadhgán it’s Harvest Day! We have so much to do and only a day to enjoy it!” he exclaimed as he walked to the bed and dropped the pile onto his lap. “Put those on and come out for breakfast. Aodhán’s scarf is the orange and yellow one. Make sure he wears it,” he ordered before turning and practically skipping out of his room.

“It’s not even light yet!” he yelled after him, only getting a near maniacal laugh in response. His father loved Harvest Day, clearly, and always went a little crazy every year. The Bakhuizen Estate orchards grew nearly every fruit you could bake into something, but their apple orchard was by far the largest. They had nearly every color of apple you could imagine. After they’d done their main harvest, they always opened the gates to the townspeople so they could come and pick their fill. The morning was spent picking apples and catching up with neighbors, a picnic in the orchard for lunch, more picking, and then the town held their yearly Harvest Fair. There would be dancing and music and more food than they could ever eat. Strangely enough there were never any leftovers, no one could tell you who finished off the food. Tadhgán sighed, shrugging into the dark rusty red sweater, and hanging the brown and orange scarf around his neck. The sweater was a little tight on his broad shoulders, but not enough to be a problem. Da’s finally getting the hang of knitting these things. Simple breaches and works boots were hunted down easily enough, and he ran his fingers through his blond hair to tame it. He gathered up the long scarf for his drake before walking into the kitchen. Da’ was stirring something in the pot, oatmeal most likely, and singing one of his many poems barely in tune. His poor mother was still half asleep, head resting heavily on her hand as she glared down at her eggs and sausage. Tea was cooling in a mug next to the plate, but she was clearly not awake enough to notice it yet.

“Morning Ma’,” he said quietly, chuckling as she grunted in response. As he walked past he reached out to ruffle Ma’s short dark hair, laughing as she swatted at his arm and jumped just out of reach. He’d pay for that later he knew, but it was always fun to tease her a bit when she was like this. Tadhgán opened the side door to the forge and smiled. The main forge was burning brightly, casting shadows all around the large open room and bathing Aodhán’s dark red scales in the orange light as he stared into the molten core of the forge.

“Look. They are nearly waking,” the drake rumbled as he reached a claw down and shifted one of the eggs closer to the burning core.

“I expect they’ll hatch by the end of the week. Won’t be happy about winter being right around the corner though,” he chuckled. His throat always felt a little strange when he spoke Draconic, like he’d gargled salt water wrong. Aodhán purred, or as close as a drake could get to purring, before he turned to look at him. Gold eyes quickly settled on the scarf in his arms and he sighed.

“Again?”

“Every year. You know how much Da’ loves Harvest Day,” Tadhgán sighed. The drake hissed in annoyance, but let him wind the scarf around his neck and secure it with a messy knot. He patted his friend’s side before turning back to the kitchen and joining his family at the table. They ate in silence, his mother clearly still unhappy about being woken up so early, before gathering their baskets and slings to leave. Tadhgán quickly saddled up Aodhán, the two large baskets gently tapping the drake’s sides as he walked beside him. His parents were just ahead, Da’ linking their arms together and kissing his Ma’ hand. She grunted in response, and Da’ took the hint to stay quiet until she actually woke up. Da’ was such an early riser, and so happy about it, but it always took Ma’ awhile to get going. The walk to the Bakhuizen estate wasn’t too terribly far since they were already on the outskirts of town proper, and the fall air was crisp and cool. There were a few other people walking up the road to the estate, and they waved to each other. Thankfully everyone seemed to have come to the silent agreement that it was far too early to talk, so they all enjoyed the walk to the gates. They loomed ahead, easily twice the height of Aodhán, made entirely of bright white stone and gray metal. The gates had been pushed open, and some of the family were standing just inside to greet them. They had fresh scones and who knows how many kettles full of coffee or tea or ciders set out on a massive long table. A tiefling boy and firbolg were helping a half orc woman and halfling man sort out little cloths for people to wrap their scones in. The halfling made sure everyone walking in was at least offered a drink and a scone, but waved at Ma’ instead. Tadhgán waved for her, shaking his head at the offered food as he followed his father to the orchards.

The Bakhuizen family weren’t bad people, just a little strange. Their matriarch, a very small nearly ancient halfling named Rosalind, had a strange habit of adopting seemingly random children and raising them in the estate. Some of her children or grandchildren had done the same, to the point where there were so many different races of people living behind the sprawling estate walls it was practically it’s own city. They had quite a few bakeries in different towns, though the one in their town drew the most tourist attention out of them all. They had more money then they knew what to do with thanks to their various business ventures, but with Rosalind still making all of the company's business decisions and refusing to simply give her family money without working for it, they mostly had their heads on right. Mostly. Of course some of the family was entitled and rude, but you have those people in nearly every family. The big scandal was that after Rosalind’s first husband, a local turnip farmer, passed away she took a tall elegant looking elf as her husband. They seemed very happy together though, and he would often carry her around the orchard during the harvest and feed her apples as they quietly chatted. So a little batty, but all around good people.

“I’m awake now,” his Ma’ grumbled, waving back at him before squinting up at the sunrise and rubbing her eyes. Da’ gleefully leaned up to kiss her cheek, and squeezed their linked arms before he chattered away about all of his plans for the day. His mother’s dark brown eyes simply gazed down at her exuberant husband and she smiled softly. They were a bit of an odd couple too, a human drakewarden smith and an elf writer turned househusband, but certainly not the strangest here.

“Will I get baked apples again?” Aodhán asked as he kept pace.

“I think your chances are pretty high. I can always throw an apple down to you and you can roast it yourself,” he answered. His drake rumbled, clearly pleased at the promise of the sweet treat and trotted a bit faster. The group quickly approached neat rows of immaculate apple trees, all heavy with fruit and stretching on for nearly as far as they could see. The other groups quickly broke off, heading in the direction of their favorite apples and following the helpful wooden signs staked into the ground. His family kept walking, occasionally coming upon other townsfolk or Bakhuizen family members having their own fun picking or playing chase together. A halfling woman wearing the Bakhuizen crest embroidered into her shawl was glaring angrily up into a tree, hands on her hips and a scowl marrying what could have been a pretty face.

“You get down from there right now! This is not what young ladies do!” the halfling woman screeched up into the massive apple tree. Tadhgán looked up and felt the breath leap out of his lungs. A halfling girl was in the boughs of the tree, dark chestnut hair haloed in the sunrise. Large dark green eyes sparkled with mischief as she plucked another bright yellow apple and slipped it into the nearly full sling across her chest. She grinned, full lips curling up as she stared defiantly down at the woman.

“Clearly it is, since I am in fact doing it and still a young lady,” the girl said. The wind caught her long thick braid, the yellow ribbon holding the strands together fluttering like a banner. Gods she was beautiful. His heart was pounding, and Aodhán rumbled, questioning his rider’s sudden nerves.

“Listen to your mother and get down here before you fall!” the woman snapped. She stomped her foot for emphasis, but the girl looked entirely unimpressed. Her gaze suddenly met his and what little air he managed to get back was gone again as her grin widened.

“You there! Will you help a lady down?” she called out to him. His tongue suddenly felt too heavy to move and he nodded instead, taking a step towards her.

“Should we find you a ladder?” Da’ called up. She started to walk on a thick branch towards Tadhgán and shook her head. Her pants were nearly skin tight, showing off the curve of her thigh even as the large white shirt she wore covered the rest of her body. The sun still shone through the white fabric, showing just a hint of the gentle dip of her waist. She had no shoes. How had she climbed up with no shoes? Or ladder?

“You look pretty strong. Think you could catch me?” she asked instead, leaning over slightly to look at him with her head cocked. Her mother screeched something, he wasn’t really listening to be honest, and he nodded again. She couldn’t have been more than three feet tall after all, and he was nearly twice that. He’d worked in the forge and trained as a drakewarden since he could walk, so he certainly had the muscle mass to carry something as small as her. Still, his heart nearly leapt out of his chest when she simply fell off the branch towards him. He lurched forwards, catching her in his arms and holding her close for a moment. Apples. She smelled like apples and lemons and something baking. “Excellent job sir,” she said, patting his forearm with her tiny hand. She was so tiny, and shockingly warm against the chill.

“No problem,” he mumbled, leaning over to put her on the ground. His hands flexed at his sides as she dusted her shirt off and beamed up at him.

“Thank you for catching me. My name is Annabeth Bakhouzin, but you are very much welcome to call me Lemon,” she said with a small curtsy. She used the billowing fabric of her tunic as a skirt when she curtsied. He gulped, trying to swallow around the lump that suddenly formed in his throat. Aodhán cackled behind him, nudging his back and grunting for him to get it together.

“Ah I’m Tadhgán McGowan at your service Miss. Lemon, the smith’s son,” he stuttered. She cocked her head to the side -gods her eyes were such a dark green he could barely make out her iris- and scrunched up her nose a bit.

“I’m sorry your accent is a little hard for me. Your name is Tadhgán correct? Like tea-gon?” she asked, confused. He gulped, and nodded. Clearly he was not up to speaking. She smiled again, before turning around to face her mother, her braid swinging at the motion. “There. Mr. Tadhgán helped me out of the tree, and now I am solidly on the ground again. If you’ll excuse me, I have a new recipe to test with these lovely apples,” she said before looking back at him and winking. “If you come by the party tonight I’ll be sure to save you a couple turnovers. My new recipe is going to win the baking contest for sure.”

“He’ll be there lass, don’t worry. He’s an excellent dancer too,” Ma’ called out, smirking at her son as Da’ held back his laughter behind his hand. Lemon beamed at his Ma’ and nodded, waving at them as she ran off, closely followed by her still screeching mother. He watched her run away, the yellow ribbon streaming behind her, and he could barely catch his breath.

“I remember the first time I met your mother,” Da’ sighed dreamily from beside Ma’. “Harvest Day is the best day of the year. It’s so romantic. Why when I met your mother I-.”

“Don’t tease the boy. He’s embarrassed enough,” Ma’ chuckled before leading Da’ on deeper into the orchard. Aodhán rumbled behind him, pushing his head into his back to get him moving again. Maybe Harvest Day was worth getting up before the light for, especially if he got to see Miss. Lemon again. Maybe later they’d need an extra hand around the estate?

#dnd lemon #dnd tadhgan #dnd story

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momostodoroki · 4 years

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lord knows i’ve failed you time and again (but you and me are alright)

so i absolutely forgot to post this fic i wrote inspired by @vertigospirit‘s lovely art which everyone should be fawning over imho

so anyways enjoy fighting!shoto and stressed-out-because-of-him!momo, they’re my babies i adore them

'"Oh, not again, Todoroki-san."

Yaoyorozu's tone is mildly scolding. He's sitting in the nurse's office despite his protests that his split lip and bleeding nose don't actually bother him. You should have seen the other guy , he tells his black-haired classmate as she dabs at his lips with antiseptic. When she presses the cotton swab against his lips instead of scolding him, he holds back a groan and chuckles so he can see her cheeks color with irritation at his carelessness.

The truth is, Shouto doesn't know why he keeps getting into fights. He knows when it started (it involves the birth of his scar and a life-changing visit from CPS), and he knows the only person he's hurting is himself (and hey, also the douche who called his mom a psycho), but every time his common sense tells him to take the high road, there's an image of his father commending him for 'upholding the family name' and he just… loses it. Next thing he knows, he's sitting in the school principal's office, waiting for Fuyumi to pick him up.

He also doesn't know how he ended up bagging Yaoyorozu's friendship. He remembers her in the school entrance exams, proud but humble about her first place - an odd amalgamation of what his life could have been like, had his father not been so incredibly shitty. He also remembers her falling apart in their seventh year project for Mr. Aizawa's class, and supporting her through it. Next thing he knew, they went from saying 'good morning' from neighboring seats to spending the evenings studying together.

It's not like he doesn't like it. He's come to enjoy Yaoyorozu's presence in his life just as much if not more than that of his other close friends: Midoriya, Iida and Uraraka. Shoto knows he can trust her.

Especially at times like the one he's in right now, when the school nurse has all but given up on him ( I literally just treated that split lip last week, Todoroki-kun , she'd said upon his entrance) and he's kind of a chicken about applying disinfectants. She shows up out of nowhere, school jacket forgone in the temperate spring days, hair held up in a no-nonsense ponytail. When she treats him, her hands are tender but precise, and it makes a weird warmth settle under his ribcage.

"Todoroki-san, please stop looking for trouble." she chides, sitting beside him as she's done looking after him. Shouto would never admit it, but when Yaoyorozu looks at him with a mixture of annoyance and exasperated fondness the way she is doing right then, he's thankful that the nurse refuses to treat him anymore.

"It's nothing." he replies, offering her an only slightly bloodied smile. "Don't worry."

Yaoyorozu's brow furrows. They've had this conversation a hundred times - sometimes over tea, sometimes sitting down at the park while petting whatever stray cat has approached them that particular time. She hates his getting into fights, hates seeing him bruised and having to watch as his sister takes him home to get yet another 'talking to' from his father.

(but Shouto loves the adrenaline, loves disappointing his father and, most importantly, loves having her over to bring him their homework when he's dismissed early.)

"You're going to be the death of me." She declares, standing up and offering him her hand.

"Or someone else, probably." he quips, following her to lunch. She gets him cold soba, and Shouto ends up thinking it's her who is going to kill him.

He's really done it this time.

Momo is standing in Todoroki-san's room, watching his sister dab ointment on the swollen skin around his left eye. Well , she thinks, at least whoever he fought this time had the decency to punch him in a discrete place.

Todoroki-san is Momo's favorite person in the whole world. She thinks she started developing feelings for him sometime between their weekly study sessions in eighth grade and the silent but unwavering support he provided when she and her team participated in the school sports festival against Itsuka Kendo-San from class 1B. But even obviating the romantic aspect of her feelings for him, Todoroki-san is just… dependable.

Or he would be, if she didn't have to constantly look out for him to make sure he hasn't gotten into yet another fight. She sort of gets why he does it, though not really. She knows he has a complicated family history and trusts he will tell her about it if he ever needs to or feels comfortable doing it - and for her, that is enough.

But he's been doing so good lately, barely even gotten into a fight in almost a month. She thinks it has something to do with his last fight being against Midoriya, and the conversation that followed. He's even seemed… Happier. Not happy exactly, but more relaxed, softer around the edges.

Momo has always admired his serious personality, but privately thought he seemed lonely. She'd felt happy to see him open up, to see him direct small smiles at her from the other side of the cafeteria. Elated to know, without a single ounce of proof, that the tingling sensation at the nape of her neck was from him having touched her hair in passing as he exited their classroom.

She'd even begun believing he might reciprocate her feelings. She'd finally managed to ask him, heart pounding in her ears, if he'd like to grab a bite sometime, and he'd said yes without a blink of his mismatched eyes. When she'd rushed to clarify that she meant her offer in a more-than-friendly way, and he'd very faintly blushed before reassuring her that the answer was still affirmative, she had been sure this was the start of something new for them.

And then he goes and stands her up in favor of getting into yet another fight. Momo is going to kill him - bust first she's going to get some answers.

Fuyumi is the worst sister in the world.

A great big sister wouldn't have let Yaoyorozu in. Instead, Fuyumi leads her into his bedroom and, as soon as she's done putting ointment on his bruise, leaves them alone, door closed behind her. She is not getting a birthday present from him.

Yaoyorozu sits on his desk chair. For a moment, neither of them says anything: her looking straight at him with those big onyx eyes, him looking everywhere but at her. Eventually, Shoto hears her sigh, and then she speaks.

"I waited for you outside of school." she says, and Shoto can just picture her wearing the very same red turtleneck and black skirt and standing by the door, onyx eyes hopeful. He feels like an even bigger douche, letting some idiot get the best of him and in doing so, letting her down.

" I'm sorry I missed our date, Yaoyorozu." Shouto says, pulling at a loose thread on his blue sweater's sleeve. "I was looking forward to it."

"May I ask why, if that was the case, you missed it?"

Shouto thinks that if she knew, Yaoyorozu would forgive him. But he doesn't want Yaoyorozu to hear the way that disgusting jerk talked about her. He lowers his eyes, looking at her fisted hands.

"A guy said some things about me and I… lost control." it is, technically, not a lie, but he doesn't think it's enough of the truth to salvage their budding relationship.

"Todoroki-san…"she laments, digging into her forehead with the heel of her hand. "How many times will I have to ask you to stop getting into trouble?"

She leaves not long after that, and though Shouto is rarely ever cold, the room seems to lose warmth without her.

Momo's heart is going to explode.

She's searched and searched around the school, but she can't find Todoroki-san. She knows, realistically, that this can wait until tomorrow. She is also aware that her parents would greatly disapprove of the way she is running around and interrupting conversations and classes just to find one boy - but she might actually shatter into pieces if she doesn't talk to Todoroki-san right now.

Because he didn't not want to show up to the date. He was freshening up after basketball practice when some idiot from class 1B started talking about how Todoroki-san had 'bagged the hottest chick in their year' and 'totally' needed to 'share the deets on her bod when he was done with her'. Todoroki-san, her kind, caring Todoroki-san, hadn't been willing to humor that douche's disgusting comments. He had fought Monoma and beat him to a bloody pulp, but had to face detention and pay for the guy's hospital bills. That's why he'd stood her up.

And after a week of barely talking, Ashido-San had finally had enough, and let her in on the incident (which she'd learned through Kirishima-san). Needless to say, this information gave Momo a different perspective.

So she runs, to no avail because he's nowhere to be found, and neither are her friends, so she starts the way back home. When she's waiting for her ride, she notices a commotion in the school's adjoining park. There's a crowd surrounding something, or rather some people , as she finds out when she approaches. One of the people in question is Todoroki-san, shirtless and with a gash on his arm, green uniform pants stained with dirt. The other one is a short freshman with purple hair, clearly in over his head in regards to the fight. Covering her mouth with one hand in worry, Momo approaches the fight. She doesn't notice the way the crowd parts for her, but she does feel a spark of anger ignite in the pit of her stomach.

Soon she is at the edge of the circle, close enough that when Todoroki-san throws a punch and hits the shorter guy square in the jaw, she can't help but yell his name in horror.

"Yaoyorozu?" Todoroki-san asks, looking around for her. She's so mad at him for getting into yet another fight and also being so hot while not wearing a shirt, so she channels that anger into grabbing him by the hand and running towards the thicker part of the little wood in the park.

Once they're alone, she lets the anger blaze.

"Do you have a death wish? Are you out of your mind? Is this how you're going to be all of high school?" she scolds, holding one shoulder in her arm and poking his chest with every question. "I am tired of watching you hurt yourself, Todoroki-san."

"Yaoyorozu…"

"I'm not done! I know you fought Monoma-san and stood me up because he was being disgusting about me. I would have appreciated it being you who told me that instead of Ashido-san" she tells him, narrowing her eyes at him. In response to that, Todoroki-san's cheeks turn faint pink, and he looks away in apparent embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Yaoyorozu." he apologizes.

"But Todoroki-san… Does this mean you didn't just get into a fight to let me down gently?" she asks, looking at him, her onyx eyes full of hope.

"Of course not." he replies firmly. "Yaoyorozu, I would have never consented to a date with you if I weren't sincerely, positively interested in you."

And then she's kissing him. It's the single most impulsive, inappropriate thing she has ever done. Her etiquette tutors would have her head. But it's also the greatest thing she's ever done. Especially when Todoroki-san gets over the shock and holds her cheek with one warm hand as he returns the kiss. Meanwhile the other, oddly cooler hand undoes her ponytail so he can tangle his fingers in her hair.

There's so much still wrong with them, but in that moment, everything is perfect.

"Todoroki-san?" she calls after they part.

"Yes, Yaoyorozu?"

"Are you okay?"

"Don't worry." he reassures her, taking her hand in his as they walk back to procure his shirt. "I'm doing just fine."

And he really is.

#haysu writes stuff #todomomo #todoroki shouto #yaoyorozu momo #my hero academia #otp: i voted for you #ksksks todoroki is all 'FIGHT ME' and momo is all 'sTOP IT'#i love them sm my babies

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slapshot-to-the-heart · 4 years

Text

part vii

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

Welcome back, friends! I know it’s been a long time since I updated, and I’m sorry for that - I just finished up my junior year of college, and combined with all of the protesting an unrest going on in the US (where I’m from) it’s been hard to write on schedule. On that note, I want to say that as a person and a writer I unequivocally stand with the Black Lives Matter movement and those protesting for an end to police brutality, the demilitarization and downsizing of the police, and equal rights for all - noting especially that these issues particularly affect LGBTQ+ people of color, particularly Black trans women. I am always striving to keep myself as educated and informed on how to be an antiracist, and encourage everyone to take a look at https://blacklivesmatters.carrd.co/ for resources to educate yourself, donation links if you’re able, and petitions to sign. Breonna Taylor’s murderers still have not been arrested. I love writing, and I hope this chapter lives up to your expectations. Please reblog as always, and pop into my inbox and let me know what you think!

part vii

February 14

Dress like I’m going to a diner? Cass was more than a little confused as she pulled one leg through the pair of her good jeans (the ones without ripped knees, she wore them out with Mat and to less-important meetings and even to church once or twice when she was feeling particularly daring) as she slipped into her pea coat, toying with the button by her wrist as she opened the door to the crisp February air. It wasn’t snowing, but it was cold enough that her hands were still jammed firmly in her coat pockets. She could see her breath when she breathed out. Matt pulled up a few minutes, an apologetic look on his face as he slammed his hazards on and scrambled over the chair to push her door open.

“Sorry I’m late,” Mat said breathlessly. “Parkway was backed up.”

Cass waved him off. “It’s not a big deal, just crank the heat up.”

“I know you said you didn’t want anything too fancy, so I hope you like it,” he added hesitantly, looking in between her and the road as he turned a corner.

Cass squeezed his hand that was hovering just above the gear shift. “I’m sure I’ll love it, Mat.”

It really had been hard for Mat to figure out what to do for Valentine’s. He was leaving the next day for a weeklong road trip, but it was still, you know, Valentine’s, and he wanted so badly to get it right. So he tapped Jordan, called Tito, even somehow got ahold of her roommates to ask them what they thought she might be interested in. He wouldn’t admit it, but there also might have been a text or two back home to his sister for a second (third? fourth?) opinion. He wanted it to be perfect, but even more than that, he wanted it to be her. Dinner at a Michelin-starred restaurant and a Tiffany’s necklace might be all well and good, but it didn’t really matter if the proverbial shoe didn’t fit. The handful of Valentine’s dates he’d gone on in the past had mostly been the standard roses-and-chocolates type, and while Cass did love chocolate, this evening meant so much more to him than any previous attempt.

He didn’t want to do anything to mess it up, anything to jeopardize what was hands-down the most meaningful and serious relationship he’d ever been in. He’d dated girls for longer, sure, but there was something about what he had with Cass that made him feel like she had been in his life forever, like she was already a permanent fixture who made everything else make sense. They drove down the island of Manhattan, his thumb running back and forth over the palm of her hand until he pulled into a hotel parking lot. Cass looked at him quizzically. “Easiest place to park,” Mat said by way of an answer.

He parked, opening Cass’s door and helping her out. “Where are you taking me?” Cass said with a small laugh, looking across the street at the dozens of couples taking an early dinner.

Mat held up a finger. “It should be...right up here,” he said, double-checking his phone. “Ah-ha!”

A dusty green awning and flyer-covered window greeted the couple. It was a pizzeria, and it was perfect. It wasn’t just the fact that, like any sane person, Cass loved pizza, but the fact he knew what she wanted and prioritized that over any expectation or preconception about what the “right” way to celebrate was. And she could really go for a dollar slice.

They squeezed into a two-top table in the corner. Cass hung her bag on the back of her chair, scooping back to go order at the counter. When it came to food, Mat was a simple man with simple tastes. He liked pepperoni. “I got us garlic knots because it’s Valentine’s day and I love you,” she said, setting down the trays, “and also because I’d willingly murder a man for garlic.”

Mat picked one up, biting in and nearly moaning. God, these are good. “Babe, you’re going to be a lawyer. You can’t just go around getting yourself arrested for murder. I don’t think your garlic defense would go over well with the judge.”

Cass shrugged. “I can get myself off.” Mat raised an eyebrow. “Ew!” She threw a packet of red pepper at Mat, promptly hitting him square in the chest. “Get your mind out of the gutter. There are children present.” To be fair, aside from them the restaurant was filled mostly with high school students, nervously holding hands and sipping each others’ Cokes while they tried desperately to make small talk. And to be fair, she could get herself off.

“Are you finally going to tell me what we’re doing?” Cass asked, biting into the last bit of her crust.

“In a minute,” Mat said, twisting around to rustle through the pocket of his leather jacket. He pulled out a small, flat square box, sliding it over the table to her. Cass traced the edges delicately with a finger.

Mat smiled softly at her. “Open it.”

Cass tapped the box against her palm until the bottom fell softly into her hand. Inside, nestled in a cloud of cotton, was a beautiful silver bar necklace. It was simple, elegant, not too flashy. But it was her, and it was hers.

“I know you don’t like me spending money on you,” Mat shrugged, “but you deserve nice things. You deserve to be treated well.” He reached over the table to tuck a curl behind her ear.

She picked it up, touching the chain, clasp, pendant. “Turn it over,” Mat said pointedly, with a smile on his face. Cass flipped it. There was an engraving on the back — well, two, really. 10-28-20. That one she knew. That one was their anniversary. WWRD. That one she didn’t know. Glancing back up towards Mat with a confused look on her face, she raised an eyebrow. “What would Ruth do,” Mat supplied. It took Cass a moment, and once she realized, she almost fell over, dissolving into peals of laughter. What would Ruth do? “I know I’m nothing but a filthy Canadian,” Mat started, “but I also know you love her and look up to her. You don’t just have a mug with someone’s face on it for no reason.” That was true. For Secret Santa last Christmas, Ryanne had 100% gotten Cass a mug with Ruth Bader Ginsburg’s face on it. And she 100% used it every day for her morning tea.

“Plus, I read on Wikipedia that before she was a judge, she was a lawyer and did a lot for women’s rights and stuff. Which is really cool.” Cass nodded. That’s sweet, she thought, he actually did his homework.

It was Cass’s turn to turn to Mat, leaning forward and cupping his cheek gently. He leaned into her touch. “It’s beautiful, Mat. I love it.”

“Let me put it on for you?” Mat asked. Cass nodded, he stood up and shuffled behind her, delicately grabbing the necklace and brushing her hair to one side. Cass shivered at the touch of his fingertips. After a few seconds, he managed to clasp it, leaning down and brushing a kiss on her shoulder before walking back to his side and grabbing his jacket. “You ready to take off?” His eyes flickered down towards his watch. It was nearing 7:30. “We’ve got to be somewhere by 8, but they said to get there early.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Cass asked curiously.

Mat cracked a grin, sliding her hand into his as they walked out of the restaurant. “You’ll see.”

Two minutes of walking later and Cass was staring into the lights of Broadway. Even living only a few hours away, she had only been once before. The Lion King, in 5th grade. Her little sister Eliana was more of a theatre kid than Cass; field hockey and lacrosse kept her too busy in high school, any spare time she had between sports and work study was spent spending time with friends or reading old books. Eliana was four years younger than her, and when she got the lead in Heathers, Cass had never been happier to live only twenty minutes away from home. El killed it, she got to have a night at home, and was able to make pancakes with her mom in the morning. It was a win-win-win scenario. But Cass still loved musicals, listened to soundtracks while she studied, tried to make the drive once a year to Boston — Eliana was at BU — to see a winter or spring show.

So when she was suddenly looking up at the ten-foot-tall poster for Waitress, her mouth kept opening and closing like a fish. “Do you like it?” Mat asked hesitantly. “We can find something else to do if you’re not into it, I know —”

Cass cut him off, squeezing his hand tightly and standing on her tippy toes to press a kiss to his jaw. “It’s amazing, Mat. I just didn’t know what to say. I still don’t, really. This is such an...unexpected gift. But I love it.” Mat relaxed. He genuinely was nervous about the choice; her roommates had told him that she liked the soundtrack and she had recommended that Sara Bareilles album to him way back in October, but he didn’t want to assume that meant she’d want to see it live. Mat was glad that he was wrong.

Mat gently pulled the tickets out of his coat pocket, flashing them to the usher and handing Cass’s to her. “You ready for a show?”

---

“So, what did you think?” Cass asked as they walked out of the theater.

“I liked it!” Mat said. And he really had liked it. Some of the music definitely confused him, and he didn’t understand how quick changes were physically possible, but it was good. “Earl’s a class-A dick, though. Jenna’s much better off without him.”

Cass nodded. “Correct.”

March 4 (thurs)

Cass glanced down at her watch, making sure it was a good time to call. It was just after 6 in New York, which would mean it was...5 in Winnipeg? Was that right? Mat probably hadn’t gotten to the arena yet, or if he did, it was more likely dinner than training or warmups. Clicking on his contact, it rang for less than ten seconds before Mat picked up.

“Hey babe! You good?” It wasn't per se unusual for them to call each other — especially during road trips, they tried to talk or FaceTime every day — but it was usually Mat who called first, and usually just after games. So it was understandable that he was a little confused.

Cass giggled. “I’m good, really good. Got some good news, just wanted to hear your voice.”

“Awww,” Mat teased, “you loooove me.”

Cass didn’t really blush, but if she did, her cheeks would be scarlet. “Yes. I do. Shut up.”

Mat let out a laugh. “Just teasing you, babe. Good news, eh? What kind? Did you hear back from any of the places you applied yet?”

“No,” Cass huffed. “Not that.” She had sent out her résumé to somewhere around ten different firms and nonprofits, mostly in New York, but some as far south as D.C. and as far north as Boston. She had also sent in an application for a clerkship at the Supreme Court months back as some sort of pipe dream, but hadn’t heard anything back and had long since abandoned it as a lost cause. “I’ve done a few interviews, but nothing permanent. It’s still pretty early, though.” And that part was true — out of everyone in her circles back at school, there were maybe a handful who already had jobs lined up after graduation, most of them having evolved from summer associate positions they’d taken with some highbrow firm in Manhattan. Or D.C. One was even going to London to do something very intellectual-sounding with trade negotiations.

“I know you’re probably a little nervous, and I totally get that. But don’t worry, Cass. You’re incredible and so smart and so qualified and someone’s going to see that, even if it takes a little longer than expected.”

“Thanks,” Cass said, breathing out deeply and smiling softly. Mat was getting good at reading her, so good that he could tell when something was bothering her even without being face-to-face. And he gave damn fine pep talks.

Mat cleared his throat. “So. Good news?”

Cass screwed up her face. “Good news. Right. I just got out of the office, and you know how I said I was almost done with my hours?” It had taken Cass longer than usual to finish her experiential requirement, since nearly all of her peers got it knocked out in a summer and she, obviously, was a little more busy when it actually came to term time. “Mhm,” Mat responded. “I just got done with the last of them today!”

Mat was confused. “So...your good news is that you’re finished? I thought you liked working with Chris?”

“Right, yeah, I do.” Cass tried to backtrack. I should have explained. “Chris told me I’m welcome to stay on, and I’m going to. I genuinely like what I’m doing. Since I’m not doing it for school anymore, he put in a request for a status change with HR, and it just got approved. So,” she paused for dramatic effect, “the good news is that now I’m getting PAID.”

“Awesome!” Mat said. “You’re going to be the one making the big bucks now.”

“I’m making 16 dollars an hour. It’s barely above minimum wage, but it’s nice to finally get something back.”

Ten minutes later, after they had hung up, Mat leaned back in his hotel bed. He really was proud of Cass, unbelievably so, but hadn’t yet admitted to himself just how nervous he was. Not about their relationship, really, but about where things were headed. He absolutely saw them together as a long-term thing and at least from what Cass made it seem like, so did she. But they hadn’t really spoken about where they saw this whole thing going, or what it would look like, or really anything beyond vaguely discussed plans for the summer after her graduation. The uncertainty wasn’t really concerning him. Mat’s new contract locked him in through 2026, so he wasn’t leaving anytime soon. And he wouldn’t want to, he loved hockey and loved New York and loved his team.

Cass was a whole different story. She was probably the smartest person he’d ever met, and Mat knew that she could and would be able to go just about anywhere for a position. She didn’t have to stay in New York if she didn’t want to. And sure, New York was a pretty good place to be a lawyer — it didn’t take a genius to know that — but the worry kept popping up in the back of his mind that she’d get an incredible offer somewhere like California or Chicago or even somewhere international and would leave the city. Leave him. Mat would never dream of holding Cass back from her dreams. It would be a dick move and she’d worked way too hard to let everything go to waste. But the idea of doing something long distance, like true long distance, scared the shit out of him. It wasn’t just that he’d miss the sex or seeing her in the stands at games or early morning coffee dates, but Mat thrived on closeness, he thrived on intimacy of all kinds. It would terrify him to have to be away from someone who meant so much to him for so long. But this was Cass, his Cass, and if he’d go through it for anyone, it would be for her.

I’m overthinking this, Mat thought, as he flipped his phone over and over in his hands. Don’t make up problems where there are none.

March 13 (sat)

Cass tapped her fingers nervously as she walked through the doors of the Islander’s practice rink. It was family skate, and Cass couldn’t help but feel like she didn’t quite belong.

“There you are!” Mat said, his bag slung over one shoulder as he greeted her with a kiss. “You ready? I know Tito and Paige are already down there and they’re starting to get on the ice.”

“Yep!” Cass said brightly, forcing a smile and grabbing his hand a little too quickly.

Mat raised one eyebrow. “Alright, what is it?”

Cass dropped the face. “It’s just...this seems different than all of the other things I’ve gone to. It’s not like when I’m in the box at games or we go out with the team or I hang out with the girls when you guys are on a road trip. It’s like,” she let out a huff, “this is small. This is close. This is meant for family, wives and kids, and I’m not...I’m not family. I’m your girlfriend, sure, but…” She trailed off.

Mat squeezed her hand. “I plan on keeping you around for a long time, Cass. You’d better get used to it. And besides,” he said, looking at her softly, “wives have to start somewhere.”

Luckily, Cass didn’t have time to get too into her head, because she was suddenly engulfed in a bear hug from Paige. “I know we got coffee on Monday, but it’s been too long, Cass. I swear, you’re working too hard.”

Mat chimed in. “Tell me about it.” Cass swatted at him. “She’s been studying and editing and sending in her résumé to every office she can get her hands on.” He sat his chin on top of her head, arms crossing in front of her chest to hold her hands.

“Alright, Mr. Clingy,” Cass giggled, twisting her head to look up at Mat.

“But you looove your clingy boyfriend,” Mat whined, leaning down and softly kissing Cass.

She scrunched her nose. “Regrettably so.”

He squeezed her shoulder. “You ready to go out on the ice?”

“Yeah.” Cass nodded, taking a pair of skates from the rack. By the time she had unlaced her boots and set them to the side, Mat had already tied his hockey skates, an extra pair he kept in his practice bag.

“Let me,” Mat said, gently taking the skates and kneeling down in front of her.

Cass rolled her eyes, but her cheeks heated all the same. “If you insist,” she said, holding her left leg out.

“Okay, Cinderella,” Mat chuckled, holding her ankle for support as he wiggled her foot in, pulling the laces tight and tying them. “Double knots are more secure,” he said, blushing, as he finished the second skate.

“You’re cute when you blush,” Cass said, pinching Mat’s cheeks, which only made him go more scarlet.

He straightened out the knot, reaching out a hand so Cass could stand up. She steadied herself on the skates. “How much skating have you done?” Mat asked as he led her to the door.

Cass shrugged. “A little? I went a few times as a kid and the girls and I go to Rockefeller Center around Christmas every year, but not a ton. Skating’s an expensive enough sport as it is, and my parents were already having to deal with coming up with the fees for Noah before he started working.”

Mat grimaced. “Yeah, I get that. I hate it, how cost prohibitive the sport is, and I try to help out back home when I can, but knowing that there’s so many kids who love the sport and could be so good,” he took a tense breath, “but aren’t able to because their families don’t have the means. It’s really shi—” He cut himself off, noticing his teammates’ children skating around. “It sucks.”

“It does.” Cass nodded. “But I know you have a good heart, and I know you’re helping where you can.” She gave a half-smile as they stepped onto the ice, her hand gripping his forearm as she tried to find her balance on the slick surface, which had been passed over by a zamboni right before the group’s arrival. “Wipe that smile off of your face,” she said, sticking her tongue out.

“Yes ma’am,” Mat said with a grin, pulling her along.

---

After an hour or so of skating, Cass had gotten the hang of it enough to where Mat was good to step off the ice for a few minutes and talk to some of the boys. “They have goldfish,” he had mentioned. “I think the snack table’s supposed to be for the kids, but I’m not above theft in situations like these.” So Cass skated around with Paige, Lauren, and some of the other WAGs, nearly all of whom were much, much better skaters than herself.

“For someone who grew up on hockey, you’d think this would be way easier for me than it is,” Cass grumbled, tentatively pushing off from the sideboards.

“You’ll get it eventually. I believe in you,” Paige said, poking her cheek.

She grimaced. “Hopefully. I can see the Athletic’s morning headline now: ‘Cassidy Cabrera Shaw, Girlfriend of 2018 Calder Trophy Winner Mat Barzal, Falls on Face While Attempting to Skate.”

“Sue them,” Paige suggested.

Cass laughed. “That’d be nice, wouldn’t it? Wish I could.” She stuck her hands in her jacket pockets. “No grounds for defamation if it’s true.”

“Laws are dumb.”

“They can be,” Cass admitted, looking over to the bleachers. “You want to go get drinks? I think I saw Whiteclaws in the adult’s cooler, and I know how you feel about those.”

Paige was already halfway across the rink. “Only if all the limes haven’t been taken!”

Cass shook her head, turning like Mat had taught her and skating over to the benches. Paige had gone over to sit with Anthony, a lime Whiteclaw successfully in her hand, and it took Cass no time to find Mat. He was sitting in the second row next to some of the other guys, and he was holding a baby. A very cute, very small baby. She gingerly made her way over to the group, catching Mat’s eye. He beamed at her as she took a seat next to him.

“And who’s this little cutie?” She asked, smiling at him.

“This is Milo,” Mat said softly, turning him slightly so she could wave at him.

Cass absentmindedly remembered asking whose son it was — an offseason trade from Colorado, she vaguely recalled processing the contract at work — but she really couldn’t say which one. But she stroked Milo’s face with one finger, puffed out her cheeks at him, and suddenly he was in her arms and everything else fell away. She bounced him for a few minutes, easily falling back into her old routine — she was an older sister, after all — before handing him back to Mat, who was clearly having some separation anxiety.

Lauren sat on the edge of the bench, gently touching Cass’ shoulder with Collins on her hip. “He looks really good like that, doesn’t he?” She asked. Cass’ cheeks burned. She didn’t know anyone had seen her looking over at Mat and Milo. “Yeah, he does,” she said, a soft smile crossing over her face.

March 26 (fri)

A steaming cup of tea in her hands, Cass threw her head back against the couch, knocking her reading glasses askew. She straightened them with a huff. There were two days until the deadline for the law review, and she still had two articles to get through for last-minute edits and spelling checks. It was just past 11, which normally wouldn’t have been all that late for her, but she had been staring at her computer for hours and it was beginning to take a toll. She had been at the library until 8 or so, making more than one trip to the coffee cart in the lobby before she realized that she wasn’t going to get anywhere sequestered away in a cubicle on the fourth floor. The Islanders were playing that night, so Cass shot Mat a text that she was headed over, packed up her bags, and headed over.

He had just given her a key the week prior, and it was her first time using it. Even though he constantly told her she was welcome to go over, whether he was there or not, she had more than her fair share of nerves as she jingled her keychain, thumbing over her apartment key and mail key and car key and key to the house back in Connecticut before she opened the door. She set the kettle to boil and grabbed the little-used box of English Breakfast from the cabinet before crashing on the couch, where she had been pretty much ever since, save for a bathroom break after a thrilling review of a paper on recent intellectual property rulings of the 2nd Circuit Court.

The doorknob turned and Mat walked in, shower-damp hair, still clad in his gameday suit with his duffel slung over his left shoulder. “Hey, babe,” he said, dropping the bag and walking over to the couch to plant a gentle kiss on the top of her head. “Still at it?”

She nodded ruefully, rubbing her eyes. “Yeah. I ordered takeout earlier in case you’re hungry, there’s an extra gyro in the kitchen,” she pointed to a bag on the counter, “and they threw in free baklava if you’re still hungry.”

His eyebrows perked. “Baklava?” Cass had discovered early on in their relationship that hidden beneath his curated meal plans from the team nutritionist and smoothie kits was a surprisingly committed sweet tooth. She was a stress-baker, and Mat had been more than willing over the past few months to serve as her taste tester for cookies, pies, and anything in between.

Cass giggled. “Yeah. Better get it before I steal the last piece, though.”

Mat returned later with the pastry on a napkin, shrugging off his suit jacket and collapsing onto the cushion beside her. “Anything else interesting happen today?”

Cass shrugged her shoulders. “I had yoga in the morning like usual, which was fun. I tried a hot yoga class today, though, and you would not believe how much I sweat. It hurt my soul.”

“No pain no gain, baby,” Mat chimed in. Cass rolled her eyes at him.

“But then I had law review and my Entertainment Law seminar before I headed over to the office. Pretty normal, they had me looking over some leasing agreements for the next season. Called my grandma, she’s shipping my serape stole over next week and needed my address,” Cass added.

“Serape stole?”

Cass adjusted her position on the couch so she was facing Mat. “It’s a Mexican thing. You know how graduation gowns usually have stoles for the school or whatever?” Mat nodded. “It’s pretty common to have cultural ones too, Black students will often wear what’s called a kente cloth stole and Mexican and some other Latinx students have serape stoles. Give me a sec,” she said, grabbing her phone and scrolling through her photos. “Here’s a graduation photo of me and the girls from UConn, Ryanne’s in her kente stole and I have mine.”

Mat looked bewildered. “Why are you wearing so many of them?”

Cass laughed, realizing which photo she pulled up. “Okay, fair enough. So there’s the normal school one on the bottom, then I had one for the honors program, then on top of that is the one from my sorority, then on top of that is the serape. Most of the other photos it’s just one or two, like in the ones when I’m with the sorority or the Mexican Student Association or whoever. We thought it would be fun to take one where we’re just drowning in stoles and leis. Made us feel fancy.”

“You do look very fancy,” Mat said, leaning his head on her shoulder. “You also look very tired, Cass. You need to go to sleep.”

Cass scrunched up her nose. “I’ve only got the two papers left to look over, and I’d really like to get them done before I head back. Get them all knocked out, y’know?”

“Stay here,” Mat said easily, as if it wasn’t even a question. “Stay here, you can finish reviewing them in the morning. Plus, I’d feel a lot better if you weren’t taking the subway alone at half past 11.”

Cass sighed. He had a point. “Fine,” she said slowly, “but you have to promise to wake me up if I don’t get out of bed by 8. Okay?”

Mat gently took her laptop, setting it on the coffee table. “Okay. Now go take a shower and hop into bed, pretty girl. You’ve had a long day.”

“Thanks,” Cass said, smiling gratefully and padding down the hall to the bathroom. Shedding her clothes, Cass stepped into the shower, expecting to use Mat’s Old Spice shampoo — which, to be fair, didn’t smell half bad — when a white floral bottle caught her eye. She had mentioned offhand once that she was picking up a new bottle of shampoo, and Mat must have been listening more than she gave him credit for. Because, without asking, he had gotten one too.

#hockey imagine #hockey writing #nhl imagine #nhl writing #mat barzal #mathew barzal #mat barzal imagine #mat barzal imagines #nhl #nhl imagines #nhl smut #hockey #hockey smut #hockey imagines #New York Islanders #islanders #islanders imagines #islanders writing

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artificialqueens · 4 years

Text

Hot as Hell and No A/C, Chapter 6 (Branjie) - Blackhighheels

Six

”Girl, you better watch out or the cutie who’s been flirting with ya is going home with this other ho,” A’keria points out and snaps Jose our of his thoughts. He has been sitting at the bar all night, nursing his one drink and doesn’t feel like doing anything else, not even dancing.

He only agreed to come along to the club because his two best friends have been nagging him for weeks now, ever since he got back home from Texas.

Jose doesn’t feel like dancing and drinking and flirting and fucking trade. He doesn’t even feel like socialising.

”Child, I don’t mind. He can go home with whoever the fuck he wants.”

”He still sulking. Still thinking about his hot fuck with the hunky cowboy,” Silky throws in their two cents.

”He’s no hunky cowboy and it wasn’t just a hot fuck.” Jose gets angry in seconds. This is no joking matter to him, not at all.

”If it was love, then why the ho not calling ya? Or at least replying to ya messages? He played you, girl.” Silky insists.

”It looks fishy,” A’keria holds up their hands when Jose looks at them.

”I’m going home. Fuck you, bitches.” He throws some money on the counter for his drink, grabs his jacket and is out of there before his friends can protest. He knows he’s overreacting, but he doesn’t care.

At home he kicks off his shoes, throws his jacket on the couch and lies down on top of it. Thackery comes around the corner and jumps on his back.

”You thinking too that he was playing us, Thacks? Or do you think we was right and he likes us?” Jose turns around on his back, but makes sure Thackery doesn’t fall down. In reply, the cat bumps his head against Jose’s chest.

”Then why ain’t he replying? He’s ghosting us, little man.” He presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. ”I know there’s no fucking future and I know I should forget about him, but I can’t.” He sniffs. ”Fuck.”

After petting Thackery for a while, he gets up and gets ready for bed. He knows the drill by now.

He gets in, grabs his phone and starts the video he needs. He hears himself laughing and joking and then there’s Brock’s laughter as he watches Jose goof off, unaware that Brock is filming him. Jose puts the video on repeat, because he knows he can’t sleep otherwise.

The last night he slept peacefully was the night before Brock came over.

Since Brock showed up at his apartment at Jason’s, everything has been different. Jose closes his eyes and he sees Brock standing there, in front of the door. He feels him kissing him. He can feel the panic again, which he felt in the bathroom. He sees his attempts to take deep breaths and calm himself down. He knew what Brock was offering, what he wanted and, dear god, he wanted it, too. But he was also nervous, anxious really. He could tell himself a thousand times that it was just another one night stand and he should treat it as such, but it would never be true either. You can’t have a one night stand with someone you love without getting hurt.

In the bathroom he had allowed a few tears to fall, knowing that in the early morning they would have to say goodbye. Brock had wanted this night as a goodbye present. And Jose had needed it as well, but he had just hoped against hope there would be no goodbye, only a ‘see you later’. Brock wanted to make love, and that’s what they’d done.

It’s the ”Still being in love” part, that keeps Jose up at night, when he's re-playing their one passionate night over and over in his head.

Brock’s laughter in the video gives him something else to focus on, so he can shut off his brain and sleep.

The next day, Silky shows up at his place.

”Ya better?” they ask as they walk in with containers of take-out.

”I’m fine.” It’s a half-assed lie that Silky sees through.

”What the fuck did the guy do to you? He must be a god in bed, if you’re still this fucked up two months later.”

”It isn’t about the sex, Silks. I really like him.”

”Then why you not going back and confront him about why he’s not replying? He might explain himself or he might not and then ya got your answer, too.”

”I can’t go back, Silks. It’s too damn risky. I don’t wanna destroy his life. And even if he feels the same: He made it clear he ain’t leaving his family behind and I can’t live there.” Jose knows it’s the truth, but it doesn’t mean that it hurts any less. ”Maybe it’s a good thing he ghosting me. I can be angry at him and get over him faster.”

”But you really like him.”

”Yeah, I really like him. He was like… perfect for me. And, fuck, I miss him. I miss just talking to him. Miss his dumb ass face when he didn’t know what the fuck I was talking 'bout when I was rambling about movies and shit. Or when he slept in my arms and did that little sniffling sound whenever he moved, just to hold me tighter.”

”You know that that’s the shit that gets annoying once you’re in a relationship. The way he wakes you up with that annoying sound and how it’s uncomfortable when he clutches you like a koala.”

”Maybe. But we ain’t getting the chance for it to get annoying.” Jose sighs deeply, his stomach heavy.

”I’m sorry, bitch. But you gonna eat dinner with me today. No excuses!” Silky changes the topic and Jose is thankful for it.

***

The day Jose leaves the weather takes a turn for the worse and it gets unbearably hot.

Maybe it’s the heat, maybe it’s the lack of sleep or food, maybe it’s too much beer or too much work, but two weeks after Vanjie’s departure, Brock gets sick.

He wakes up one morning with his head pounding, his joints and muscles hurting and his chest tight. He has trouble breathing, although he’s not coughing or sneezing. He’s so exhausted he can’t keep his eyes open, even though he’s not running a fever.

He physically can’t get out of bed.

He falls asleep again and when he wakes up it’s a whole day later and his mother is checking on him.

”I’m glad you up, son. I was worried and ya father wants you to get up and help him in the stables. He can’t do it all by himself, ya know.” She says and gently checks his forehead.

”I can’t.” He replies meekly and falls asleep again. Even talking hurts.

He only leaves bed to go to the bathroom, sometimes to pee, sometimes to throw up when the pain in his heads gets too overwhelming.

He can’t really eat, but he isn’t hungry anyway. He drinks the water, tea and broth his mother brings him, before he falls asleep again.

His dreams are filled with weird scenes, some of them reality, some of them fantasy, but all including Jose in one way or another.

Sometimes he comes back and sweeps him off his feet like a knight in shining armour.

Sometimes he turns into a bird and flies away with a cry like an eagle.

Sometimes he dances with the kids, dances circles around him as they laugh, scream and insult him. His dad dances with them; he doesn’t even need a cane anymore.

After nearly two weeks Ada shows up.

”Get up, you have to get out of bed,” she tells him and pulls his blanket off. It’s too hot in the room anyway.

”I can’t.” He isn’t joking or exaggerating. He physically can’t get up. He has no energy left and his head is hurting so much, all he sees are flashes of bright light.

”Yes, you can. Here, take my hand, I’m gonna help ya sit up.” She pulls him up more than he actually sits up himself. He feels dizzy. ”Ya know when mom told me you was sick, I didn’t worry too much, cause it’s supposed to happen to ya with the way you work ya'self into the ground. But when she told me ya slept through two of dad’s screaming fits, I knew it was serious. What’s going on, little brother? You ain’t got no fever.”

”Everything hurts. I can barely open my eyes because it hurts so bad and I’m just so damn tired all the time.”

”You sick.” Brock just grunts in reply. She’s stating the obvious. ”Love sick, if you ask me.”

”I’m not asking you. And love sick doesn’t exist.”

”People have died of a broken heart.”

”You think that’s what’s happening to me?” Would he care if that’s the case? Not really.

”I don’t know, you telling’ me. You never said a word what happened when Vanjie left.” It’s the first time anyone speaks that name in weeks and it feels like a physical blow. His headache worsens. The nausea is back. Maybe he is dying of a broken heart after all? ”Did ya take my advice?”

”I went to see him after the hospital, yes,” he replies, because he knows Ada won’t leave him alone until he does.

”Did ya talk to him? What did he say? Does he feel the same?”

”There wasn’t much talking,” he admits.

”Oh.“ For a second an uncomfortable silence fills the room. "Wasn’t it… good?”

”It was amazing, the most amazing night of my life. But we both knew there’s no future, so we didn’t pretend there was.”

”Why not? A lot of people do long distance relationships. Look at Joe and me. He’s on the road all the time, that gotta count as long distance.”

”It’s not the same. I don’t have the money or the time to go see him. And when he’d be here, he’d have to hide, we couldn’t be seen together and there’d be always the fear of getting caught. This is my shitty life and I don’t wanna drag him down with me. I want him to be happy and he wouldn’t be with me.”

”You could go with him.”

”And do what? Live off his money and become a burden to him? While everything goes to hell here? Dan would lose his business and mom and dad would lose the farm. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself, if that happened.”

”You not doing too well now, Brock. Lying in bed all day, sleeping all the time.”

”I just… everything hurts, Ada. If I eat I get sick, if I move I get dizzy. My head is pounding and I can hardly breathe.”

”You thought about going to a doctor?”

”And who’s gonna pay for that?” He lies back down.

”Fine, but I’m gonna be checking on ya from now on. I’m gonna be here every day and tomorrow I’m going to bring Noah, 'cause he misses you. I don’t think you’re contagious.”

"Wake me up when you get here,” he sighs and closes his eyes.

”Will do. Sleep tight little brother.” She places a kiss on his forehead and then finally there’s silence and darkness all around him once again.

***

”Ada? Ada?” Brock calls out as he enters his sister’s home. It’s suspiciously quiet in and around the house, even though it’s a Saturday and the kids should be home. The door shuts behind him and Brock feels like he can breathe again in the cooler house.

”Shush, Noah just fell asleep,” Ada comes out of the kitchen.

”Sorry,” Brock drops his voice. ”Mom said you need my help.” Again, he wants to add, but he doesn’t. Ever since Ada managed to get him out of bed a month ago, she’s been requesting his help at least every couple of days. At first it was small repairs around the house, then helping with the kids. It’s not complete bullshit, but Brock is aware that his sister is mainly calling him over to check on him and to make sure he gets out of the house and away from his parents for a bit.

”Yeah, but it’s not important. The kids are at the lake with the neighbors and the baby is asleep. You want some coffee or tea?”

”Iced tea maybe?”

”Sure,” Ada nods and leaves. When she comes back she carries two large glasses of iced tea and hands him one.

”How are you?” she asks as soon as she has sat down.

He shrugs, not sure if he wants to answer the question honestly. Because the honest answer is that he still feels like shit. He’s no longer in bed all day, but he wants to be. His body still hurts, his chest is still tight and he has no energy. Still, he gets up every day and somehow manages to function until he crashes into bed every evening. ”Same,” he finally admits.

”I wanted to talk to you about that. I know you are up, but I can see you’re not well. So I went on the internet and did some research because you refuse to see a doctor. And… Brock, I think you might need to see a therapist, like, you know, a psychologist.”

”You a doctor now?” He doesn’t like the word and he doesn’t like his sister’s amateur diagnosis.

”No, I’m not. But it all fits, even, like the way you were feeling better when Vanjie was around. You weren’t that tired anymore. You told me when you were with him you were able to sleep. And I think you should go and see someone, get some help. You need professional help.”

”Ada, I appreciate it that you worry about me, but can you tell me where I’d find a therapist around here in a two hour radius? And who’d pay for it? Who’d take over my work while I drive back and forth? Who’d pay for the gas?”

”I don’t know. But you need to talk to someone. Every day I’m scared that the next you’re not gonna be here anymore.”

”I’m not leaving. Where’d I go?”

”I’m not talking about you leaving. I’m talking about you harming yourself. I read that online, that a lot of gay people kill themselves because they’re unhappy and aren’t accepted. Or because they struggle with their sexuality. They get depressed.”

”I’m not struggling with that. I’m gay. I can’t live it and I have to stay in the closet around here, but that doesn’t change the fact. I’ve come to accept it.”

”Is that why you not at church anymore?”

”Maybe. I’m just so sick of being told all the time how horrible gays are and how we’ll burn in hell and how we should be pushed out of the community, like we’re criminals.” Brock sighs. ”But I’m also just tired. When mom and dad are at church, at least they can’t be on my case for sleeping during the day.”

”Dad won’t buy the ‘I’m sick’ excuse much longer. And mom is running out of excuses why you not at church.”

”I don’t care what he buys or not. He should just leave me alone. I don’t even care anymore, about none of it.”

”I know that’s not true, Brock. I know you still care, even if it doesn’t feel like it at the moment.”

”I really don’t. I’m too tired to care about anything to be honest.” Brock insists. "Or feel anything other than the constant pain in my head and joints.” It’s true. Most of the time he’s just numb now. It’s a feeling he prefers to the constant heartache of the weeks before. And when he feels something it’s usually annoyance or anger. He’s never been an angry person, but these days, he definitely has a very short fuse. Even his father doesn’t fuck with him anymore since he nearly hit him one night, when he wouldn’t let him sleep.

”How about you talk to Jason? He must understand what you’re going through.”

Brock shakes his head. ”I don’t really know him that well. And if people see me hanging out with him, the gossip will start that I’m suddenly a friend of the faggots and when they’ll turn me. They can go fuck themselves when it comes to me, but what about the pressure on you? Or the kids? I don’t want you to have to go through that.”

”Fine. Then please, talk to me. I’m worried sick about you.” Ada has tears in her eyes when he looks at her.

”I’m gonna be fine. It might take a while, but I’ll get there.” He promises and pulls her in his arms. He’s not sure he believes his own words, but what else is he supposed to say?

”Have you talked to Vanjie?” she asks when she breaks the hug.

”No.” The name alone is enough to make him want to hide in bed again.

”Why not?”

”What good would it do to drag this out longer? The quicker I get over him the better. And the same goes for him.”

”I still think it’s a mistake you let him go.” Ada points out, but Brock already knows her opinion.

”I know,” he simply replies and leans back agains the sofa, his legs suddenly feeling so heavy he can barely move them. ”But I also know that he’s better off without me and my fucked up life.”

***

Brock is stacking the shelves during his mother’s lunch break, when a voice from behind makes him freeze.

”Hey Brock.”

”Hey,” he turns around and finds Jason in the store, holding milk and eggs.

”Can I pay?” He asks when Brock just remains quiet.

”Sure.”

”How’s Ada doing? I’m surprised she’s not back at the store yet.”

”The baby, Noah, he’s not sleeping well and keeps screaming day and night. Some digestion stuff babies get.”

”Sounds like the three month colic.” Jason hands over some bills. ”But shouldn’t be too much longer then. He’s nearly three months, right?”

”Yeah, tomorrow.” Brock nods. ”You know stuff about babies?”

”My boyfriend’s sister has two kids and we watch them sometimes when I’m there. I think, one day, ya know, we gonna have some kids of our own. We just gotta save some money first.”

”You can do that?” Brock wrinkles his forehead.

”Sure. I mean, none of us can carry them, of course,” Jason laughs. ”But we can adopt or use surrogacy, if we have enough money. We’ll see. I mean, we talked about it and we agreed we want kids, we just haven’t really talked about the details.”

”You gonna get married, too?”

”Maybe, maybe not. Because of the shit I see and hear around here I don’t really believe in marriage, but Chris is a romantic. He wants a big white wedding.”

Brock nods, but he can’t picture it. What would a gay wedding look like? Two guys in suits? Which minister would do the ceremony? Or wouldn’t it be at church? ”Here.” He quickly bags the items Jason just bought.

Jason looks around the store before he speaks. ”I know it isn’t my place and all, but… you look like hell. I’ve noticed that you kinda not ok since Vanj’ left. If you need to talk….”

”Did Ada sent you?” Brock gets angry.

”Ada knows?” Jason’t eyes widen and Brock understands that Ada didn’t send him. The surprise is genuine.

”Yeah, she knows. She told me the day she had Noah that she knows. She’s not gonna say anything to anyone though. I hope neither do you.”

”Of course not!”

”Good.”

”But Brock, still…. If you want to talk, need to talk, whatever,” he grabs a pen from the register and scribbles something down. ”Here’s my number. Call me if you don’t wanna be seen with me. You don’t have to, but… I’m a good listener, ok?”

”Ok.” He nods, takes the number and quickly puts it in his pocket. ”Hey Jason!” he calls out when the other man is nearly by the door.

”Mmh?”

”I’m sorry about the way you’re being treated… about the way I treated you.”

”You never did anything to me.” Jason looks surprised.

”Maybe. But I didn’t stick up for you either… I guess, now you know why.” Brock takes a deep breath before he can continue. ”But I should have. I’m not ashamed to be seen with you. Just… give me some time to… feel better and then maybe we can… grab a beer or something?”

”We can always grab a beer a town or two over. Even four, if that’s what you need. The offer stands.”

”Thank you,” Brock nods. The offer doesn’t make him feel any better, but he appreciates it anyway.

”Bye, man. Keep your head above the water, k?” Jason smiles and then leaves, just as Brock’s mother comes back.

”What did he want?” she asks once Jason is gone. She sounds like she’s talking about vermin.

”Eggs and milk, or do you have a problem with that?” he snaps at her, picks up the next box of soda and slams it on the shelf.

***

”You call me out upon the waters, the great unknown where feet may fail. And there I find You in the mystery, in oceans deep my faith will stand. And I will call upon Your name and keep my eyes above the waves. When oceans rise, my soul will rest in Your embrace. For I am Yours and You are mine…” Rachel sings loudly as she taps away on her phone.

”You think she’s old enough to a have a cellphone?” Brock asks his sister as he watches his niece, doing whatever.

”She’s old enough to watch her brothers and sisters, cook dinner and do the laundry. She’s a responsible girl and she can have a cellphone if she wants. We talked about what apps she can have and what games she can play. I also know what she’s posting on tiktok or insta and who she’s talking to on tumblr.”

”On what?” Brock has no idea what his sister is talking about.

”You’re getting old, little brother. There’s more you can do with a phone than text and call, ya know?” Ada laughs at him. ”Rachel? Can you come over and show your old uncle what tiktok and Instagram are?”

”You don’t know?” Rachel’s eyes are wide and her mouth hangs comically wide open, before she grabs her phone and rushes over to where Brock sits on the sofa.

”No, I don’t. I only know Tic Tacs,” he says and Rachel snorts wit laughter.

”You’re so dumb,” she giggles and taps something on the screen. ”See, this is tiktok. You can like choose some music or like a scene from a movie or something and then you do some moves, dance or act, or move your mouth or something.”

”Why?” Brock watches the video of Rachel, where she’s lip syncing to something that sounds like a movie scene.

”‘Cause it’s fun.” You wanna do one with me?”

”Uh, no.” Brock shakes his head.

”Please, uncle Brock! Pleeeease! Mommy sometimes does too!”

”You do?” He looks to his sister, who is currently breastfeeding the baby.

”It’s fun,” she laughs.

”Fine, what’d ya got?” he asks his niece and after a couple of tracks, they finally find one where Brock pretends to sneeze first and then Rachel follows before bursting in some kind of song. He whole thing makes no sense to Brock, but Rachel is having fun, giggling away as she shoots the video with him, chooses a filter and then uploads the madness.

”And see, this is instagram,” she lets him know and opens another app.

”I’m not sneezing again,”Brock warns her, and Rachel giggles again.

”You upload pics and like videos and stories and stuff.” She actually rolls her eyes at him. ”Oh look, Vanjie has uploaded a new video,” she says and before it fully registers with Brock what Rachel said, a clip of starts playing.

Jose starts the video, his face so close to the camera you can see the slight dust of freckles on his nose. Music is blaring in the background and then he starts dancing. Brock is sure whatever he does is good, but he’s not really paying attention to the dance moves. He takes in Jose’s outfit, the loose sweats and T-shirt. The backwards baseball hat on his head. The serious expression on his face. How his hair is shaved a different way and slightly bleached, from what he can see.

”Vanjie has instagram?” Ada asks once the short clip is over.

”Yeah. Usually he posts videos of his new moves and choreos and stuff. But he also has a pic with uncle Brock’s hat. He posted it yesterday,” Rachel reports and a second later there’s a picture on the screen, that Brock knows too well. Because he took it. It’s the one where Jose is wearing his old straw hat, smiling happily into the camera, taken back when they were still friends and Brock’s life had been a bit easier for a little while. It’s only been a bit over three months, but to Brock it feels like a lifetime ago.

As he looks at the picture he’s back in the moment, he can hear Jose’s laughter, feel the wind on his skin and smell Jose’s cologne. He’s happy again for that second.

”Steady as a preacher, free as a weed. Couldn’t wait to get goin’ but wasn’t quite ready to leave. So innocent, pure and sweet, American honey,” Ada reads the caption out loud. ”That’s a song, right?” she asks her daughter while Brock still stares at the screen.

”Yup, but you can’t dance to it and it’s not from church,” Rachel replies, citing the rules she has for the music she’s allowed to listen to, not realising that her knowing the song basically gives her away. Then she shuts off the screen and Jose is once more gone from Brock’s life. The wound where his heart used to be, ripped open again.

He needs to get instagram, Brock decides, because he needs to have that picture; needs it like the air he breathes.

”Where feet may fail and fear surrounds me, You’ve never failed and You won’t start now! So I will call upon Your name and keep my eyes above the waves. When oceans rise, my soul will rest in Your embrace. For I am Yours and You are mine,” Rachel starts singing again and Ada gives his shoulder a squeeze as Brock gets lost in the memories and feelings for the mn he’s just seen in the picture he’s just seen.

TBC

Notes: The lyrics in this chapter are taken from the songs “American Honey” by Lady Antebellum and “Oceans” by Hillsong United.

#rpdr fanfiction #brooke lynn hytes #vanessa vanjie mateo #branjie #m/m au #slow burn #romance #smut #angst #hot as hell and no ac #blackhighheels #tw religion #tw internalized homophobia

13 notes · View notes

lia-jones · 4 years

Text

Growing Stronger - Chapter Twenty - The Toothfairy Isn’t Real

I woke up to his soft lips teasing my ear.

“Are you spending the whole day in bed?” His low morning voice was warm and enticing, pleasantly forcing me out of my slumber.

I felt his body move away, letting the cold morning air seep into the comforter. Moaning, I opened my eyes slightly, barely a slither, trying to see what time it was. It was still early, and the sun was just rising.

“It’s Saturday… Too early for a Saturday.” I complained, moving closer to him, seeking the comfort of his warmth. I sighed in contentment when his strong arms enveloped me.

“If you stay in bed all day, how am I going to show you your surprise?” His mouth was very close to my ear, forming into a mischievous smile. The movement gave me shivers.

“What surprise?” I mumbled, not registering what he had said.

“If I tell you, it won’t be much of a surprise, will it?” Oooo, he was good. Too good for his own good.

Victor was perfectly aware of how I would react to the word ‘surprise’. He chuckled as I practically jumped away from his arms to face him, an excited look on my face.

“What surprise?” I insisted, feeling excited. I was surely in for a treat, and Victor seemed to be in a great mood. My heart jumped with joy.

“Go get ready.” He ordered, getting up, not before softly squeezing my butt. “I’m going to start breakfast.”

I nearly inhaled the pancakes he served me, curious to see what was in store for me. Victor kept a satisfied smirk, slowly sipping his coffee while reading the news on his phone.

As we were about to leave, I took my phone from the table to put it away in my purse. Victor softly held my wrist, a stern look on his face.

“No phone.” He scolded. “No work, no emails, and no emergency calls either. Today is about relaxing.”

“They are called emergency calls for a reason.” I complained, holding my phone tight in my hand. “There may be some issue, and my team will-”

“Will have to figure it out without you.” Despite my protests, Victor took my phone away. “It’s Saturday . Besides, most companies are closed for the weekend. I’m sure the emergency can wait till Monday.”

I reluctantly accepted my fate, not wanting to spoil a day that had started so gloriously. I had to admit Victor was right. The study was taking all of my time, even the time I was supposed to rest, and that was taking its toll on me. It was time to draw the line.

Also, it was so good to see Victor back to his old self. He took some time to recover, and it was sometimes very painful for him, but he had started to work again, surprisingly listening to me and easing into it, instead of jumping right in. He seemed to be pain-free, returning to his morning jog and laps in the pool. He didn’t even limp anymore. It had been a huge surprise to see him take the car keys and drive himself to work one day. I had expected him to hesitate getting inside a car by himself, but no, the mighty CEO would not let a pesky thing like the trauma of being smashed by a truck hold him back in anything.

Victor drove us past the outskirts of the city, towards the lake, leading us to an area I had never been before. It seemed to be a more rural region, devoted mostly to agriculture, judging by the cultivated fields and orchards siding the roads.

“I don’t think I have ever been around these parts before.” I commented, as I watched the view through my window. For some reason, this reminded me of my summers at my grandmother’s house, in the countryside, or our trips to go olive picking in November.

“I did promise to show you Loveland.” Victor replied, taking his trained eyes from the road for a second to give me a loving glance.

“And what is Mr. Lee showing me, exactly?” I softly caressed his neck, trying to pry some information from him. He gulped, trying to keep his cool under my enticing touch.

“I’m driving.” He scolded, blushing slightly. “Don’t be impatient, you’ll know soon enough.”

We left the strawberry fields and the view of the lake far in the distance, and made a turn to the deep forest. After what seemed like a mile of dirt road surrounded by luscious trees, we encountered an iron gate. Victor spoke into the intercom, simply stating it was him, and the gates opened wide, inviting us in. My curiosity grew exponentially.

Victor parked the car in front of this huge countryside mansion, with rustic red rooftops and built with light stones, large windows, as well as a green well-manicured garden that embellished it displayed its opulence. The large wooden front door swung open, and from it emerged, to my surprise,Aunt Terry.

“Andrea! So nice to see you!” She greeted me with a hug as soon as I left the car. “Welcome to my evil lair!” She joked, gaining a chuckle both from me and Victor.

“It’s beautiful! Thanks for having me.” I looked around, dazzled. “Really wonderful.”

“It’s all mine now.” She proudly announced. “Gregory lent me his property to raise my horses, but I finally bought it from him.” She turned to Victor. “Your father didn’t tell you?”

Victor chuckled, shaking his head, like the idea of his father having a decent conversation with him was ridiculous.

“Congratulations. So all of this is yours now?” Victor came close to me, putting his hand on my waist.

“All 500 acres of it. It feels like a dream.” She said, looking around. “Come, Andrea, let me get you something to drink. Also, Victor, Mina is dying to see you.”

“You are going to meet Mina.” Victor gave me a wide smile, seemingly excited with the idea.

“Who is Mina?” I asked, discreetly.

“Only the kindest person I have ever known. Present company excluded, of course.” He leaned his head against mine, and my heart beat hard with anticipation. This was him letting me in, showing me the people he cared about, making me part of his life. This was huge. It was like meeting the parents, minus the heavy confrontation.

“When I was a kid I used to spend the summers with my aunt, especially after my mother died. Mina used to work for my father then, and she would come as well to take care of me. I learned to ride a horse here, and I still come here to ride Onyx from time to time. You’ll meet him as well.”

Victor navigated that large mansion like it was his own home, which made sense in light of the new information he provided me. The house had antique, wooden pillars everywhere, old but elegant furniture. It was extremely bright, though, and had a homey vibe, with lots of light and vases with flowers from the garden in every corner.

We waltzed into the kitchen like it was nothing. We found a petite old lady with short, pure white hair and a friendly face, preparing some ice tea. Her eyes were wide and bright as soon as she heard Victor greet her.

“Hummingbird!” She practically flew to his arms, Victor welcoming her with a loving embrace. “I was so worried when Miss Terry told me you were hurt! I wanted to see you, but I also know you hate having too many people around.” Victor’s eyes watched lovingly as she ranted along. “And you brought… a girlfriend? Who is this lovely lady? Ooo, she’s beautiful!”

Mina smiled widely at me. I couldn’t help but grin like an idiot too. I was yet to say a word to her and I could already tell she was one of those people that just filled the room with love. My heart felt tight in my chest, happy that Victor had people like Mina in his life.

“Mina, this is Andrea.” Victor introduced us, a light in his eyes. “Yes, she’s my girlfriend. Andrea, this is Mina. She is like a mother to me.”

“We did have good moments, didn’t we?” She gave Victor a meaningful look. “Andrea, it’s very nice to meet you. Terry actually already spoke highly of you, told me how loyal and kind you are to our Vicky. I’m delighted to know he has good people in his life.” Her eyes were suddenly sad, and she came closer to Victor, holding his cheek. “He’s been through so much already. He deserves to be happy.”

At that moment, there was this feeling of… companionship between them. Like two soldiers that meet twenty years after the war. There was a silent exchange of sadness, happiness, tenderness, love; moments that solidify a relationship and make the bond unbreakable. It was clear to me that, in some moment of their lives, they were everything for each other. I felt my eyes prickle, just looking at them, communicating silently, an ocean of mute words between them. Victor’s strong young hand held Mina’s wrinkled one in a way that clearly showed that that very same hand was his solace, when his hand was much smaller.

“Anyways!” Mina broke the silence, her voice strained. “Let me finish that ice tea! I will take it to the terrace, go show Andrea around!”

“We have plenty of time, don’t worry. We can wait and take it with us. Did Aunt Terry ask you to prepare the thing?” He was suddenly very cryptic. I was suddenly very curious.

“The thing!” Mina’s eyes opened wide in recognition. “I did, respecting all your careful instructions. I also added some things of my own that you surely would miss.”

“Thanks, Mina. Can I take this now?” Victor pointed to the tray with the jar of iced tea and some glasses.

“Yes, please.” Victor took the tray and we walked outside to the terrace.

Terry was already sitting at the table at the terrace, holding what looked like a photo album. Victor recognized it immediately, a prompt frown on his face.

“Don’t you even think about it.” He warned.

“Oh, come on!” Terry complained. “Who do I have to show these to?”

“What are they?” I asked. Could it be baby pictures? It looked like baby pictures.

“Nothing.” Victor rushed to answer.

“Baby pictures.” Terry answered at the same time.

I practically flew to sit by her side, excited.

“I gotta see that.” I smiled widely, noticing Victor’s blush.

It turns out, Victor was a lovely baby. I saw his pictures since he was just a newborn, laying in his mother’s arms, until his teenage years, a mess of pimples and puberty and braces. Apparently we all go through the same things, tomboy Portuguese girls and proud CEOs in the making alike.

“Your mother was beautiful.” I commented, looking at her, a soft smile on her face, holding a wide smiling toddler, practically covered in melted ice-cream. Victor looked a lot like his father, but the softness he had in his expression sometimes was clearly from his mother.

“And look how chubby Victor was!” Terry cooed, making Victor blush even more. “Look at these dimples! These fatty little legs! Can’t you just eat them?”

I stifled a laugh, looking at my boyfriend lowering his head, agonizing with embarrassment.

“Why are we doing this?” Victor complained, his voice dripping with frustration. “There is no point in this. I was a baby, I’m not a baby anymore. End of story.”

“Of course there is a point! At least Andrea will know what to expect, should you someday have some little Victors running around the house!”

I think she was expecting me to laugh, or respond some other way, because her eyes went wide with mortification when I didn’t. I tried to look as neutral as possible, but I guess the sadness I felt couldn’t be concealed. I could not have little Victors running around the house. That weighed on me like a ton of bricks.

“Oh my, talk about sticking my foot in my mouth!” She exclaimed, holding my hands. “That was totally out of line, you are not even married yet, and here I am, jumping the gun! I am sorry, Andrea, please don’t read into what I said, I didn’t mean anything by it.”

I tried to smile as honestly as I could.

“It’s ok, Terry, you were joking, I got it.” I excused her. It was evident she had no intention of hurting me, she didn’t even know. “I’m not offended.”

“Well, I should leave anyway, I have to meet a client in a few minutes. I’ll leave the album here, keep up the good work and keep making Victor blush, ok?”

I chuckled, trying to look upbeat. Apparently satisfied to see me laugh again, Terry left. Victor didn’t buy it though. He sat closer to me, holding me against him, lowering his head to meet my eyes.

“Are you ok?” He asked in a soft hushed voice.

“I’m fine, don’t worry.” I downplayed it.

“Let me show you something.” He grabbed the photo album and skimmed the pages, stopping when he found his picture by the Christmas tree, smiling widely, missing his two top front teeth.

“Awww, toothless Vicky. Very cute.” I gave him a week smile, trying to lift myself from my funk.

“This picture has a very embarrassing story. Do you want to hear it?” He lifted my chip with his finger, smiling at me.

“Are you willing to share it?” I frowned. That was some unusual show of goodwill.

“I want to see you smile. I will do whatever it takes to have it, even make a fool of myself.” He smiled softly at me.

If Victor wanted me not to cry, he did a terrible job. My eyes teared up immediately, not for sadness, but because my heart felt so much love it had to spill some out.

“Ok, back to the story.” Victor cleared his throat. “It was Christmas Eve, and Mina was making saltwater taffy. My mother and I loved it, but we would only have it on special occasions, like Christmas.” He paused, making sure I was listening carefully. “I was seven at the time, and I was just dying to get my hands on that taffy. I watched Mina as she cooked the taffy and let it cool slightly so she could stretch it. My father called her for some reason, and I saw my opportunity.”

“You stole the taffy?” I smiled. I pictured little Victor, running around the kitchen, excited for candy. Funny how we let preconceptions limit us so much when it comes to knowing people. It was hard to imagine the dictatorial man Victor showed himself to be had been a mischievous child too.

“I bit a big chunk out of it and got out of there as fast as I could, so I wouldn’t be caught.” He smiled at me, seemingly proud of his cunning achievement. “It was only later, playing by myself in my room, that I noticed something different about me. My two upper central incisors were missing. They fell out and I swallowed them with the taffy.”

“I swallowed one of mine while eating an apple.” I offered. “But I don’t see how that is embarrassing.”

“I was really concerned because I had two teeth that fell out, which meant the tooth fairy would come and give me two gifts. But in this case, I had no teeth to give back. See my predicament?”

“The tooth fairy wouldn’t come.” I concluded, dramatically. To a seven-year-old, this was obviously a reason for distress.

“I spent all afternoon checking my… You know.” Victor blushed slightly. “I felt like the universe was punishing me for eating the taffy without permission. Losing my teeth and my gifts seemed like some sort of sentence for my misbehavior.”

“Poor baby…” I laughed, running my fingers through his bangs.

“It’s not over yet. Before dinner, my mother called me. Asked me if I had been eating taffy before it was done. I was riddled with guilt, so I started crying, and told her everything I had done, and how I was already being punished for being disobedient, since the tooth fairy wouldn’t come. My mother broke in laughter. She was tearing up.”

“She laughed?” I laughed too.

“Turns out I hadn’t swallowed my teeth. I left them in the taffy. That’s how Mina and my mother figured out I was the taffy thief.” As Victor told his story, I was laughing so hard my stomach hurt. “And apparently they didn’t tell me right away because they couldn’t stop laughing. I wanted to be mad at them for letting me feel so bad for so long, but I was actually exhilarated. I would be visited by Santa and the tooth fairy on the same night. That was quite a feat.”

“So the tooth fairy came?” I could barely catch a breath to ask.

“The tooth fairy came." Victor nodded. "Guess what she left me.”

“What?” I stifled a laugh in anticipation. It had to be good.

“A whole batch of taffy. It didn’t take long for me to figure the tooth fairy wasn’t real.”

I burst out laughing again, Victor joining me. That was probably the best childhood story I had ever heard. After a few minutes the laughter subsided, and I watched as Victor smiled, lost in thought.

“My mother was an incredibly insightful woman, well versed in so many aspects. She had this joy for life, this incredible sense of humor. She wouldn’t miss a pun; she would turn anything into a joke. She was like the sun; everywhere she went, it became brighter. She lived like her mission in this world was to love and laugh and make sure everyone around her loved and laughed too.”

Part of me wondered how Victor’s mother ended up with someone like Greg. But they had gone through so much in their lives, maybe he had been a bright and happy person too. Maybe with the sun missing, all Victor’s father had left was the clouds. I suddenly felt a wave of affection and sympathy towards that seemingly hard man. It is hard to lose someone you love, someone you chose to build a life with. Victor turned to me, a loving light in his eyes.

“You know, I thought my mother was one of a kind, but I was wrong. You are so much like her.”

My eyes started to water for the millionth time that day. I hugged him tight.

“Victor…” My voice quivered. I loved that man so much. There were no words to explain what I felt.

“You are my sun.” He softly whispered in my ear. “I love you, Andrea. That’s all that matters to me. Don’t think about what you can’t do. You already do so much. You light up my life.”

#Growing Pains - Series #growingstronger #victor x oc #mlqc victor #mlqc li zeyan #mlqc fanfic #love and producer #mister love queens choice

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maandags · 5 years

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Eidolon (Angel!Keith x Demon!reader) {part iv}

i have no excuse for the wait except that im an idiot who took this school year too lightly yeet

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Summary: Keith is an angel, and he’s completed mission after mission for the Upper Hand, the organisation controlling all of the Above. He’s only failed a mission once: when he was assigned to kill you, a surprisingly charismatic demon. He roamed Earth–Middle Ground–for years before he was caught by the Upper Hand again, and things quickly go south.

Genre: angst. because whats new

Word count: 8.7K

Notes: CW: graphic violence/blood, emotional manipulation - masterlist - {previous} -- {next }

-- -- --

if heaven's grief brings hell's rain

then i’d trade all my tomorrows for just one yesterday

~ Just One Yesterday, Fall Out Boy

-- -- --

You wake up from a deep, dreamless sleep, disoriented and shivering despite the multiple layers you have on and thick comforter stacked upon you. It takes a moment before the events of the previous night rush back into your mind and cloud your thoughts, and you throw an arm over your face, inhaling deeply.

A huge weight has fallen off your shoulders. Last night, you didn't realise as much, your tired 3 A.M. mind already struggling to focus with the fact that Keith--who had been deathly sick only hours before--was up and about and sitting at your kitchen table and eating chinese takeout. But now that you had the quiet of the early morning to yourself you could feel the knots in your shoulders loosen and the lead seep out of your limbs.

You slowly shift your legs out of bed, still slightly dazed. Sunlight peeks out through the cracks in the shutters covering your window, and you cast a look at the alarm clock sitting on your nightstand. It's barely 7 A.M. And it's also a Saturday. While that doesn't matter much in terms of noise–a city is a city, after all, and this one certainly is never quiet–your neighbours' kids aren't allowed out of bed before nine on Saturdays, which gives you at least two small hours of peace and quiet.

You stagger to the bathroom and let the hot shower water beat down your stiff muscles, trying to draw out the permanent chill that seems to have settled deep into your bones. It works a little bit, but when you get out of the steamy little cell and wrap a towel around your torso you can feel it trickle back into the pit of your stomach, like an icy worm that's decided to make your body its home. It's more of a discomfort than a true pain, though, so you decide to ignore it.

Your hair is still damp when you pull an extra thick sweater over your head, stick your feet in warm socks and tiptoe your way over to the living room.

Keith is still asleep. You don't blame him–he's still recovering, even though he already looks so much better than the previous night. The colour is back in his cheeks. The dark circles and the hollowness under his eyes have started to fade away. He's still thin, and he doesn't smell too good, but you decide against waking him just yet.

In the kitchen, you put on the kettle and pull open the fridge in search of something to eat. The unfinished boxes of chinese sit in front, half-open from when you hastily stowed them away. You pull one out, sniff it, then shrug as you grab for a spoon.

The kitchen windowsill is probably not the spot a lot of people would pick to lounge on, an early Saturday morning. But you've always liked to watch the sun rise over the tall buildings, and the soft orange glow you're treated with today is worth waking up so early for. You rest your face on the knee you've pulled up beside you as you shovel another spoonful of rice into your mouth.

The orange slowly fades out into yellow, then into blue. It's soothing to watch, and you find yourself slow your breathing and close your eyes as the city wakes up beneath you. Noises of starting cars and motorbikes drift up to your window, and chattering fills the street. People exit their homes, throwing delightful glances up at the sunny sky; unexpected after the heavy rain of the previous night.

You finish your takeout, do some chores around the house. Change your bedsheets. Prepare a change of clothes for when Keith finally wakes up. Open the windows to let in some fresh air. Prepare a cup of tea and claim back your spot on the windowsill. It's a peaceful morning, and the air doesn't feel quite as heavy as usual.

And then there's a rustling in the room beside you, and a crash as–you assume–Keith tumbles off your sofa and hits the ground. A faint groan floats past the kitchen doorway and you try to hide your grin. A couple of seconds later a very dishevelled-looking Keith stumbles into the kitchen.

"Morning," you tell him, rolling your shoulders once so they won't go stiff against the windowsill. He nods at you, dark eyes bleary. "Feel better?"

He sniffs. "I don't feel like I just got struck by lightning and dragged behind a racecar over an especially rocky road. So I guess that's improvement."

You blow on the hot tea in your hands. "I'm glad. Would have hated to have gone through all that trouble for nothing. You're quite the guest, you know."

Keith winces at the words, despite your light tone. For some reason, his frown and pained expression tug at your stomach. "But I don't mind it," you add hurriedly. "I mean–it was my own choice to take you in. I very well could not have done that. But–but I did." Shut up, shut up, shut up, you shouted internally.

The corners of Keith's mouth lift ever so slightly. "Lucky for me."

"Lucky for you," you agree with a grin.

It's silent for a while, and in the sunlight, you can clearly see how thin Keith really is. His shirt hangs from his frame in a shapeless lump of cloth, his trousers sagging and almost slipping from his bony hips. While he does look better–the life has returned to his eyes–he still doesn't look good, and the sight of him makes your guts twist. You point to the fridge. "There's leftovers from yesterday. Grab whatever you want–but be careful not to eat too much. I don't want you puking all over my kitchen."

But Keith has already found the other chinese box, and you show him which drawers contain cutlery and in which cupboard are stashed the glasses. He scarfs down the rice in ten minutes flat, and you shake your head in silent judgement. "I'm going to find a way to make you pay back everything you'll cost me, food-wise. You're in debt, starting today."

He gives you a shy grin, but his attention is quickly taken up once more by the food in front of him. You quietly sip your tea, staring out of the window, occasionally glancing at the angel sitting at your kitchen table.

That's when it truly hits you how much of an idiot you're being.

Last night, it had been late. Five days of nothing on your mind but the thought of trying to keep him alive, and finally finding a way to do so, had left you shaky and dazed. Seeing him up and about after getting used to the sound of his ragged, unsteady breathing floating through your apartment had been a shock.

But now the full weight of what you'd done–and what you hadn't done–crashes into you, and you realise you have absolutely no idea how to feel. The air charges with tension, and the angel leans back in his seat. He looks about as uncomfortable as you feel. Your mind whirls with thoughts, all seeming to want something different–the part of you that's curious where this whole situation would lead and is whispering to you to let him stay; the part of you that's still a loyal soldier to the Below and is screaming at you to turn him in; the part of you that wants nothing to do with any of this and is growling to throw him back out on the street. You shake your head, downing the last of your tea and hopping off the counter.

"Take a shower when you're done with that," you mutter. "I have to get back to work soon. My co-workers are gonna ask questions and I need to be prepared."

Keith nods. Your phone is already in your hands and you fire off a quick text to the shelter's manager to inform him you'd be in this afternoon. You don't know Anthony that well–he mostly keeps to the side and handles potential adopters. You prefer to stay with the animals. Almost immediately you receive a reply: he says he's delighted that you've decided to return so soon after taking your unexpected leave. You resist the urge to roll your eyes at the barely-veiled passive-aggressiveness.

"Oh, yeah." You turn and point at Keith with your phone. "You can stay for as long as you need to, like, get your bearings and feel somewhat okay again, but then I'm kicking you out. I don't know if you have any idea of how much of a risk I'm taking here, but–"

"I get it," he cuts you off, and you can tell he means it. He needs to work on concealing his emotions, you think off-handedly. He's an open book. It's distracting. "Thank you. Seriously."

The tension builds until it's almost tangible. You shake your head, trying to shake the dizziness away. "It's–yeah. My pleasure, or whatever. I'm locking the door behind me." He gives a brief incline of his head to show he understands. "All right then. Later, I guess. Make–make sure you've showered. You kind of smell," you say apologetically. "No offence."

"None taken," he laughs. "You're right, anyway."

You make a gesture that's in between a nod and a headshake, then make a blind grab for your coat and your scarf before pulling the door closed behind you and locking it.

The shelter's lights are on, and its illuminated windows stand out starkly in the dim grimness of the gloomy street. It doesn't rain, for once, but grey clouds hang overhead and block the sun, the little light that makes it past them flimsy and thin. You pull the door closed behind you. The little bell above the doorway rings once, softly, and barking immediately pipes up from the next room over. You smile.

"Hey, loves," you mutter to each animal as you pass their cages, stopping here and there and sticking your fingers through the bars to give a furry face a pat, or to scratch a scaly butt, or to stroke a feathered head. "I missed you guys."

"They missed you too, I think," comes a quiet voice from behind you. You crouch and open a cage, plucking out a small cat and scritching it behind the ears. "They've been rather unruly in the days you weren't here. Restless, you know."

"Hi, Tony."

"Y/N." He inclines his head. "Did you have a nice leave?" It's a question purely out of politeness, you know, because he's your employer and he's supposed to be polite. As far as employers go, Tony really isn't the worst of them. But you can't shake the feeling that he's fishing for something.

"I did. I've been busy," you say cautiously, not taking your eyes off of the kitten you're cradling. "Sorry for it being so unexpected."

"Oh, not at all," Tony replies smoothly, sailing over to where you sit and leaning on the wall behind you, "We've managed. It was your week off, anyway, and just because you've insisted on working in your free time before doesn't mean that you always will." But it doesn't take amazing detective skills to hear the suspicious edge to his voice.

"That's right," you say, maybe a little too sharply. You can almost smell Tony's raised eyebrow behind you. "Sorry. I've just–I've been a little on edge, lately. I'll–" You scramble up, depositing the kitten back in its cage and dusting fur off your t-shirt. "I'll be in the back." You have the weird urge to salute, but you manage to suppress it. He's already suspicious, you remind yourself. Don't make it worse by acting weird.

It is a shame you can't spend more time with the animals, but you're not the only one who decided to come in today–it's actually quite crowded for a Saturday–so you get storage room duty and instead spend your afternoon putting away boxes of food and medicine and cleaning products. Emmie, one of your co-workers, sticks her head around the corner of your door at the end of the day.

"Hey. We're gonna go get milkshakes, wanna come?"

Your back screams when you push off the chair, eager for an excuse to cut your day short. "You're a godsend." The expression is actually used exclusively as an insult in the Below, but you find you like the Middle Ground version better. "Let me just grab my shoes, I'll be right there."

Hopping on one foot as you finish tying your laces, you join Emmie, Nirina, Adam and Zach as they stride out the door, Emmie and Zach's arms linked. In the back of your mind you recognise that's strange: Emmie and Zach can't stand each other. A smile curls the corners of your lips. You did miss quite a lot this past week, didn't you?

"We're going to this new place a few blocks down," Emmie shouts over her shoulder. You try to chat with Nirina for a bit, but she's more silent than usual, barely saying a word, and eventually she retreats to walk next to Adam behind you. When you don't focus on it, a black, vaguely animal-shaped shadow seems to sit on her shoulder, but when you look directly at it nothing's there.

Something isn't right here.

The feeling creeps into your very bones, making the hairs on your neck stand on edge and your shoulder blades tingle. The sense that you're being watched, and more–as you realise that with Nirina and Adam behind you and Emmie and Zach in front of you, it almost feels like you're being escorted. Guarded.

"Hey, Em," you call. Your hand creeps towards your pocket, but with a start you remember you left your knife at home. Stupid, stupid, stupid. "What's the place we're going called?"

Emmie turns around and flashes you a fanged grin. Your blood turns to ice. "So Above, So Below." And then she pounces--and pushes you straight through the pavement. You don't even have time to scream.

You lose all sense of direction. Up is down and left is right as you fall, fall, fall through a black hole, Emmie's nails still digging into your shoulders, though you're sure if you actually opened your eyes you'd see they're claws. You try to tug yourself loose, but her grip immediately tightens. You hiss when you feel her talons draw blood.

"No getting away, Y/N dear," she giggles into your ear.

Well, at least you know what she–and the others too, by the sound of it–is. Only Bountyhunters can get to the Below or the Above without using one of the doors or passages, instead creating their own temporary ones. You've travelled by Bounty Tunnel before. It's not a memory you cherish. The only thing you can do is close your eyes and hope it'll be over soon.

When you finally make contact, all the air is knocked out of you and for a moment you see nothing but black spots dancing in front of your eyes. Then you suck in a scorching breath and blink, and the familiar stark white ceiling of the Offices comes into view. You groan, and when you try to sit up, your hands catch in ashy grey feathers: your wings have popped. You flush, already feeling Haggar's disapproving scowl digging into your back. How unprofessional, she'd mumble.

Haggar has always hated your guts–even back when you were still loyal to the Below.

Emmie–except she looks nothing like Emmie anymore–tosses her long dark ponytail over her shoulder and sighs. "That was almost too easy. We were told you'd be a challenge."

"I haven't been feeling well," you reply, voice icy as you stand up and shake out your wings. You don't miss the way Emmie's expression sours and suppress a smirk. Bounties don't have wings, and they'll never stop being salty about it. "Also, four against one? That seems a little unfair, even for Management." You pause. "I'm assuming you got hired by Management."

"Of course we got hired by Management, demon," Zach snarls. He runs his fingers through his hair and glares at you, his fangs growing by the second and soon touching his chin. And then his face begins to change, his jaw softening (though not by much), his eyes growing more cat-like, his lips plumping. You frown, because you know this face. You know her.

Zethrid grins, fangs shining in the white LED light. "Long time no see, Y/N." You give a sarcastic wave.

"Yes, Y/N," comes an icy voice from behind you. Your shoulders tense, and your feathers puff involuntarily. "Long time no see indeed."

Haggar glides out of her office doors, and you feel all the stony calm and resistance leave you in one fell swoop. Her yellow eyes bore into yours, and it takes every ounce of willpower inside you not to look away. She nods her head, once. "My office, Y/N. Now."

"You're so dead," mutters Zethrid as you pass her.

"When I get out of here, you're the first person whose throat I'll slit," you hiss in return.

Haggar slumps in her seat and plucks her looking glass from its stand, making it levitate over her hand and glaring like she has a personal vendetta against it. "If it were up to me, I would already have you burning and hanging from the Grand Hall ceiling," she says, vanishing the mirror in a cloud of smoke. You try to ignore the pang of fear stabbing into your chest. You're gonna be fine, you tell yourself. You're going to be okay. But you find it hard to believe the words.

"But–" the mirror reappears in her other hand– "a certain Prince insisted on keeping you alive." She whirls the looking glass around and it floats in front of your face. Prince Lotor of the Below looks at you with a scrutinising gaze, as if gauging how much you'd be worth on the night market.

"Y/N," he says in a clear voice. You nod, then quickly incline your head in a slight bow. Watch your tongue, Y/N. Watch. Your. Tongue. "No need for that." Lotor snaps his fingers, and you look up again, eyes fixed on the rim of the looking glass, determined not to meet Lotor's. You're afraid of what you might see.

It's silent for a moment, and you keep your mouth shut for as long as you can, but you eventually break. "Forgive me, Lord, but–"

"Shut up." It takes all of your willpower not to cock your head and narrow your eyes in indignation. Lotor leans forward, elbows perched on his desk and fingertips pressed together. His cold gaze is calculating and cruel, and your entire body reels with disgust and hatred. "I didn't keep you alive because I care about what happens to you. Because I don't," he clarifies with a raised eyebrow, and this time you can't keep the grimly sarcastic smile at bay. "I kept you alive because I need you to do a job."

"With all due respect, sir, I don't think I'm the right person for any job." You try to keep your voice light and your fists unclenched, but it's a harder task than you want to admit.

"Told him so," Haggar mutters from behind the mirror. You can tell she thoroughly disagrees with being used as a TV-stand. "There are so much more competent candidates for this assignment who actually want to prove themselves and their loyalty to us." You have the feeling she's talking directly to Lotor now. "But no, you just had to get the one rogue who'll do everything in their power to get out from this–"

"Enough," Lotor says coolly, and Haggar clamps her jaw shut, though her eyes flash with murder. You don't know who she wants to kill more at the moment: you or Lotor. "Y/N will do the job, and they'll do it without complaining."

"You sound awfully sure." You've since given up on trying to be respectful. Lotor might be the Prince of the Below, but you had wriggled yourself out of more difficult situations than these before. You're already carefully plotting an escape.

Because the mistake most people make when they see you is that they underestimate you. They think they have you pinned down, and then they loosen their hold and up till now, that has always worked out in your favour–you know how to manipulate people and you know how to get out of the Below. You know every single of the dozens and dozens of passageways leading out onto Middle Ground, and from there on you know how to hide. You've done it before, and managed to keep off their radar for quite a while.

In fact, the only reason they caught you now was because you had been too preoccupied with a certain angel to keep your thoughts straight. A mistake, and one you won't be making again.

"I am sure," Lotor's clear voice cuts through your thoughts and pulls you back to the present. "There's a contract on the desk. Sign it, and we'll give you the details."

You can't stop the startled laugh that bursts past your lips. "A Blank Contract? You expect me to sign a Blank Contract?"

Lotor merely cocks his head and smiles that lazy smile of his.

And then the little looking glass shatters and you yelp, taking a step backwards in surprise, feeling your muscles tense. "I do," his voice says from behind you, and you whirl around just in time to see Lotor sail into Haggar's office.

Haggar gives a sharp sigh and brushes shattered glass off her uniform. "Do you always have to do that? Those mirrors are expensive, you know. I'm gonna have you pay for them if you insist on making a dramatic entrance every time."

Lotor ignores her, his gaze fixed on you. He waves his hand, and a piece of paper appears between his fingers. It's mostly blank, save for one thickly outlined black square with an inscription you can't read from where you stand, but you know what they say: Candidate's signature. "I'm not signing." But your voice has a tremor to it, and you suddenly feel a lot smaller as Lotor strides towards you. It was a lot easier to disrespect the Prince of the Below through a looking glass.

His eyes flash with irritation. "You will." Somehow, those two words hold more threat to them than all the insults the Bounties threw at you earlier.

But you set your jaw and clench your fists. "I'd rather die. I'm. Not. Signing." You had vowed to not ever help the Below in any way, shape or form again. It wasn't worth it.

"Told you so," Haggar sing-songs from behind her desk, a maniacal glint to her eye. "Just take one of the actually competent ones. Let me string them up."

Lotor gives a sharp sigh. "Touch them and I'll be stringing you up." Haggar pouts and crosses her arms. He turns to you, and the coolness in his eyes sends shivers up your spine. The realisation hits you like a freight train. He's done something. He knows something. He would never be this sure of himself if he didn't have an absolutely airtight plan.

Then Lotor waves his hand again, and another mirror you hadn't noticed before–a looking glass spanning from the floor to the ceiling, partially hidden by a black curtain–lights up, and the image you see has all the colour drain from your face and your heart skip a beat.

Allura is tied to a chair and breathing hard, her nurse's scrubs hanging crookedly, torn and dirty. A nasty cut spans from her cheekbone to her eyebrow, and blood runs down the side of her face. Tears mix with the grime and blood smearing her cheeks. Behind her stand Emmie and Zethrid the Bountyhunters, crazed smiles painted upon both their faces.

As soon as she sees you, Allura lets out a strangled cry that is muffled by the gag strung over her mouth. Her eyes widen, and you rush forward, stopping just short of the mirror's surface, afraid to break it. Your shaking fingertips hover just shy of the surface before you pull them back to your chest. Tears threaten to spill past your eyes, so you push them down and try to take a breath.

"Is this real?" You know how hallucinations work. You know how powerful illusions can be, and you know exactly how useful of a tool they can be in manipluation. It's a tool you've used yourself.

"Maybe. Maybe not," says Lotor's soft voice. His breath washes over the side of your face, and you can feel sick rise in your throat. All compusure is lost. It's all or nothing now. Thoughts muddle and get mixed up in your mind until all you can focus on is Allura, terrified and hurt, sitting in front of you yet separated by a thin sheet of glass and who knows how many miles.

A crazy thought of Maybe I can free her pops up, but you beat it down immediately again. You don't know where she is. You don't know if this is even real. Lotor would immediately order her killed if you attempted anything remotely similar to a breakout. Then kill Lotor, a ragged voice in your mind screams.

"Come, come, no rash decisions now," Lotor says as if he just read your thoughts. His hands ghost over your shoulders, sliding down until they reach your elbows. He gently forces them to your sides, and you don't even have the strength in you to resist. A fresh stream of tears runs down Allura's cheeks, and she weakly thrashes against her bonds, and in the end, that's what yanks you out of your stupor.

Your chin snaps up. "So you'll let her go if I sign the contract?"

Lotor rolls his eyes. "Look whose wits have returned to them." He lets go of your elbows and takes a step toward the mirror, hands clasped behind his back and his hungry gaze raking across Allura's form. She looks up at him with a mix of hatred and fear in her eyes. She's given up struggling against the ropes, but her jaw is set, and her eyes are steely; terrified, but determined. Her gaze flicks back to you and she gives the tiniest shake of her head.

Lotor reels back and laughs, the sound booming within the office walls. He shakes his head, still chuckling, his long silvery hair swishing behind him as he stalks back to the desk and swoops up the contract. "Feisty. I like that. Doesn't have the slightest clue of what's going on but still tells you to not do the thing you obviously don't want to do." He flashes you a fanged grin that makes your blood run cold. "I just might pay her a visit later myself."

"That's Middle Ground, my Prince," you manage through gritted teeth. "I'll find and kill you before you even have a chance to knock on her door."

"That's some confidence you've got right there, Y/N. Keep it for the job."

"I haven't signed your contract yet."

Lotor cocks his head and his grin widens. "Yet being the keyword here."

You turn back to the mirror, scanning Allura for any sign that she might not be real, looking for something that might hint that her image is off. Something. Anything. But your manic brain is running in circles, looking for loopholes that might not even be there, and you know you're not making sense, because the chance that she's just an illusion is there, but on the off-chance that she isn't, that she actually is in danger–

You would never forgive yourself if she were to get hurt and you could have put a stop to it.

"It's possible," you breathe, your hands curling to fists. "It's possible that none of this is real."

Lotor nods as if your words are perfectly reasonable. "True." There's a beat of silence, and his feverish eyes bore into yours. "But are you willing to take that risk?"

Anyone else–any proper demon–would have laughed in his face and torn the contract to shreds, watching gleefully as Allura got tortured in front of their eyes. But you had left behind your demon ways a good while ago, and you had always been a rotten pupil anyway. So you bite your tongue and snatch the contract and pen from Lotor's waiting fingers, scribbling your signature down hard enough that you pierce the paper.

"See, I knew you'd come around in the end!" He claps his hands in delight and throws a triumphant glance Haggar's way. "I told you so."

"Yeah, yeah," she mumbles, waving a hand as if to dismiss his words. She gives you a slightly disapppointed stare. "I was rooting for you, kiddo. Show some spine next time."

You fight the tears threatening to spill and slap the now-signed contract back onto the desk. "All right. Details, Lotor. What's the assignment?"

His eyes flash. Business; there's something he knows. "We received word that one of the Above's most prized angels has just gone rogue." He starts pacing, and your eyes keep finding Allura's behind him–but she looks at you with pity and something that's almost disappointment, and you have to look away before you break down completely. "It came out of nowhere, too: stellar record, followed orders without a second thought. A great soldier." You don't miss the punch behind the words.

"And you want me to do, what, kill him?" That wouldn't be too hard. At least, you think. Your mind is still a bit muddy, but something ugly and twisted inside you is still desperate for Management's approval. Still eager to prove yourself. I can be a good soldier too.

"Oh no, no," Lotor says with a dismissive wave of his hand, "I just want you to find him and bring him in. It shouldn't be that hard to do–after all, who better to track a rogue than another rogue themselves?"

There's still something else. Something he isn't telling you. Sure, you're good at what you do–at what you used to do–but was it worth going through all the trouble just to get you to sign the stupid contract? As much as you loathed to do it, you silently had to agree with Haggar on this one. There were so many young demons scrambling for their chance to prove themselves and their worth–why not let them take this assignment?

"That–that's it?"

Lotor cocks a brow. "I mean, unless you wanted more work, I guess that's it.'

You give a cautious nod. "Okay. So what do we know about this guy?"

"Not much. My sources weren't able to provide very recent information–"

"Get better sources."

"–But what they do know is that this particular angel has been off the map for years. Quite like you," he adds as he raises his other eyebrow. You roll your eyes. "He's impossible to find, quite hard to track, and a very skilled fighter. Rumour has it he's scouring your city's streets at the moment."

You resist a frown. If this guy has been prowling your streets and you haven't noticed, something is definitely amiss. Might just be that you've been preoccupied with Keith and everything that happened around him, but if this has been going on for as long as Lotor is implying it has... this just might prove an actual challenge.

The old feeling of excitement and anticipation starts to run through your very bones again, and you hate the way it makes you feel–energised. As if you can handle anything thrown your way. Ready. It's a feeling you haven't known in years, and one you haven't missed, though now that it courses through your veins again there's no point in denying that you're enjoying it. The thrill of the chase.

But then Lotor speaks the name of the angel you're supposed to bring in, and everything falls into place, only to shatter into a million pieces a split second after.

You see his lips move. Hear the words spoken, though they take a moment to get processed, and when they do they leave behind an emptiness that has you stare at him, too dumbfounded and untrusting of yourself to speak.

It can't be. This must be the universe's idea of a cruel joke. The very guy you'd risked everything for–the very angel that had caused your distractedness and is the reason you were here in the first place–is the same rogue angel about whom you had just signed a contract.

The crushing weight of it settles on your shoulders. All five days of you struggling to keep him breathing, for nothing. The weird excursion to Coran's shop, for nothing. The goddamn chinese takeout you'd bought for him, for fucking nothing.

But somehow you manage to keep your face straight, and Lotor hadn't been watching you as he said it, instead gazing intently at something over your head, so you can only hope he hasn't noticed the lurch in your expression at the mention of Keith Kogane.

"All right." You're almost shocked at how steady your voice is. "Okay. I've agreed. You got what you want. Now, free Allura." Even though your voice is pretty steady, you curl your hands into fists to hide their shaking.

Lotor doesn't move for a moment, and you seriously begin to think he's having a seizure until he snaps his fingers and Emmie lunges forward.

In her hand is a knife, and she plunges it into Allura's chest without a second of hesitation.

You rush toward the mirror, a strangled "No!" ripped from your throat. Your fingers claw at the smooth glass surface and you watch her slump, blood gushing from the wound and staining her scrubs a dark crimson. Your knees buckle, and your eyes stay glued to her form as she convulses, coughs up blood twice, then goes limp. Her head falls back...

And snaps back up, and you lurch back with a startled cry. Allura's eyes have gone red and are shining with mania. Her skin turns the colour of wet ash, and her hair falls out of its updo and cascades down her shoulders, tendrils black and writhing as if they have a mind of their own...

Demon.

Shapeshifter.

Your breathing comes in short and shallow rasps as the full realisation of things settles in. Allura was never in danger. You were right all along. If only you had put your foot down. If only you hadn't let your feelings cloud your mind.

It doesn't matter now. You signed a contract–and there's no going back from that.

Lotor fingers through the file that bears your signature in black ink. Slowly, the words explaining just what you signed start to appear on the sheets, snaking their way along the curves of the paper as if written in by an invisible hand. A steel fist clenches around your heart, and you struggle to stand up, your muscles turned to jelly. The surface of the mirror has gone black again.

A shaking hand comes up to cover your mouth, and your teeth clench down on your lower lip so hard that they draw blood. Lotor flicks his wrist, and the contract disappears. The fingers of your free hand twitch as if they wanted to grab at the file. You level your gaze with Lotor's, and evidently your years of training finally paid off in the end, because in his eyes you can see how passive your expression is. You'd be a good poker player, your fleeting mind thinks randomly. The only thing giving away your current emotions is the hand mindlessly tugging at your bottom lip, and the fact that your breathing is still rather fast.

"Now," Lotor drawls in his honey-coated voice–sugary sweet, sticky, suffocating–and snakes an arm around your shoulders, "that wasn't so hard, was it?"

And you know you should keep your mouth shut, because he is the Prince of the Below, and Haggar has already expressed her desire to string you up and set you on fire in the Grand Hall for every new recruit to see–but on the other hand, you just signed a contract, and that makes you technically untouchable until Lotor has reason to believe you won't be able to complete the task set out for you.

The very foundation of a plan starts coming together in your mind. You jut up your chin and break free from his grasp. "So do I get assignment-issue gear? A blade? A gun, maybe? If this angel is as good as you make him out to be, perhaps I should need some more useful weapons than your average kitchen knife."

Lotor scrutinises you for a moment, then waves his hand. A set of gleaming double blades appear on Haggar's desk, along with their sheaths and long black gloves. Haggar huffs with an indignant mutter of Sure, use my desk as your summoning surface. Don't mind at all. You ignore her and lift an eyebrow. "That's all you're going to give me?"

"If you're as good as you say, this is all you will need," Lotor replies in that smooth tone of his. His eyes glint; he's gotten what he wanted. He's already won.

But that's fine. Lotor may have won this battle, and you need to make him feel like he has, but in the end you'll do everything in your power to win the war. And Lotor just handed you the weapons that just might be able to get you there.

"Fine," you mutter, snatching up the knives, pointedly refusing to strap them to your back like is procedure, instead securing the harnesses to your thighs as a small act of defiance. Irritation flashes in his eyes. "I'll report to you how often?"

"No reports," Lotor says with a wave of his hand. "We don't want to make any potential spies of the Above suspicious. Just make sure you find him, and when you do..." He tosses you a little disk about the size of a large coin, and you startle at how heavy it is. It's pleasantly warm to the touch, and you have a creeping suspicion as to what it is that is only confirmed with Lotor's next words. "Portal pass. Use it wisely."

You turn the pass over and over in your hands, the familiar weight of the knives at your thighs comforting and seeming to pull you down to the ground at the same time. "Is that–will that be all?" Risky words, risky questions–you're going out on a limb and assume Lotor won't have you hanged for running your mouth: he did just pretend to torture your best friend to coerce a signature out of you, so you suppose he has to give you some slack.

He sails to a halt in front of you, face so close his nose almost touches yours, and you have to stop yourself from recoiling. His expression is cold, his gaze calculating–and the smile that creeps up his lips sends shivers up our spine. "Yes. I think that will be all." He raises a brow and throws a glance Haggar's way, which you find comical as he didn't seem to give a solid fuck about her opinions when he used her office as his personal torture chamber.

Haggar shrugs. "I still think we should string them up and burn them to a crisp."

"Yes, Haggar, I know. Why did I even bother." He gives you a lazy flick of his hand, but you've already turned and your hand is resting on the doorknob, when something occurs to you and you cast a look at him over your shoulder.

"My Prince?" The title feels like hot oil searing down your throat, but you expect the words you're about to say require this small bit of courtesy. He raises a brow and nods. "I'm going to kill the Bounties that brought me here." Your voice sounds oddly bored.

Lotor chuckles. "They're no demons. They don't have a place in the Below." It's like his gaze issues a challenge, and a fresh wave of loathing for this Prince washes over your being. "Go right ahead."

You flash a cold smile and slam the door shut.

– – –

You wipe your blades with some wet wipes and discard them in the trashcan beside you when they get too filthy with blood (the store clerk barely looked up when you came in and purchased a single packet of wet wipes and a duffel bag–apparently the average cashier sees weirder stuff than a maniac with bloodied hunting knives the size of their forearms slamming a pack of wet wipes on the counter on a daily basis). Emmie, Adam, Zethrid and Nirina's bodies have long since turned to dust, and you have to work to keep your breathing steady and to stop your eyes from glowing red as the phone wedged between your ear and your shoulder rings.

Allura picks up on the fourth ring. "'Sup?"

It was just a check. Just to make sure. But if Allura truly did just get tortured, you have a feeling she wouldn't pick up a phone call with a simple 'Sup?

"Hey. How was your day?" Your speech comes out slightly slurred, and Allura laughs on the other side of the line.

"Fine. Work, you know. Routine." You can almost hear the grin on her face as she says, "And you? Weren't you supposed to be at work too, today?"

Work. Work feels like such a long time ago--when it was in reality only a couple of hours back. You nod slowly, though it's more to convince yourself than anything else. "Yeah. I was. Some co-workers and I went to get smoothies afterwards. To welcome me back," you joke.

"Did they pay?"

"Yeah."

"Good for you. Free milkshake. I'm jealous."

You laugh, but it feels hollow in your chest. "Hey--I need to run now, but I'll call you later, okay?"

"Yeah, sure. Sweet of you to check in, Y/N."

You eye the gleaming blade, running a finger along its razor-sharp edge. "No problem."

After you hang up, you sit back against the wall digging into your back, forcing down the pumping feeling in your limbs.

It's something you've missed, and you can't deny it. The absolute exhilaration you feel when your blades make contact, the thrumming of adrenaline in your veins as you dodge to avoid the blows that four individual enemies are throwing at you. The fear in Zethrid's eyes when she realises she is the only one left standing, and the life seeping from her eyes as you slit her throat.

It doesn't make you feel good, exactly–especially now that the thrill of the moment has worn off and you just feel tired and there's an ache that has burrowed itself deep into your bones–but there's no replicating the rush of power that courses through your very being when you're the one in control.

When the blades of death are yours to wield.

The knives are now securely stored in your new black duffel, and you try and figure out how you're going to pull off bringing two huge knives home without rousing suspicion from Keith. You internally debate whether you shouldn't just find a safe space to stash the duffel until you need it. There are quite a few nooks and crannies you know no one in their right mind would look, but then again, this was a big city. There were plenty of creepier people prawling these streets than the occasional demon.

And then you pass a gym, and an idea sparks in your head.

After casually shoplifting a bunch of sportswear from the nearest Nike store, you return to the gym with the knives in your bag hidden by the copious amounts of t-shirts and trainers stacked on top of them. You get a locker and stuff the bag inside before making your way outside again, smiling at the desk guy as you leisurely stroll out of the gym. The guy narrows his eyes at you–your clothes are still slightly torn and dirty, and you're pretty sure you have a bruise forming on the right side of your cheek, but you don't pay him any mind. He works at a gym. He's seen stranger than you.

But the closer you get to your apartment, the heavier the portal pass starts to feel in your pocket, and the more insecure your steps become. The sun hangs low over the city skyline, but hasn't completely started to set yet, and soft golden light washes over the streets, making them look... wrong. Bleak. Colour in a place where colour shouldn't be. You had just killed in these streets, and nobody noticed.

The thought makes you feel kind of sorry for the Bounties. They would be missed by no one.

You're still lost in thought when you almost hit a door and you snap back to reality. Your feet had carried you all the way up to your apartment. You blinked hard, rubbed a hand over your face and fumbled for your keys.

"Hey. It's me. Did you burn the house down while I was gone?"

Keith looks up from where he sits on an armchair–your armchair, but you understand he wouldn't want to spend another minute on the couch he spent five days on, hallucinating out of his mind–and grins, and your heart does a leap. And then he frowns, and you freeze, and your immediate thought is Oh fuck, he's found me out, he knows everything, he's going to call the other angels and he's going to kill me–

But the words he speaks are soft with concern. "What happened to your face?" And it takes all of your willpower not to break down right then and there.

He puts down the book he was reading and walks over to you, eyebrows knotted with worry, and reaches out to touch your forehead. Only then does he seem to realise how close to you he's standing, and he quickly pulls his fingers back to his chest. They're red with blood. "Let's get that disinfected, yeah?"

Before you can answer, he's already started towards your kitchen. You blink, still stunned, before following him like you're in a daze. He looks over his shoulder and points to a kitchen chair. You plop down, and it's when the weight is taken off your legs that the exhaustion comes crashing into you at breakneck speed, and it takes all your strength not to plunk your head down on the kitchen table and just pass out.

"Where do you keep your first aid kit?"

You vaguely point to a cabinet below the sink, and moments later Keith plops the kit down beside you on the table and plucks out a wad of cotton and disinfecting spray. You don't even feel it sting when he gently dabs at the cut on your forehead and cheekbone. His eyes are firmly trained on the cotton, his dark brows furrowed–there's a little crease between them that your foggy self finds most endearing–and he's chewing absent-mindedly on his bottom lip.

With a shock, you realise this is the closest you've been to him. Ever. This is the first time you can properly study his face, and you can always blame your muddy mind later if he brings up how blatantly you were staring at him, so you let yourself drink in every feature of his face. You find yourself drawn to his eyes most; they're a stunning deep violet, the colour of the sky at twilight, when the sun has just set and the last rays of light streak the heavens with purple. Most of all, they're soft with concern and simultaneously fierce with a kind of fire you haven't seen on him before.

"Aren't you going to ask what happened?" you blurt out before you can stop yourself.

Keith's eyes briefly flicker to yours, and he gives an awkward shrug before going back to gently rubbing at your wounds. "It's none of my business. You haven't asked me about what I was doing on Middle Ground in the first place, and I won't stick my nose into what doesn't concern me." But the words sound like he's reciting them; like a lesson he learned at school. You can see in his eyes that he is in fact curious, but also that he isn't going to press further. How very angelic of him.

You purse your lips, fingering the portal pass in your jacket pocket.

Your mind is a jumble of thoughts, like someone took all your emotions and threw them in a blender. Every moment you spend with Keith in your kitchen–how is it you always end up in the kitchen?–you grow more sure that you can't turn him in. But the contract pulls at your insides, and you know that if you keep ignoring its contents it will keep gnawing at you until you can't take it anymore and snap.

The contract is the contract. Binding and eternal.

"Keith."

His hand freezes, and you carefully guide it to the table, gently forcing him to put down the cotton. "Thank you, really. But I'm okay. I promise."

He nods. Slowly. "Okay."

And oh, how you want to wrap your arms around his neck and press your lips against his, but that would make things a thousand times more complicated than they already are–

Your breath leaves you in one fell swoop. It's the exhaustion talking, you firmly tell yourself, before you yank your fingers back and stand. You're a bit wobbly, but you manage. Keith wisely doesn't attempt to help you, but you can feel his eyes boring into your back as you make your way to your bedroom.

You change. You brush your teeth. You splash some water in your face to clear your head. Everything happens in a haze, your mind too tired to think about anything at all.

But then your eye falls on a piece of paper resting on your pillow. You frown and pick it up, and your eyes widen when you recognise your own scraggly handwriting littering the little parchment card. A hand flies up to your mouth to muffle your startled scream, and you drop the card as if it just burned your fingertips, though your eyes stay glued to its surface.

The words I want Keith to be okay stare back up at you, and with every passing second your breathing gets quicker and more ragged. Your fingers tingle, and as you draw a tentative breath you sink down onto the mattress. Your fingers tingle, but they tingle with warmth, and the feeling is not unpleasant.

Where Keith's own skin brushed yours, the chill that had seeped into your very core and had burrowed there for days, leaving you in a constant state of stiff cold, dissipated. The feeling is so weirdly foreign after having only felt cold for days that you dumbly stare out into nothingness, trying to shake the heat out of your hand. It doesn't work. It feels good, and you want more of it.

For a moment, the contract leaves your mind, replaced by Keith's eyes, the way he'd looked up at you, all softness and worry; the gentleness of his fingers as they cleaned the shallow cuts on your face. You close your eyes and lean back, the little parchment card on the floor seeming to beg for your attention. You never knew paper could be this loud.

For just a moment, you allow yourself to think of Keith and not just see an angel–but something more.

#keith x reader #keith kogane x reader #keith voltron #keith voltron x reader #keith vld #keith vld x reader #vld keith #vld keith x reader #voltron keith #voltron keith x reader #voltron keith kogane #vld keith kogane #voltron keith kogane x reader #vld keith kogane x reader #keith kogane #keith fic #keith fanfic #keith voltron fic #keith voltron fanfic

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daemyiel · 5 years

Text

Seaside Rendezvous

A/N: this is a one shot and has nothing to do with the series I've started.

WARNING: ONE SWEAR WORD

But that's it so enjoy

Taglist:@hersked

Roger was sat in the flat he shared with Freddie alone. It was one of the rare occasions he had some spare time. He sat sideways in the arm chair, feet hanging off the edge almost kicking the mug over on the coffee table that previously held his coffee, and a music magazine folded so he could hold it in one hand, while the other played with a lock of his blonde hair. His eyes had begun to hurt a bit so he had started wearing his glasses, he hated them but he was alone so there was no one to be embarrassed in front of. He had been in this position of a couple of hours and he could feel his feet growing numb, and his legs being to cramp.

Suddenly, Freddie burst through the door and waltzed into the living room. Roger snatched the glasses from his face and tried to hide them before Freddie realised. “Don’t even bother hiding them, I saw you wearing them.” Freddie said with a smirk, watching the drummer pointlessly trying to wedge the glasses between the arm chair and his leg. “you’ve got to come with me anyway.”

“What? Where?” Roger huffed. He was planning on lazing about for the rest of the day, between school, work and the band he hadn’t had much time to relax.

“The Nags Head, band meeting.” Freddie answered, turning around rest to leave, expecting Roger to follow.

“No, Freddie. Today is my day off. From everything. I don’t want to go to the pub.” Roger whined remaining seated.

“Oh, come on!” Freddie grabbed Roger’s wrist and pulled him off the armchair. “Brian said you’d be happy with whatever it is he has to say.” Freddie continued to pull Roger out the door and towards the pub.

Brian And John was already at The Nags Head with a round in when Freddie arrived, dragging their drummer behind him.

“Brian this better be important.” Roger moaned as he slid into the booth next to Deaky and opposite Freddie, who was sat next to Brian.

“we’ve had an offer to play next weekend, twenty quid each, per night.” Brian started.

“What? Where?” Freddie repeated the drummer from earlier, but his words were full of excitement.

“Norfolk.” Brian replied, watching Roger’s reaction. The drummers pout faded and his eyes grew wide.

“Where in Norfolk?” Roger asked with urgency.

“Kings Lynn.” Brian smiled back.

A wide smile grew on the blondes face “Really?” Brian nodded in response.

“Yes!” Roger shouted in excitement, earning a few funny looks from a few other people in the pub.

“I don’t get it what’s so great about Kings Lynn?” John asked, confusion all over his face.

“”Its where Roger grew up.” Brian answered.

“I thought you said you were from Cornwall.” John was now even more confused.

“I am, we moved from Kings Lynn when I was seven, but when we can we go back to visit family. God I haven’t been in so long. In taking you all to the best places. We’re going a little bit earlier, and I’m driving.” Roger was so happy the other three could see how much this meant to him.

Roger was in a really happy mood considering how early in the morning it was. It was a long drive from London to Kings Lynn and Roger wanted to get there with most of the day still ahead of them. They had, slept, ate and stopped for the occasional toilet brake. But finally they got there. They checked into a hotel with John and Freddie in one room and Brian and Roger in another to save money. As soon as they dragged their luggage into their rooms and just started to settle Roger was up and ready to go, wanting to take the boys all around the town.

The first thing the band did was stop for breakfast since none of them had anything proper to eat apart from the few biscuits shared between them on the drive up. “So what exactly are we doing, Roger?” Brian asked taking a sip from his tea.

“Well a walk around town, which won’t take all day, and then maybe a surprise after.” Roger mumbled the last part, which caught the full attention of the rest of the band.

“What are we doing Roger? Oh tell me please, you know I don’t like surprises.” Freddie pleaded.

“No, you do like surprises, just when you don’t know about them. You just don’t like not knowing, especially something like this.” Roger smirked taking a sip of his coffee.

After breakfast Roger and Freddie took the lead going into almost every shop and looking at anything and everything. They didn’t buy much but Freddie found a nice black and white shirt that he insisted on wearing for the show.

The town of Kings Lynn was small in comparison to London but Roger remembered walking along these streets with his mum dragging him around while he whined about not wanting to go shopping.

It was just past one o'clock when they started walking back to Roger’s old van having already walked all around the town. The hot July sun was nearly at it’s hottest, and Brian, John and Freddie was starting to moan about it.

“Shut up.” Roger told them, growing tired of their childishness, “you're getting your surprise soon anyway.” This ceased their complaining and made Freddie walk a little bit faster to the van.

Hunstanton, the place that Roger was taking the rest of the band wasn’t far at all, but with the boys constantly asking where they were going it felt like forever. They it stopped when Roger drove into the car park, and they saw the beach.

“we're at the beach!” Freddie smiled.

“I haven’t been to one for ages.” Deaky smiled too.

“I haven’t got my swimming trunks.” Brain said sadly.

“neither have I.” Deaky’s smiled turned into a slight frown.

“Roger, you could have told us to buy some while we were at the shop.” Freddie lightly smacked Roger’s arm.

“sorry, I didn’t think. Well we probably won’t have much time for the sea, I want to show you guys the pier ” Roger then jumped out the van and the others followed.

Roger started walking right out the car park, then stopped when he realised the rest didn’t follow. “To get the beach is that way.” Brian said pointing straight ahead.

“Yeah, I know, but the arcade is this way.” Roger pointed in the direction he was going and continued that way, this time the boys followed.

The arcade was illuminated by the bright light of the machines, the majority of them being Penney pushers. They boys changed a few pounds up into 2 pence pieces and had the time of their lives, running around trying to win prizes. Roger managed to knock two keyrings off in one. Brian and John also won one each, but Freddie ran out of money before he could knock on off the ledge. “Here.” Roger said as he tossed one of his prizes to a pouting Freddie. For the rest of the day Freddie fiddled with the keyring that had a small turtle attached to it. Roger immediately put his on the keys to the van.

After the arcade Roger took them to the fair opposite the beach. They went on everything they could, even though four men in their twenties running around like kids earned a few strange looks from the public, they didn’t care and neither did the ride attendants, they were nice to them. Deaky even managed to win a stuffed toy of one of the games.

After the fair they were all getting hungry, so Roger lead them to a small fish and chip shop, that he claimed was the best north of London. Although Deaky argued that there was a really good one in Nottingham. They ordered two large portions of chips two battered sausages for Roger and John, a fishcake for Freddie, and a pot of mushy peas for Brian. Roger and John had a ton of salt and vinegar on their chips, while Freddie and Brian had a pot of gravy and a pot of curry sauce.

After they had ate they took their shoes off and walked on the beach for a bit. They wasn’t planning in going in the water but Roger chased Freddie in. They only went deep enough so that they wouldn’t get their shorts wet. However, Freddie’s was shorter then Roger’s so Roger couldn’t go in deep enough to get Freddie. But while Freddie was teasing Roger a slightly bigger wave ripped through the sea and splashed half way up Freddie’s shorts. He stood, frozen in his spot as Roger nearly pissed himself laughing. After that they walked back towards the other two and let the water go up to their ankles.

The temperature was slowly dropping and the beach was emptying out so the boys decided they better start heading back. They started walking when Roger stopped in front of a kiosk selling all sorts of sea food. The boys didn’t realise until he jogged up to them holding a big crab with an even bigger smile on his face. Freddie looked at him wondering why Roger was so happy with the crab. “crab meat is so good.” Roger explained. “c'mon Fred, it’s not like you’ve never ate a crab stick before.”

They were getting close to the car park when Roger dragged them into one final shop. It was a lovely little sweet shop had shelves upon shelves of brightly coloured, sugary sweets. Roger bought them all stick-o-rocks. Freddie was fascinated by them having never tried one before. Then Brian noticed an ice cream counter with about ten different flavours, each a bright colour and treated the boys to some.

They ate the ice cream whilst walking to the van, Roger devouring his quickly so that he could drive. Once everyone finished they were already on the road. Freddie couldn’t wait to taste his stick-o-rock and started handing them all out. Roger also didn’t want to wait for his so he ask Freddie to unwrap it and held it in his left hand, every time he had to change gear he would leave it hanging out of his mouth.

When they got back to the hotel they all ended up half asleep in Roger and Brian’s room. Talking about anything and everything until John and Freddie retired to their room.

Roger lay in bed with a small smile on his face. He had a great day with his favourite people, in his favourite place. He was happy.

#fanfiction #queen fanfiction #brian may fanfiction #brian may fluff #brian may #roger taylor fluff #roger taylor fanfic #roger taylor #freddie mercury #freddie mercury fanfic #john deacon fluff #john deacon fanfic #john deacon #deaky #borhap #bohemian rhapsody

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glitteronthehardwoodfloor · 5 years

Text

All These Years

@2inlove2thinkstraightcauseimgay I have decided to write you a really clichéd, predictable story the way you can always find them in a good, cheesy Christmas movie. Also, it is loosely based on a Taylor Swift song, which I think you will come to find in the end. I hope you like it! Merry Christmas!

A change of heart

The oven was on fire. Or rather, its content was.

I was alarmed by someone’s scream, expecting one of the typical problems you encounter during a Christmas workshop, like not having blue icing for the cupcakes, missing poinsettias for a Christmas flower piece, or the lack of actual Christmas music – I had been blaring the new The 1975 album instead. But then other people chimed in, an “OMG” here, a “What a disaster” there, and I knew it was something worse.

It was fairly easy to find the source of the drama in this relatively small space decorated with Christmas ornaments in every little nook and cranny. A handful of people stood there, gaping at the enormous flames setting the oven alight, none of them showing any intention to do something about it. I came breezing in, shooing people away.

“Please keep your distance, everyone,” I instructed. People scattered, all of a sudden realizing the severity of the thing they had been treating like a circus attraction. I turned off the oven and yelled at everyone to stay at a distance while I extinguished the burning flames.

I felt a sudden presence behind me. Annoyance rose in my chest, because I explicitly told them not to get too close – I wasn’t going to risk getting blamed for the burns of someone who hadn’t listened to me. I threw a quick glance over my shoulder and was met with a guilt-stricken face that I assumed belonged to the woman who was behind this attack on the Christmas spirit.

“I’m so sorry, I took my eyes off for one minute and – ” She opened and closed her mouth like a fish on the dry. “I promise it wasn’t intentional, honestly.”

I wasn’t paying much attention to her, but her comment made me chuckle. I wasn’t insinuating that she had done it on purpose, because I knew enough people who were a disaster in the kitchen to know it didn’t take much for such a thing to happen.

“You’re good, don’t worry. It can happen to the best of us.”

Only then did I get a good look at her. Her hair long, brushing her shoulders, panicked eyes that would have a nice shade of blue otherwise, and a completely over the top Christmas sweater that read, All the jingle ladies. She was beautiful.

I looked at her just that tad bit longer than need be, as I had this feeling that I couldn’t shake, one that told me I knew her from somewhere. I just couldn’t quite remember where from.

She pursed her lips, seemingly not believing that her clumsiness wasn’t causing me that much more trouble, and gave another apologetic smile.

Damn, I was in conflict. On the one hand, she was the kind of person you couldn’t not look at, but on the other hand, it was difficult to feel her attention on you for longer than five seconds and not look away.

“Do we know each other?” I wondered, furrowing my eyebrows. A blush crept up her face, making me think that we did.

“We went to middle school together,” she explained. “We had all our classes together, actually.” She bit her lip while confessing this, clearly uncertain about my reaction.

My eyes turned as big as saucers, because of course. Memories flashed in my mind of times when our paths had crossed. Those memories were always happy ones, but I just couldn’t remember if my heart had always skipped in her presence the way it was doing right now.

Curious

That afternoon consisted of me picking up a book and putting it back down because I kept reading the same few words over and over again. The words just didn’t register, cause her name was put on a loop in my brain. I kept wondering and wondering, the memories of this morning playing through my mind, and I felt a spark in my chest every damn time. I had completely ruined the ends of my favorite blanket by plucking the little threads absentmindedly.

My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell. My head shot up, and I tried to sneak a peek through the window to see who it was, but to no avail. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and as far as I knew, my mom hadn’t ordered anything online either.

I was met by the cold air instead of the person I expected there to be, twhich was odd given that doorbells didn’t usually ring themselves. I sighed and rolled my eyes, figuring one of the kids in the neighborhood was going around pushing people’s buttons. But then a shiny envelope on the doorstep caught my eye, protected from blowing away on the wind by a rock from my parents’ garden. I scanned the street and cars to make sure this wasn’t part of the prank, but I couldn’t make out anything suspicious, so I picked up the mysterious package. There was no return address, but it did have my name on it. After throwing a final glance on the streets decked in Christmas decorations, I closed the door, trying to keep out the cold.

My curiosity survived the wait just long enough for me to go sit at the kitchen table. I tore open the envelope, eager to see what was inside. It was a simple white paper inked with black letters.

Christmas calls for honesty

Even if the truth is hard to speak

I call it out so blatantly

And mutter it against your cheek

You are the highlight of my day

As you take my breath away

Yet you are unaware

As I see you pass me by and stare

That you are all I think about

But I daren’t yet say that out loud.

- Secret Santa

My heart was beating like a madman in my chest, not knowing what to do with this new information or what to think of it. I must’ve read those words a million times, because when I finally managed to put down the paper, I could cite them by heart. I kept on reading them because every word that this person wrote felt familiar in a way, and the things they said gave away that they knew me. But I couldn’t for the life of me think up one person who fitted the profile.

And so I knew that I only had one thing to do: wait for tomorrow to come around and hope that it would bring more answers than questions.

Crazier

Unfortunately, it didn’t. Nor did the day after, or the day after that. I found a package at the door every day, but they never gave me the puzzle pieces needed to complete the puzzle, they just made the puzzle bigger. Up until now, this person had left me a book by my favorite poet, a mixtape of songs of artists I listened to a few years back but lost sight of, and poems. A handful of poems, always more beautiful than the one before, taking my breath away with the way they chose their words so carefully, so delicately.

This was a person who knew me, who knew where my heart was. Yet here I was, completely oblivious to their identity, and I felt like I didn’t deserve whoever was behind this, because there they were with their grand gesture, and I was completely clueless.

I had sounded out my best friend on the subject, figuring that maybe she had caught wind of someone who may be behind these gifts, but she couldn’t think of anyone significant either.

Every day, I wished more and more for Christmas Eve to come along to see if my Secret Santa would remain to be secret or would reveal themselves.

Lostmyhead

Travelling was my cup of tea, it really was, but at this point in time, it was one hell of a road block. I was stood here surrounded by suitcases of both me and my parents, ready to take off to England for our holiday vacation, but my heart wasn’t in it.

My head was occupied by the stack of letters and poems stacked under my pillow, for safekeeping. And then my heart, right next to it, confided to someone I didn’t even know the name of.

I knew it was a long shot, but I was sending up little prayers to whomever was up there for this mysterious person to come early today. It would be mortifying to have to leave before discovering who had been sending me things for over a week now.

I heard the ticking of the clock on the wall, notifying me of every second wasted on waiting. I was stood by the front door like a maniac, desperately waiting for a sign. My parents were still in town, running a couple of errands before we were ready to go. I had the book and the mixtape that I had been gifted tucked safely in my bag for the long drive.

Only after five seconds did my brain register that the doorbell was, in fact, ringing. Alarms were going off in my head, but I was paralyzed. Completely frozen in time.

The sound of knuckles on our front door was what snapped me out of it. I reached out my hand to turn the lock, and it looked like the hand that belonged to anyone but me. I held my breath as I opened the front door, my mind racing through pictures of memories of people that could be on the other end.

“Hi,” she said. The girl from the Christmas workshop. Of course. I remained silent, my eyes scanning her every move. I noticed that she was pulling the sleeve of her Christmas sweater, a tick that gave away her nervousness.

We were stood there in silence, the only thing between us the gifts she had left me and how everything just made sense all of a sudden.

“It’s you,” I stated, trying to gather my thoughts and utter a sentence that made even the slightest of sense. But I couldn’t.

She tucked her hands in the pockets of her warm coat and shrugged. “For years now, I’ve been seeing you around town, going about your business, wondering if I ever crossed your mind at all. And then I saw that you were doing the Christmas workshop and signed up for it. I was thrilled to find out that you remembered me.”

I was utterly flabbergasted at the words that left her mouth, kicking myself for never noticing. “But why not walk up to me before? I would’ve loved to talk to you, honestly.”

She wove my comment away, an easy smile playing on her lips. “I guess I wanted the moment to be perfect. I wanted you to really know how I felt, because there’s something I forgot to tell you all those years ago.”

She looked at her shoes, shy for a reason only known to her own mind. I felt a shift in the air, the way it always did when significant feelings hung in the air.

“I was enchanted to meet you, and I still am every time.”

An enormous smile broke on to my face as I admitted, “For what it’s worth, I was enchanted to meet you, too.”

#my writing #secret santa #ntnsecretsanta2018 #ntnsecretsanta2018reveal

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