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ijuststareatstuffhereok89 · 21 days

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Three: Loki's Atoll

Your suspicions/worries are correct: the island is unpopulated, and likely uncharted. Meanwhile, the team realizes that you never made your rendezvous in Australia, and that they may need to enlist help finding you.

CHAPTER WARNINGS: none

MASTERLIST

It took you much longer than you’d thought to reach the base of the large rock formation sitting further into the island’s mass. The jungle floor was pathless, full of vines, rocks, tree roots, and palm trunks in your way everywhere you turned. The sun came down through the canopy in beams, the only aid to you as you meandered, observing your new surroundings in case you had to extend your stay. At least the interior was a few significant, blessed degrees cooler than the beach, with its hot sand and direct sunlight.

Loki was smart enough not to speak to you while you walked, instead making some mental notes for himself about the environment, like the animal sounds he could hear in the distance, the fruits hanging from some of the trees and vines…and how your hips moved with an almost exaggerated accent when you were flustered. The jersey fabric of your maxi skirt clinging to your butt cheeks was by far the most exotic vision here.

He finally dared to break the silence. “So…how much was that sweater?”

You moaned. “A hundred and thirty dollars.”

“And I must say the color flatters your…ankle.”

“Shut up.”

The cliff itself was perhaps a hundred feet tall, but it had enough of a slope to it that you could climb it without too much struggle (although the heat and sun didn’t help when it came to beads of sweat rolling down your brows and into your eyes). It took only about thirty minutes to reach the summit, which was thankfully flat enough for a few people to stand safely on top.

“Shit,” you and Loki muttered in tandem.

It was strikingly obvious at first glance that this was a tiny, isolated, unpopulated island. The rock sat at the edge of a lagoon, which took up much of the small atoll’s middle. You’d climbed from the back, and thus hadn’t noticed the large waterfall cascading from halfway down the hill on the other side. The pool below was an uncorrupted crystal blue. The lagoon itself was enclosed by the trees.

There wasn’t a sign of humanity anywhere in the bird’s eye, 360-degree view you had.

“Well, there we have it,” Loki said solemnly. “It seems like Loki’s Atoll is just for us.”

Your mouth fell open, and you let out a breathy ‘ha!’

What overwhelmed you more than the small little sandbar you were stuck on with the world’s most hyper-inflated egomaniac, was the expansive carpet of ocean that entrapped you. Nothing else from horizon to horizon. No indicator that this small piece of land was part of a larger, populated archipelago. That would’ve been your last hope.

“We’re really stuck here,” you said sadly, defeated.

Loki turned his back and looked out over the lagoon, in and of itself a beautiful sight, “So it would seem.”

“And we have nothing to help us survive,” you added. “It all went down with the jet.”

“Look!” Loki pointed off into the distance toward a small, artificial cluttering of drifting items in the water beyond the surf. “That’s not far. We could try and recover some of our things, perhaps find something to aid us.”

“Go ahead, fool,” you said skeptically. “You wouldn’t even help me row! You’ll never get beyond the surf without me.”

He gave you a look that could only say “oh, really shall we test that theory?” You still had every reason to doubt him.

“Look, Loki, do whatever the hell you want, okay? I don’t give a shit anymore!”

He scoffed. “Did you ever?”

“I get that you assholes up on Asgard live to be a million years old, but down here, we don’t! I need to get off this little sandbar before I waste away. You can treat this like some postcard-picture vacation, but I doubt you’ll ever understand the meaning of the word dire.” Your rant was heating your face, which wouldn’t do, given the conditions.

At first, you couldn’t tell exactly what he was feeling. Insulted? Annoyed? Intrigued? But then he proceeded to open his miserable trap, as per usual.

“Perhaps if you calmed down for five second to stop immediately antagonizing me--”

“--WHO GOT ME HERE IN THE FIRST PLACE??” you snapped, pointing a damning finger right at Loki’s nose. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t immediately antagonize you? It was YOUR shit that brought us here! YOU couldn’t just leave me alone and…and…go fuck your whores!”

Loki smiled wryly. “Ah, that’s it…” he whispered cleverly.

“What?” you asked, the blind rage bubbling under the surface barely contained anymore. You decided to start going down the cliffside to explore the lagoon and see if the water was potable.

The Master of Disaster followed you. “Admit it, this has all been about your obvious feelings for me.” He delivered his remark as if it were the simplest, most well-known fact.

You grunted angrily. “I won’t even dignify that with an answer.”

Loki snickered. “I’ll consider that a confession, then!”

“Fine then, you’re absolutely wrong,” you said. “I have never entertained the thought of having a romantic entanglement with you. I don't date ingrates.”

“She calls the god who saved her life twice in the same night an ingrate!” Loki summarized to the heavens, his words dripping with sarcasm. “Must you push away every male that addresses you? No wonder you’re a virgin!”

“I am not!” you pouted. It was true that you weren’t, but that didn’t mean you exactly had a lot of experience in the department of sex. Dating was never an area you felt confident enough to explore regularly. In fact, you only had one relationship that lasted longer than a year on your resume.

“See, it’s THIS that I hate most about you, Loki,” you said, finally reaching ground-level. You began to trace a path around the rock formation toward where you’d seen the waterfall. “You always feel the need to resort to a sexist quip instead of, oh, I don't know, just keeping your big mouth shut? If you ever want a relationship with someone to last more than a week, you need to turn down the bullshit and turn up the respect.”

Loki scoffed again. “It’s a good thing I’m not looking for a serious romance, then. I suppose the idea of answering to a little woman doesn’t appeal to me. I already endure enough henpecking from you on a daily basis.”

When you arrived at the lagoon, you lost your breath at the beauty of the cove. It was completely encircled by land. The water was so clear you could see the bottom of the pool (you guessed it was about eight or ten feet deep). The falls were gentle enough in their cascade that you imagined you could shower beneath it. It looked like there could even be a cavern hidden behind the wall of water. The small shore was littered with coconut palms and large, flat stones big enough to spread out on. There was no evidence of creatures either swimming or drinking in the pond.

You bent over and scooped a small sample of the blue water, daring to sip it, relieved at the lack of a salty taste. “It’s fresh. If we can start a fire and somehow procure a pot, we can boil it clean.”

Loki didn’t say anything. Instead, he walked further down the beach until he found some wet, fine sand just under the water. Kneeling down, he began to use his magic to manipulate the clay into a large pot.

“I guess I’ll have to get used to you breaking your parole,” you mumbled.

Loki set the first bowl aside and began to form another. “If it means we don't dehydrate, then yes. It may be futile to send a distress signal, but I’m not going to waste away for the sake of the United Nations.”

You had to admit, he had a point. Loki’s magic was the only tool for survival you had at the moment.

“Maybe you could make me some shoes while you’re at it?” you added. Loki didn’t seem to hear you.

You stayed at the lagoon for an hour or so in an attempt to catch your breath from everything that was going on. Loki, surprisingly, didn’t say a word the whole time. After he made three large clay pots with his magic, he did something that caught you off guard: he turned himself into a small monkey and began climbing one of the coconut trees. You’d forgotten his magic could do that.

If only he could turn into one of those giant eagles from Lord of the Rings and fly us out of here, you thought. But if he could surely he would have thought of it by now.

“You can make fire too, right?” you finally broke the silence after wading for a bit, your skirt hiked up to your knees, the hem tucked into your waistband.

“As long as you don’t mind green flames,” Loki replied, turning back into his humanoid form and sitting at the top of a palm. He began hacking away at the bundle of ripe coconuts and tossing each one down to the sand. “Norns, I do wish I could summon my daggers.”

“Why can’t you?” you asked half-heartedly.

“Let’s just say, Thor and Odin arranged for some of my seidr to be disabled. Even a vow before the United Nations couldn’t convince them to allow me access to my weaponry.”

“How the hell can they take your magic away?” you asked, marveling at how cruel that sounded.

“How could Odin render Thor unworthy of his blasted hammer?” replied Loki, throwing the last coconut onto the ground, sliding down the truck after it. “It’s something you mortals still can’t seem to comprehend. Some things just…work differently.”

You sensed there were layers to Loki’s words, but addressing it would only cause further unnecessary strife. You only began to fill one of Loki’s pots with lagoon water. “I imagine it’s early evening,” you mumbled awkwardly. “We should get back to the beach before sunset.”

Loki brought the harvested coconuts back in one of the other pots, and once you found yourselves at the beach again, he began hacking away at the husks with a sharp rock. “You know, you could do some of this work!” he complained. You decided not to fight him, but you did shoot him a smirk. Seeing him sweat was satisfying.

As the sun set, you and Loki kept your distances from one another. You paced the shore nervously as Loki built a green fire and boiled water to drink.

You’d have to strategize for rescue in the morning, perhaps even build a shelter. How often did hurricanes come to this part of the world? Were there wild boars or other dangerous beasts lurking in the trees, waiting for you to fall asleep? You dreaded the thought. But for tonight, the weather forecast promised a clear night sky, so sleeping under the stars would do.

Neither of you said a word to the other for the rest of the evening. As the stars climbed into the indigo canopy above your heads, you manipulated the sand around you into a mound that accommodated your curvy body enough to feel comfortable. You were surprised at how quickly you fell asleep that first night, the last thing you noted before drifting off being the faint flicker of green firelight from behind your eyelids.

“Guys, we need everyone in the conference room ASAP,” Tony was giving all of the Avengers who happened to be in the tower today a red alert via the intercom. Today, that was Steve and Bucky, Natasha, and Bruce. “We’ve got a problem.”

Everyone took the alert seriously, and before five minutes, the Avengers were assembled.

“What is it?” asked Nat, crossing her arms.

“The quinjet’s signal was lost over the South Pacific a few hours back. Loki and Y/N never landed in Sydney,” said Stark.

“Shit!” Nat swore. “He could be anywhere without accountability--”

“--he could be dead, but more importantly, Y/N could be dead,” said Bucky. He hadn’t admitted it to anyone yet, but Bucky nursed a crush on you himself, so this news worried him particularly. “Let’s get the rescue jet--”

“--hold on there, loverboy,” Stark held up a hand. Bucky’s stubbled cheeks went red. “We can’t just do a quick scan of the Pacific Ocean and find them! It’s kind of a big lake.”

“Loverboy?” Bucky looked down sheepishly. Steve shrugged awkwardly.

“So what do you suggest?” asked Steve. “Technically speaking, part of the UN terms concern constant accountability for Loki. If he and Y/N are alive, they could be anywhere in the southeastern quadrant of the planet. Loki could potentially do some damage if he gets a tickle for it.”

“Last confirmed check in was over Hawaii, and it was on schedule,” said Bruce, looking over Tony’s shoulders as he went through the last readings on a transparent screen in front of them both. “There’s a very, very big area that they could be in, and that’s if they survived the crash.”

“We have to assume they did,” interjected Steve. “For God’s sake, let’s have some hope. Tony, what do we do?”

He looked at the people in the room, and his face dropped. “Look, we could send search parties out, but it's a patch of TENS of THOUSANDS of square miles, kids. Even I don’t have the tech developed that could find them in that big of a space. It could take me two more lifetimes.”

“Then let’s triangulate their last signal and make some educated guesses. Perhaps that’ll give us a start,” Steve suggested. “What was their planned flight path?”

“Pacifically, the Specific,” quipped Tony. No one laughed.

“Or,” Nat added, her voice trailing off for a moment as if her idea was too ridiculous to suggest, “We could call Asgard.”

“No!” said Tony with an eyeroll. “I don’t want to deal with those snobs, my head hurts.”

“Thor might have some kind of Loki senses we don’t,” said Bruce, agreeing with Natasha. “It’s the best card we’ve got.”

Tony went quiet as he thought it through. “Fine. Call Dr. Foster and get her to give her boyfriend a buzz. The sooner we find them, the more likely they are to still be hanging on.”

You awoke to the sun rising, your skin pressed against the sand of a tropical beach. The rhythmic sound of the waves crashing over the shore had kept you asleep in spite of the circumstances. Feeling at least a little rested, you rolled over onto your side and allowed yourself to fully come to.

The first thing that caught your eye was a strange pile of something brown just beyond arm’s reach, as if it was set there for you to find. You scowled and sat up. At first glance, it looked like a pile of shit, which meant Loki must’ve put it there as a prank. You were ready to call him out, wherever he was, until you saw what they really were.

They were a simple, crude pair of sandals fashioned out of vine, stone, and clay. And indeed, Loki had put them there for you. It was a good thing you didn’t shout curses in his general direction, for you would’ve instantly put your foot in your mouth.

But…how did he know my size?

Turns out, he didn’t quite guess correctly. The shoes were a little large, but still much better than a broken kitten heel and a decaying angora sweater.

Before you got to your feet, you saw Loki out of the corner of your eye. He was wading about waist-deep in the ocean, his sculpted back bare, his hair loose and sticking to his shoulders. He wasn’t doing much other than standing there shirtless, looking out at the rolling sea and yellow sky.

He’s kind of…beautiful, in his own way, you thought. I mean, he IS a god, right?

It was a shame that those looks were wasted on such an asshole of a person. You were sure the UN wouldn’t have been so keen on a solution of forgiveness had he looked more like The Hulk. Loki’s charisma was genuine, even if it was for ill gain and attention most of the time. You were surprised at how he was able to gather some coconut, start a fire, and fashion a hanging grate out of vines and bamboo stalks without bringing up a single insult.

You got to your feet, brushing off your skirt before knotting the hem at your knees. Maybe…maybe I should extend the olive branch.

Raking your fingers through your hair, dismayed to feel the sand and pebbles that had settled into it while you slept. Well, he can’t expect me to look like some Baywatch lifeguard.

Granted, he did. As you got closer and were able to make his backside out a bit more clearly, you were sure you saw the top of his ass crack peeking out from the surface…

Oh my god, he’s completely naked!

You froze at the shoreline as you realized that maybe you should have faked staying asleep. How poorly would he take to you peeping at him? How awful would the endless teasing be, especially on an isolated island where you couldn’t escape from it?

However, before you could bug out, Loki turned around and caught sight of you on the beach. He grinned flirtatiously and winked, but as he opened his mouth to address you, something else nearby caught his eye instead. You followed his gaze to a large, dark heap washing up some twenty feet down the shore. Loki’s face fell again.

It was a corpse.

You screamed.

TAGLIST: @anukulee @jiyascepter @wolfsmom1 @cakesandtom @holdmytesseract @simplyholl @lokisgoodgirl @mjsthrillernp @meowmeow-motherfucker @foxherder @letstalkaboutshtuffff @ladymischief11 @libby-bibby @javagirl328 @crimson25 @lcolumbia1988 @gruftiela @mochie85 @huntress-artemiss @loz-3 @kikster606 @muddyorbsblr @sheris532 @lokischambermaid @kneelingformyloki

@soulpiercing @goddessgirl43 @canigetanap @theoneandonlythorn @forleiasake @eleniblue @knight-of-the-doctor @goblingirlsarah @clusterfuck-meup @mischief2sarawr @cabingrlandrandomcrap @kats72 @glitchquake @zippythewondersquirrel @ameliariddle @alexakeyloveloki @lovingchoices14 @lokidokieokie @littlegodslut @casifer391 @free-llama-arcade @alucardsdaddyissues @pest-ill-ence @elviswifesworld @mynameiskelly @xxinvisiblexx

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sillypuppetsposts · 5 months

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Can we have some headcanons of how Frank Frankly would act if them were a suitor of yours (that is, of the reader)? please and thank you

a/n ;; OHH,,, FIRST REQUEST *breakdances* also please, i’m assuming reader is meant to be masc or enby presenting since frank is gay ^^ Because i am feeling enby atm since I am gender-fluid! Also, Y/n is described as being a lively and happy person,, :)

tw / cw (?) ;; swearing (they curse at wally a couple of times), marriage (OMG COMMITMENT😰😰), wally being a little shit! :) plus, (maybe) some horror and arg elements so be cautious! also mentions and hcs of poly frank x eddie x reader :3

BEFORE DATING OR BECOMING YOUR SUITOR!

Tsundere alert!!!!

Anyways, they aren’t as affectionate as the other puppets. But, that’s okay! You know they’re your friend, and they love you and your other friends as well.

Little did you know…

Frank was more confused when they were feeling these strange feelings, they would get red in the face whenever you complimented them or gave them gifts of any sort. And they would sweat and get flustered when you would hug them or slightly touch hands.

As You know, they are the grumpiest neighbor. So, someone acting super affectionate towards them (besides Eddie and Julie) made them feel so, special.. <3

They go to Eddie first, asking him why they feel this way. But, Eddie is kinda… oblivious to attempts at this stuff, so he just thinks your being extremely kind to Frank. So, our Eddie pookie was not too much help 😭

So, they go to Julie. And, Oh, she tells them what they’re feeling alright.

“Wait. You feel strange around y/n? How?” | “You get butterflies in your-oh. OH! OH MY GOSH FRANK! YOU LIKE Y/N!!!” “Of course I do, Y/n’s my friend?” “… Frank, I mean you like them, romantically.” “oh. oh.. OH!”

So yeah, that’s how they figured out they liked you.

And, now they are definitely planning to court you… because of course they are.

“Hello, Y/n. Would you like to go butterfly watching with me?” “Oh! I would love to, Frank!!”

They plan this out, he asks you to go butterfly watching with you, and ask you about courting you.

(Which, may I add, Is so stinking cute like wtf where can I find a love life like this..I have no maidens erm… ☹️)

So, when you guys were walking towards a small hill a little bit away from the neighborhood. They decide they’ll ask you on the hill.

So, when. you reached the top they waited for you to be distracted, and got on a knee and… well, courted you.

It was adorable and you were blushing when you realized what was going on.

AFTER YOU START DATING OR BECOMING YOUR SUITOR <3

Oh goodness.

Cutest couple ever! Like everyone thinks you two are adorable!

Everyone thinks it’s cute because your guy’s trope is basically opposites attract!

Wally being a little shit, and third wheeling, but distracting you and Frank gets annoyed 😭

“what do you even see in him?” —frank, questioning your friendship with Wally. “He makes me laugh :)” — You, who thinks he’s a silly guy

CATCHING AND STUDYING BUTTERFLIES TOGETHER!!!! THOSE ARE YOUR GUYS’ DATES!!!!

You like to play office with them and Julie

They don’t like it because Julie always kicks down their desk after they go bankrupt 😭😭

you sleep in the middle of frank and eddie because if you don’t you end up falling off the bed because eddie is a rowdy sleeper

“how did you end up on the ground, dear?” -frank, worried “i rolled off” - you, who got fucking pushed off the bed when eddie was having a dream

when you, julie and frank were catching butterflies on a hill, they tripped, and rolled down like a tube, so when julie started to sprint on all 4s, you hopped on her back and acted like a cowboy trying fetch a stray sheep…

Frank is still traumatized about that til this day…

#🍰.txt #welcome home #welcome home puppet show #welcome home arg #welcome home arg frankly frank #welcome home puppet show frankly frank #welcome home frankly frank #frankly frank #frank frankly #frankly frank x reader #welcome home x reader

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dragonmuse · 2 years

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@weirdnatasha and @believesinponds both asked for mainverse Izzy and May Be Bad Lucius

They stand in the conference room of the offices. There are feet between them. They both have their hands on their gun, but neither of them have drawn their weapons.

Izzy: You're not my Lucius.

Luicus: And you're not my Izzy.

They regard each other, accessing.

Izzy: That's how Eddy holds a gun.

Lucius: Fancy that.

Izzy: She taught you. Why?

Luicus: She didn't.

Izzy: Then...

Lucius: Izzy taught me. Jim refined it. I took Eddy's stance. The always did have style.

Izzy: Things went wrong.

Lucius: Things went very right. You live like a king in my world. High in the clouds, relaxed as anything. Look at you, still twitchy and on the trigger finger. Doesn't he take care of you?

Izzy: We take care of each other.

Lucius: Well duh, obviously. But he's not living up to his side of things if you're still out there working. You deserve to retire.

Izzy: Who the fuck wants to sit around all day? I like working.

Lucius: You don't know what you're missing. I could show you. Bet one night with me would have you seeing everything different.

Izzy: *growls* I don't know what you are, but I don't need any piece of it. I bet that underneath whatever tamed pet you think you have, he's just the same, isn't he?

Lucius: You would be surprised. He's a lovely old man, quiet. Thoughtful. Rarely has a bad word to say about anyone.

Izzy: You're afraid of him. You should be. My Lucius has never been afraid of me. He's made of stronger stuff.

Lucius: *raises his gun* He can't even keep you in check, he's pathetic. Weak.

Izzy: *drops his hold away* Go ahead.

Lucius: ...what?

Izzy: You want to shoot me? It doesn't matter here anyway. Go right the fuck ahead. Watch me bleed at your feet. It's a good preview for you.

Luicus: I would never-

Izzy: That's the fucking problem. You think you would never. Then you do one more thing. Then one more thing. And you start sliding down a hill with no brakes. Ask your Izzy how he got to where you found him.

Lucius: I know where he comes from. There's no sliding. No freefall. I'm in control of this.

Izzy: Of the situation? Maybe. Of yourself? How long after your first kill did you make your second? Then your third? Bet the time gets shorter each time. Just starts to seem easy. More convenient.

Lucius: *lowers his gun* You're trying to trick me into something.

Izzy: No, pup. I'm just worried for you.

Luicus: ...don't call me that. I'm not a child.

Izzy: I know.

Lucius: Don't worry about me. I've got Jim at my back.

Izzy: It's not your body I'm worried about.

Lucius: Don't tell me you believe in souls.

Izzy: *voice a little wavery, as if he's going in and out of focus, someone else layered over it* I don't believe in shit. But I wonder what you believe in, Luc?

*they both wake up with a gasp. Both roll over to embrace their respective actual people.*

#waiting room roundtable

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insipid-drivel · 2 years

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My Ex’s Conspiracy Theorist Jungle-Living Uncle

There are a lot of things I don’t miss about one of my exes. However, there’s one thing I do, and that happened to be hanging out with his uncle.

My ex’s uncle was a reedy, fuzzy, unwashed recluse that lived in the middle of the jungle north of Nambucca, Australia. I don’t know exactly what the place is called because it’s off the grid and has no real name, and I still have lingering trauma from the terrifying drive to and from his house.

This was a man who understood that chem trails were real, crystals could talk, music at certain frequencies could induce psychic visions, and that he didn’t mind living amongst giant carnivorous goanas with no indoor plumbing. I have no doubt that he may have been mildly schizophrenic, which only made hanging out with him that much more fun and interesting. I love hanging out with schizophrenics and have spent years as a supporter of an online support group for them. People with schizophrenia are not scary; they’re absolutely fascinating to talk to. I have never been more captivated or engaged in a conversation than I have with schizophrenic people. My dad was schizophrenic, and I’ve never loved anyone more. Even when the symptoms scared him, which happened sometimes, all I wanted to do was listen.

My ex’s uncle was probably the most fascinating and fun character of a man I’ve ever met and still struggle to believe the day I spent at his house wasn’t some kind of psychedelic trip I had back in my apartment in Sydney. It was the middle of November and the heat and humidity was something that even the most seasoned of Floridians would’ve balked at. The kicker? It was a 6 hour drive and my ex’s janky old car’s air conditioning was broken. It was at least 104F (40C) the entire ride, outside. I felt like I had a stamina bar from a survival video game and it was a race to get from rest stop to rest stop to find air conditioning before I got heat stroke.

To get to his house, we had to switch cars to a 4-wheeled SUV. It was the most harrowing 45 minutes in my life as we had to slowly drive along a rail-thin, dirt path cut into a ravine so steep it may as well have been a cliff. My ex was not helping by telling me about the sheer number of deaths that had occurred in his living memory alone from people rolling down the ravine, which was hundreds of feet deep. (Seriously Australians, I know hazing the Americans is fun, but please you live in a land of venom, death, and a simmering disregard for all temporal consequence. Be gentle with us when we’re already shitting ourselves.)

But the view was breathtaking. It was like walking into an episode of Planet Earth. There were vast, green fields that serves as pastures for small farmers with horses and sheep - lamb being a very popular export - between vast expanses of steaming rainforest. The sounds during the day were indescribable. After we got to the end of me Staring Death In The Face For 45 Minutes and I was able to get my shit together, I understood why his uncle wanted to live there.

His house is set on stilts on an almost 45 degree angle on a hill in a clearing in the forest. If you like cottagecore, you should’ve seen this place. He had his own little hydroelectric generator that pumped water and electricity to his house. He had wifi somehow. I don’t know how. The fact that he casually offered me weed growing in a pot on his front porch before my foot touched the ground already had me comfortable with not thinking too hard.

He lived off the land and occasional trips into a town so tiny that you could stand on the top of the decline where the “Welcome To” sign was and see straight down to the “Now Leaving” sign. It was a microscopic little town of hardened badasses that spat in the Grim Reaper’s face on a daily basis. In his house, there were quartz crystals wedged into every conceivable nook and cranny, and he had a boombox from the 90′s playing low, drowning music at a specific frequency he assured me would assist in opening my Third Eye.

I assured him that every eye I had was pretty fucking wide open at that point.

He explained to me his distaste for chem trails, and I nodded along. He made me a cup of tea from a tin kettle over an open-propane burner that fueled his stove and we sat together on a bench on his fenced porch watching the cockatoos and kookaburras flying over us. Inevitably, because I had already come perilously close to wetting myself just in getting there, I expressed a need to use the restroom.

“Oh, well, you’ve got two options. Ya can go around the corner or in the river, but there are more biting flies by the river.”

“Great.” Fortunately, the hill his house was set on was so remote that it was easy for me to find a hiding spot to squat in around the corner. I didn’t want to know where he got the fertilizer for his greenhouse from.

After doing my business, I came back and we resumed chatting. He was telling me about how the wooden tool shed across from the house had once been his house, because he’d built the house with his bare hands while living out of a shack no larger than 9′x6′.

As I’m marveling at the sheer incalculable mass of this delightful madman’s testicles, I hear a rustling from the bushes.

The biggest goana I have ever seen in my life (meaning the only goana) crept out from the underbrush directly from where I’d just taken a leak. It crawled up the stoop and stared at me, forked tongue flicking as it stared at me and considered me.

My ex’s uncle grinned from ear to fucking ear while I realized that I was sitting on the hill I was literally going to die on. I froze as this gigantic, toothy lizard looked me dead in the eye, and then noticed a kookaburra in a nearby tree and decided I wasn’t worth it.

Suddenly, I feel a metal cylinder in my lap.

This man has placed a 12 gauge shotgun in my lap. “Don’t be scared! They’re just looking for birds this time of year.”

“You... can have that here?” I may be American and I may live in a swamp, but I’ve never handled guns before. I’ve never needed to. And then there was the matter that I had been convinced that Australia had banned firearms to civilians.

“I use it to protect the cockatoo chicks! They’re rare out here!” he explained, constantly chipper about the entire thing as he took the gun away and set it aside. He explained to me that a flock of a rare, endangered species of cockatoo lived in the trees around where we were sitting, and he had a permit for a shotgun in order to protect himself from exactly what just happened 2 minutes before.

Meanwhile, my ex is casually slapping my arms and legs to keep biting flies the size of quarters from making me cry for my mother, stunning them, tying a strand of hair around them, and then flinging them around like they were tiny dogs on leashes, and explaining that that’s what kids out there did for fun.

I prayed to Steve Irwin for strength. That explained Crocodile Hunter.

His uncle decides it’s time for us to have some fun and leads us away from the relative safety of his house and down to the shallows of the river we’d driven over to get there. He proceeded to teach me to catch frogs until dusk.

He brought us back to his house, and when I explained to him that I was a Bandrui and that magpies were a major spirit animal in my work in my faith, he told me to wait where I was standing and disappeared into the upstairs of his house I never got to see. He returned with a bundle of feathers. Including a tailfeather from the black-and-yellow, endangered cockatoos he had collected.

“Take them,” he said, practically shoving them into my arms while I had to take my jaw off the floor.

“What?! They’re rare! I can’t pay you!” I was shocked.

But he insisted. “No. You have important work to do. Take them.” He was so confident that I had to wonder if he knew something more than I did, and so I thanked him gratuitously. I still have his bundle of feathers to this day.

“Time for you to get back!” he abruptly pronounced as the sky started to turn pink.

“Huh?” I had no idea why he was insisting on it, but he sounded like he was confident of something.

“You’ll see!” he replied with another grin, and waved as we drove off with the sun going down.

The drive back meant another 45 minutes on the Death Road. In the dark.

That was how I discovered that, in the jungle when the sun goes down, millions of tree frogs migrate down the Death Slope. One jumped down my boobs. Getting back to where we were staying, I almost walked face-first into a Golden Orbweaver Spider, and decided I missed Bigfoot and the innocuous red eyes in the dark. At least they kept their distance.

#storytime #this is 100% true i am not making a single thing up #australia is wild #australia #i don't know if he was even real #but he was awesome #schizophrenia #schizophrenia positivity #long post

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koskimakiforsberg · 5 months

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Its wednesday night, july, the heatwaves been and gone, its back to gray skies and humid rain, the heat may return in late august or it may be another year till we see the sun again. For two unbearable weeks, the city comes to a standstill, heat so wet you can taste it in the air, the mix of water particles in the air, sweat and grease creates a foul smelling cocktail, dressed with petrol fumes and the everpresent stench of piss and rubbish that seems unbudgeable even in the coldest months. Heat here is unbearable, the sun is hardly present for it hidden under a duvet of industrial clouds, the buildings retain the heat, cooking us alive within their thick stone, lobsters being boiled in their own shells, only redder. I remember a train ride, wall to wall bodies, sticky, blotchy, the colour of curdled milk, perhaps it was the dense soggy heat bubble on the carriage or the pure exhaustion of having finished one job only to be venturing to another, but on that midsummer day, i passed out on public transport in the midday sun.

Its been 24hrs since I was last at work. I'm twitchy, uncomfortable, and can't seem to sit still. Days off are easy, see your friends, read a book, smoke…a lot. It's the nights. When you train your body to withstand a certain level of labour, you become accustomed to a push of adrenaline at the same time most people begin to wind down. I can't sleep like I used to, I pass out, its the only way i know, by either physical or mental exhaustion. Once upon a time, i worked 52 hours a week, twelve hours a shift, night shift. Now i cant seem to handle three days on without having some obtuse side affect to my sleep. When i worked night shift at the warehouse, it was easy, ewe were a team, pushing and building boxes, shovelling shit into containers, wrapping and lifting, moving shit around, then before you know it, its 9am and you’re headed to the bus stop. Now, its just me. Theres no team, theres no boxes, no shit shovelling, just me and toad dressed up a prince aka my glass cleaner with dishwasher soap pumped into it. I work around 14 hours a day, the skin tends to peel off my fingers when the days are too humid, which is often, my back has an untieable knot, my hands crack when i move them and my feet could be mistaken for a man twice my age’s. I used to handle two jobs i can barely function doing the three shifts i do know, ive been sapped of stamina, of care and of any semblance of work ethic, i cut, i mice, i peel, i scrub, i rinse and i go home. The walk to the bus stop, fifteen minutes away feels as if my ankles are seconds away from rolling away down the hill, leaving me with stubs to collapse and bleed into the gravel pavement in front of the hordes and crowds rushing to find the cheapest drink, the quickest high, and the loudest music. Sometimes i can only dream of being swallowed up, consumed by the people passing by, to be taken away to wherever their waves take me, i unfortunately, will always end up at my bus stop waiting for a service that may or may not turn up. The use of personal pronouns make it sound as if this my story, but the experiences i speak of are shared amongst all my peers, coworkers, old friends, neighbours.

My mother talks of her generation migrating to London, the only place with jobs, a flood of glaswegians, headed toward one of the biggest cities in the world to find any semblance of a job, now my generation could only dream of that choice, we can barely afford to live in our own city, nevermind a place like that, we’re goldfish stuck, turning in the same cramped bowl, forced to swallow the same shit day in and day out. Minimum wage joy suckers are our only option, no matter the talent or prowess, the ability or the drive, we all end up bending over backwards serving, cooking or cleaning for the general public.

I dont believe in playing the victim, self pity was booted out of my repertoire pretty soon after my first shift scrubbing dishes for 16 hours, but i do believe in the truth. Thats what this is, the truth. A frank telling of the exploitative, mind numbing, capitalist hellscape of modern hospitality. What may have been an industry driven by love and passion for eating and drinking is now a mainstay of our patriarchal late stage capitalist orwellian nightmare world.

#my writing #writing #prose

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headspace-hotel · 3 years

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please infodump 2 me, we've been having it rough lately and you sharing an interest might make our day :)

okay, so I was recently on vacation in the Appalachian mountains and I’ve kinda been thinking a lot about this

I visited Mt. Mitchell, which is the highest point in North America east of the Mississippi River, at an elevation of 6,684 feet.

(Here’s the view from the top.)

This is high enough that this area of the Blue Ridge Mountains has a unique kind of ecosystem similar to that found in eastern Canada, of fir, cedar, and spruce trees and many more cold-adapted species.

I love the Appalachians. The blue, undulating waves of mountains seem to melt straight into the sky in the distance. But they are not impressive in terms of height, not really. To someone used to the Rockies, Mt. Mitchell is more of a glorified hill than anything.

Where I live in Eastern Kentucky, the line between mountain and glorified hill blurs. The Appalachians shade from waves of mountains to steep rolling hills with scarcely a transition. They aren’t impressive, staggering peaks. You might even call them unremarkable.

You would be wrong.

The Appalachians are not high, but they are old. They are much, much older than the lofty snow-capped peaks of their more impressive relatives. They are so small because they have been worn down, for hundreds of millions of years, from a height that rivaled that of the Himalayas. In their youth, these soft, subtle curves on the misty horizon were Everests.

The Appalachians were created by a long string of geologic events, culminating in the collision of the African continent with the Eastern coast of what we now know as North America, 300 million years ago. And yes, in those days, that WAS the coast.

Where did all that land come from??

Well, remember what I said about millions of years of erosion? All the land east of this mountainous region…is made essentially from sediment worn off the Appalachian’s eons-old peaks. The entire East Coast is just leftover rubble, carried by erosion, from what was the Appalachian Mountains.

What is left…is old.

Much of Kentucky is sedimentary limestone, forming some of the best fossil beds in the world. The central area of the state was a shallow sea 450 million years ago, and well-preserved sponges, corals, bivalves, gastropods, bryozoans, crinoids, and even trilobites can be found here.

The reason there are no fish is that fish were not invented yet.

In order: Gastropod (snail) shell, a bryozoan (or ‘moss animal’ fragment, more bryozoans, another snail shell, and a shit ton of Strophomena bivalves.

I found all these just…in my back yard.

These are older than our pal Tyrannosaurus Rex, and by older I mean 6.5 times older, as in “the amount of time that separates humans from T. rex passed almost seven times from the time these little guys fossilized to now.”

Which makes it pretty terrifying that the rocks of the Appalachian mountains are much older than that.

At the center of the map above you’ll see the Blue Ridge mountains. This region, at the mountains’ heart, was first uplifted over one billion years ago.

When the Blue Ridge was young, multicellularity was an experiment. Seven hundred million years would pass before fish would try to crawl onto land. Go back to the time of the first dinosaur, when mammals hadn’t been dreamt of, then do that three more times, and that’s how old these mountains are.

Western North Carolina is known for its minerals, especially mica. There’s even a Micaville, North Carolina, and a Kona, named after the chemical composition of potassium feldspar. (Not recommended to visit. We got shot at. 0/10.) The stones there that contain this mineral are schist, a high-grade metamorphic rock, formed under the utmost heat and pressure. Today, they are exposed to the surface, billion-year-old secrets finally relinquished by these old mountains.

The Appalachians may be sanded down by time, but they remember when they towered over a world where life was a little slimy experiment. The dinosaurs rose and fell and they barely noticed. Humans plunder their mineral riches, dreaming of wealth and industry, but those things have no meaning on the geologic timescale.

From the peak of Mt. Mitchell, a large orange wound in the earth can be seen, a feldspar mine. Plaques and exhibits in the museum tell of how we cut down the trees and carved out the minerals, of our power to damage a fragile and ancient landscape.

It should matter to us. The world is our habitat, and we will have to live with the loss of what we destroy. But to the mountains?

Mass extinctions are followed by explosions of life. New organisms evolve to fill the niches left by those that disappear. It is a cycle that repeats again and again, a comforting rhythm.

Horror set in this environment often focuses on the perceived wrong humans do to their environment, plundering them, stripping them of resources. As if the horror of future climate disaster is retaliation, and not simply what we’ve wrought. The Appalachian Mountains are exploited by the greedy, but they don’t punish us. I don’t think they do. They’ve seen all this before, after all.

What can we take from them that matters, when they, as they finally wear down to smooth and rolling hills, will bury us as they have all the others, and not even stir from their sleep?

#writing #geology #appalachian mountains #fossils #appalachia #my writing #cursed geology #science #life history

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adventures-with-ana · 2 years

Text

— Small Town Life —

Lee Bodecker x Reader/OFC // 5.688 18+ only, minors dni; oral sex (f receiving), fingering, hand job, unprotected sex, age gap (reader/OFC is mid-20′s)

Being forced to live in Knockemstiff was some kind of cruel and unusual punishment, but there was a reward waiting at the Sheriff's station for the trouble.

Autor’s Note: This was supposed to be posted for Christmas, but better late then never right?

I hated this tiny ass town.

Knockemstiff, Ohio wasn't even a town, I was barely convinced it was a real place at all. My parents had forced me to move here six months ago, telling me that some time in the country would do me good. Which was really just their clever little way of avoiding sending me to rehab, which probably wouldn't have even taken me in because all I did was smoke pot. Instead I got exiled to Tiny Town, USA.

I swear you could walk from one end of the town to the other in, like, ten minutes. Along that walk you wouldn't find much. I felt like there were only ten houses in the entirety of the town. One church, one diner, one liquor store at each end, ten houses, and a population of twelve plus a dog.

Perhaps that was an exaggeration, but I didn't care. This tiny little dirt hill the locals try desperately to call a town sucked. There was one, single, shining beacon of goodness in that little place, and it came in the form of a man everyone told me was bad news. A dirty cop, an unfaithful man, a guy who cared more about his 7am black coffee than he did any other human being. Everything that could be wrong with a man was apparently present in Sheriff Lee Bodecker.

I didn't believe an ounce of that horse shit. I might not have lived here long, but I knew how things worked in a small town. Gossip and rumors started by bored and nosey neighbors were taken as strict fact and no one bothered to try and learn any different. No one but me, and I was only bothering because I found myself attracted to the Sheriff. He was tall and broad shouldered, had a soft tummy I wanted to get my hands on, and - though they were rare - a smile that could light up the whole state.

I noticed that the good, or bad - whatever, Sheriff liked to stop in at the small diner in town almost every morning before heading to the police station. Normally I didn't like being awake that early in the morning, but my lovely aunt - whom I was forced to live with - refused to ever let me sleep in past 5:30am. When I had first arrived and she woke me up that early, I may have gone overboard and threatened to burn her house down if she ever did it again. Not one to give a shit, she tossed a twenty pound bag of chicken feed on me and told me to go feed the damn birds.

Eventually I got used to the early rising and now was even grateful for it. I made good use of my time and started warming a stool at the little diner just to get the opportunity to see the Sheriff. It had worked out better than I thought, not only did the Sheriff and I become friends but he even offered me a job at the station with him. His secretary was out on maternity leave and he didn't have anyone to play cards with while no calls came in.

That became my life. I'd grab to coffees in the morning and bring them to the station for Lee and I. I'd answer any calls that came in, filed incident reports when necessary, etc, etc. It was all pretty boring, but on the bright side I got pretty good at poker and I enjoyed watching the Sheriff's cheeks pinken whenever I teased him about starting a game of strip poker.

"I'd have to step up my game for that," he'd say, followed by some comment about the way he looked - and it was never complimentary.

When December rolled around I decided the station needed to be a little more festive than the bleak, boring grey walls we were so used to. So one weekend I took the liberty of going down to the dollar store in Chillicothe and loading up on cheap decorations to turn those grey walls festive and bright. Even wrapping a string of lights around my desk and stapling a green garland to the wall to make it look like a Christmas tree.

"What's all this?" Lee asked as he came into the station with our coffee that morning.

"It's Christmas!" I announced happily, throwing my arms in the air with a giant grin.

He just chuckled. "Don't expect me to put on a Santa hat," he grumped as he headed to his office, only to find a Santa hat waiting on his desk. He turned back to look at me with an unamused expression.

"Hey, I put it there before you said no," I defended. "But come on, Lee. Where's your holiday spirit?" I pouted.

"In Maui," he responded dryly, tossing the hat to the side as sipped his coffee.

"Oooh," I said, taking one of the chairs in front of his desk. "Warm sandy beaches, endless mimosas, colorful bikinis," It did not escape my notice that Lee swallowed thickly at that last one. "I think I'm gonna go join that holiday," I laughed.

Lee did warm up to the Christmas spirit by the end of the week though. Mostly because every morning as he came to work he found that Santa hat sitting in the middle of his desk, after four days of tossing it to the side he finally sighed and put it on. I laughed in triumph when he came out of his office wearing it. He gave me a half bemused look, telling me to hush it as he swapped the tasseled Santa hat for his regular one to go out on a call.

The week after that was the church's Christmas party, and Lee already told me that we had to go. It was a town thing, and if he wanted to keep his position as Sheriff he'd be awful stupid to miss something like that. He had to show everyone he was festive and doing this little town justice as it's Sheriff. Which everyone knew was a lie, even I had come to see that the rumors of Lee being a bit of a dirty cop weren't rumors.

I wasn't supposed to know about it of course, but there wasn't anyone else in the station to help deflect suspicion. I didn't really think much of it anyway. From what I could find myself the only thing Lee did was turn the other cheek when it came to the not-so-secret secret back rooms of a local bar that were used for sex workers. I didn't think not arresting women trying to make a living was a bad thing, so I didn't really consider Lee a 'dirty' cop.

Besides, my mind went to much different places when I thought of the word 'dirty' and Lee together. Like the fantasies I conjured every time he was called to the bar because someone complained about the back rooms. I imagined going with him to the bar, watching as he cleared it out like he had to before telling the owners to wait a day or two before opening the rooms up again, and then taking him into one of them myself.

Those thoughts weren't productive though and I had a feeling Lee wouldn't have been to happy to hear them either. He didn't really have all that high of an opinion of himself, I'd noticed. I'd started to wonder if some of the rumors about him around town weren't stuff caused by his own mouth. Calling himself fat, ugly, old; the list was quite extensive if I allowed him to go off on a tangent. I tried to keep his thoughts nicer, telling him he shouldn't talk about himself like that, and that there was nothing wrong with the way he looked.

It was worse on the day of that church party. We were going to head over towards the end of our shifts and he was not happy about it at all. I tried to quell his issues but today just seemed like the kind of day where nothing was going to make him happy. I tried to make things better by telling him he didn't have to wear the Santa suit to the party. Days earlier I'd bet him a game of poker that if he lost he had to dress up with me, I hadn't expected him to agree to the terms but he did and he accepted his loss right up until that moment.

"Nah, you won fair and square darlin'," he said, sighing as his anger finally broke. He never could manage to stay mad at me. "'Sides, church could probably use a Santa to entertain the kids."

I grinned as I grabbed my bag and we headed out. I was going to change into my outfit at the church. I hadn't told Lee what it was yet, aside from promising him it wasn't a Mrs. Claus costume to match his. I had debated on going that route, but I didn't feel like getting the rumor mill started again. I'd heard enough gossip once I started to work at the sheriff's station, I didn't need anymore to remind me that regardless of what the town thought Lee and I weren't actually doing anything together.

Perhaps my outfit of choice wasn't any better than the Mrs. Claus idea though, because when I joined the party again wearing a cute little elf costume the only thing people seemed to notice was the pin on my hat. 'Santa's Favorite Helper' was emblazoned on it and even that little thing was enough to start the whispers when I walked away.

Lee and I played our roles as the good police force of the town though. Lee let kids sit on his lap and tell him what they wanted for Christmas, a few came to tell me to remind Santa what they wanted, and after awhile I had to shoo the kids off so Lee could get up and get some food before it was all gone.

"Thank ya darlin'," Lee sighed as we made our way to the buffet like set up of the food line. "Some of them kids were startin' to look like lil gingerbread men."

I laughed with him as he filled our plates and went to sit at a table to eat. We probably should have sat with other people, but at the moment I could tell that Lee needed a little break from others. So we sat together and he told me about the other people of the town, the ones I hadn't met yet. Knockemstiff became a whole lot more interesting during that conversation. All the drama of a small town was scandalous. Housewives who doubled as those back room sex workers, the pastor's son that ran off with the Pickens old farmhand, the sweet old lady in the walker who'd killed her abusive husband thirty years ago.

The more I learned about the people of this tiny town, the more I wondered how anyone could call a small town boring. This place was ripe with intrigue. Yet everything seemed to change when a woman I didn't recognize walked in. "Who's she?" I asked Lee as we were finishing up our last morsels of food.

He looked and his demeanor instantly dropped from 'jolly' to 'jilted'. "That'd be my ex-wife," he answered sourly.

I looked back to her and when she was clear of the crowd, Lee and I both got to see that she was very, very pregnant. I turned back to check on Lee, he looked sick. "I'm sorry, Lee," I said quietly.

He didn't get a chance to reply before the ex-wife in question approached us. "Good evenin' Lee," she said, all airy and light. He barely nodded in response, unable to even look at her or her protruding stomach. "I'm surprised to see you all dressed up," she commented.

"I did that," I interjected, trying to spare him from having to reply. "We bet on a game of poker and I won," I explained with a forced smile.

The conversation after that was strained even more and I got the distinct impression that she thought Lee and I were together now. I didn't know what Lee thought, or if he picked up on those vibes, but I certainly wasn't going to tell her otherwise. Besides, Lee deserved to have his ex think he was with someone so much younger than himself, even if I didn't deserve the sting of knowing it was a lie.

The second the opportunity presented itself, Lee practically ran for the doors. Not wanting him to be upset on his own, I followed him back to his cruiser. He told me to go back inside and enjoy my night, but that wasn't happening. I climbed in the passenger side of the cruiser and sat there until he sighed and got in, too. All the way back to the station he kept telling me I should have stayed, that there wasn't any reason for me to leave just because he did.

"Just cos I can't be a man about Florence movin' on don't mean you had to go and ruin your night over it, too," he muttered miserably as we entered the small building.

"You didn't ruin anything, Lee," I assured him. "I ain't really one for church and the possibility of her popping like a balloon all over the pews was too big a risk to take," I teased.

That actually got a small smile out of him as he headed to the dreaded coffee machine along the back wall and smacked it until it turned on, lamenting the diner being closed for the party as he waited for the pot to brew. He made his way to his office, grumbling and muttering things I couldn't quite make out, but I was sure they weren't things I would approve of him saying. I followed him and was proven right as he sat down and complained that he was too fat to keep a woman and a string of other grumbled complaints I could only partially make out.

It made me sad to see that he just so easily accepted and spewed such negative things about himself. I wondered what he would have been like if he'd been shown real love, if he'd been told how beautiful he was as much as he deserved to hear it. Maybe he wouldn't be so down on himself, maybe he'd have more confidence in himself rather than just the confidence his Sheriff's badge and police cruiser gave him.

Then it occurred to me that I could stop wondering and start being the person who worked to build up his confidence again. What was stopping me from telling him everything? My own silly fears of rejection? Worries of what the town gossipers would say? It wasn't like they were silent now and nothing had ever happened between Lee and I. So what the hell?

I got up and walked around his desk to stand next to his chair. He looked up at me and jokingly asked if I was going to sit on Santa's lap and tell him what I wanted for Christmas. It wasn't meant to be taken literally, but I took it as an invitation. I sat myself across his lap and put an arm around his shoulders, my other hand cupping his face as I brought his lips to my own.

"Lee, I think you're perfect." When he tried to protest, I kissed him again.

I pulled away from him, waiting for his next attempt to try and tell me I was wrong, or convince me otherwise but he didn't. He just looked at me; really looked at me. Trying to find some hint or tell that I was messing with him, that I was just being a jerk like some others in town. As if I'd be sitting in his lap, kissing him in the privacy of his office at the police station for some kind of a joke or cruel prank. He would find no such tells and when he realized that I was serious, he kissed me back.

Nothing else mattered at that point. I didn't care what he thought of himself anymore because I was going to make it my personal mission in life to make him see that he should love himself. Or at the very least like himself, even a little. It would take time, I knew that. Someone's self confidence couldn't be mended overnight, but I already spent almost everyday with him at work so it wasn't like I'd have to go out of my way to make it happen. I'd just have to stop censoring my thoughts.

I'd finally be able to tell him how good I thought he looked in that leather jacket he always wears, how his ass looked great in his uniform pants - especially when he bent over. I could tell him everything. From the tame stuff, like how I liked bringing him his coffee in the mornings or how he gave me butterflies when he'd smile and thank me for literally just doing my job, all the way to the dirty thoughts I'd had about him taking me on the hood of his cruiser, on his desk, on my desk...

"I always knew you were somethin' special," he said, pressing his forehead against my own.

I chuckled and gave him another peck on the lips. "I always knew kissin' you would be amazing," I replied.

"Thought about it before, have ya?" he questioned cautiously, but curiously. Like he was still afraid that I was going to pull the rug out from under him and start insulting him at any second, but he was still hopeful that I was serious.

I bit my lower lip, watching his eyes dart to them and his pupils grow just a smidge. "I've thought a lot of things about you, Sheriff," I confessed in a breathy tone, kissing my way to his neck and leaving a small hickie in my wake. "A lot," I emphasised, grazing my lips ever so softly against the shell of his ear.

He shook his head a little. "How could a beautiful, young thing like you think anything of... me." I could tell he was almost ready to say something insulting at the end there, but he caught the look in my eye and chose against it.

"You want me to tell you what I think about you, Lee?" I asked, implication clear in my tone. He nodded his head in assent. "Even if it's dirty?" His eyes widened and I gave him a little smirk. "Want me to tell you how many times my aunt almost caught me with my hand in my panties because of you?"

He gulped and his breathing hitched in this throat, eyes glazing over. I could practically see the vision in his head of me laying back somewhere with my fingers teasing my own clit, his name falling softly from my lips. The thoughts were arousing the both of us, and I started to feel his against my thigh. I was not subtle about the way I shifted so my leg pressed further into his hardening erection.

"How about the day you arrested that drunken idiot, Carl?" I offered. "When he tried to headbutt you, and you cuffed him and slammed him down onto the hood of your cruiser," I let the sentence trail off, biting my lower lip as he fit the pieces together himself; the appendage poking my leg got a little more insistent. I flexed my thigh against him and enjoyed to quiet grunt he gave. "I think there's a toy stuck in your pants, Santa," I teased coyly. "I hope it's the one I've been begging for."

Lee shook his head and from the expression on his face I could tell he was still warring with himself. He didn't want to believe my words, or maybe he couldn't believe that someone wanted him the way I did, but he couldn't stop his body from reacting as it was. His body betrayed him as his dick got harder. He didn't want to believe the words, but he clearly liked hearing them.

"I think you're going a little too far, darlin'," he said.

"Wanna bet?" I challenged.

I stood up in front of him and he watched as I reached up under my dress and pulled my panties down, sitting on his desk to take them off and holding them out to him. The crotch of them was wet and glistening with my arousal. I spread my legs for him, but kept my dress covering myself. "Take a look, Sheriff," I told him. "See what you do to me."

I'd never seen a man look so nervous before. The curiosity was clearly killing him though. His erection straining against his pants so bad I didn't know how they didn't burst at the seams. Finally scooting his chair forward he put his hands tentatively on my knees, watching my face intently as he slowly brought them up my thighs to the edge of my dress.

"A-are you sure?" he stammered, gaze flicking down to my waist for a second before returning to my eyes.

I twirled my panties on my finger in reply. The skirt to my dress was flicked up the next second, exposing my naked, wet core to him. When he finally looked, I saw his cock jump in his pants and it made me want him more. "Fuck you're gorgeous," he hissed. One hand was pressing into his erection, trying to control himself, and the other traced the rest of the way up my thigh; stopping just shy of where I wanted him most.

"You can do whatever you want to me, Sheriff," I purred seductively.

I was expecting his fingers, instead he leaned in and pressed his lips right to my clit. I moaned, encouraging him to continue and the second I felt his tongue on my folds I thought I was going to die. I laid myself back on the desk and let myself enjoy finally having his tongue on me, in me. And god did he know how to use it.

I didn't know when the last time he'd been with a woman was, he never mentioned dating or even sleeping with someone else in the entire time I'd known him, but clearly pussy eating was like riding bike because I was a panting, moaning, mewling mess beneath his mouth in what felt like seconds. When his fingers joined the mix it was moments before I gasped his name, shuddering with my climax as I came on his tongue.

There was no ceasing the actions of his tongue though. He rode me through that orgasm and I felt like we broke a world record for how long it lasted. I collapsed on the desk and it wasn't until then that he finally gave me a reprieve, and even then he still went back once more to kiss my clit, making me whimper. I lay in bliss until I heard the unmistakable sound of a belt coming undone. I sat up in a flash, watching as he removed his Santa coat, leaving him in a white t-shirt.

He looked to me as I sat up, the hint of a smirk playing at the edges of his mouth. "Excited for something, darlin'?" He asked.

I bit my lip and nodded my head, watching with rapt interest as he stood up. He towered over me as he pushed the waistband of his pants down and kicked them off his legs, leaving him in his t-shirt and Christmas tree covered boxers. I giggled at the latter, telling him I think he had a tree of his own hiding underneath the silly pattern.

"And what do you got hiding under that costume of yours?" He mused.

Oh, so this was a tit for tat game? Alright, I could play that. I pulled my dress up over my head, revealing my simple bra to him. I didn't have anything that qualified as sexy, but this was the newest bra I owned so it was at least in better shape than the ratty one I usually wore to work. Then before he could even reach for his own clothes, I reached behind me and unclasped my bra, peeling it off my body and setting it to the side.

I may have broken him with that, because he froze and just stared at me. I chuckled, reaching out to grab a fistful of his shirt and pull him closer. "See something you like, Sheriff?" I asked seductively, teasing my hands under his shirt to rub across the bare skin of his stomach.

The feel of him under my fingers was just about the best thing I could have imagined. It almost compared to the feeling of me pushing his shirt up and over his head, letting it fall to the floor. I didn't give him even a split second to be wary of what I thought of him practically naked in front of me, I just pulled him into a heated kiss as my hands went to his waist to rid him of his boxers. He moaned into my mouth as my hands found his member, rock hard and leaking for me.

"God Lee," I moaned, circling my fingers around his length and pumping them along his shaft. "You're so big." It wasn't even a lie to stroke his ego, he was a well endowed man and by far the biggest I'd ever gotten my hands on.

With that he scooped me up from the desk, making me squeak in surprise, as he took me to the couch against the far wall off his office. A spot usually reserved for visitors in a more delicate state, but then again what state was more delicate than naked and horny?

He laid me out on the couch, kneeling between my legs as he leaned over me, kissing me back into the cushions. I got comfortable, wrapping my legs around his waist and pulling him closer to my body. Feeling his heavy cock resting against my core made my hips rolls involuntarily. I needed to feel him against me, inside me.

"Please, Lee," I whimpered.

"Anything you want, darlin'," he whispered, reaching between our bodies to coat himself in my wetness before lining himself up with my entrance. "Just ask."

Part of me knew this was an consent check, but I also knew that it was for him, too. He wanted to hear me say the words, to have them spoken aloud so he knew he was wanted; craved. I stroked his cheeks with my thumbs, making him look me in the eyes before I spoke. When his gorgeous blues met my gaze, I smiled softly at him. "Please, Lee, will you fuck me?"

His answer was to push his hips forward, the tip of his cock slipping inside my walls as making me moan with the stretch. I moaned more as each new inch of him pierced my body until he was fully seated inside me. I gasped at the fullness, whimpering as he rolled his hips against me, pulling out just a little before pushing right back in to the hilt. Then he started to move in earnest, allowing my body to get used to his size, his girth.

He found a rhythm, fucking into me at a good pace but it wasn't enough. I needed more, I craved him fucking me back into this couch until we were practically the same entity. I clung to his biceps. "Harder," I begged. "Please, Lee, I need you."

It turns out that Lee was even more enthusiastic to please me than I thought, and simply by telling him the truth I managed to stroke his ego enough to make him confident in his actions. His pace picked up, his hips slamming into me with such force I didn't know how the couch didn't break beneath us. The wet sounds of him piercing me echoing around the room with the sounds of our moans, pants, and grunts. His head dipping to take one of my nipples into his mouth and I keened at the sensation of his wet tongue flicking over the hardening bud.

He'd barely moved to the other when I felt that fire in my belly condensing, building, readying to explode at any moment. "Yes, yes," I panted as he fucked me even harder still. His body pressing into my clit with every thrust, every roll of his hips until I came apart beneath him. My orgasm slammed into me as hard as he did and I nearly screamed with my release, soaking his cock and the couch beneath our bodies and still he did not stop.

"That's it, darlin'," he praised with a grunt as he continued to slam into me. "Cum all over my cock."

I didn't know where he pulled this confidence from, but I liked it. It suited him well. He deserved to be confident, deserved to always know he was powerful and sexy and capable of giving a woman exactly what she asked for. Already I could feel another orgasm building in my gut, my muscles clenching around his length as his own thrusts got sloppy, his pace faltering a moment before he picked it up double time.

"Oh, oh," I moaned, my shoulders pressing into the couch as my eyes squeezed shut from the pleasure. "Lee!" I yelled. "Oh god, Lee!"

With a body rocking shudder I came again, squeezing the hell out of his cock and feeling him release deep inside my body. I moaned again at the feeling, the pleasure of making him cum just as he took me apart again. After a final few thrusts, his pace finally stilled. He carefully withdrew from my body and I feel our mingled pleasure seep out of me; it was just about the sexiest thing I could imagine.

"Fuck darlin'," he swore, gently collapsing on top of me. His weight keeping me grounded as I felt like I was going to float right up to the ceiling.

I sighed with a moan of content, breaths coming deep and labored. "Oh my god," I breathed. "I told you, you were perfect."

He said nothing, just pressed his lips to my neck before sucking on the spot until I knew there'd be a bruise when he moved away. When he was done marking my neck, he kissed down my chest until he sat upright and just looked over my naked body. I picked myself up off the couch so I was sitting up with him, looking over his body as he'd looked over mine. He looked even more gorgeous like this, a post orgasm shine to him, his now limp cock still coated with my slick. It was the sexiest thing I'd ever seen, and I made sure to tell him I thought so. His reply was to lean forward and kiss me.

"Now, just 'cause you're fucking the Sheriff don't go thinking this means you can start slackin' on your duties," he teased.

My lips quirked into a smirk. "Oh?" I questioned. "I'm fucking the Sheriff, and not just fucked him?" I grinned hopefully, biting my lip.

"It's still hard to believe you'd want to," he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. "But I'd be a damn fool to deny anything you wanted, darlin'."

"What about you?" I asked. He cocked his head in confusion. "What do you want?"

Realization dawned on his face and he pulled me across the couch to him, stroking my face. "I want you," he answered. "I might not think I deserve ya, but that don't mean I don't want ya."

Hearing those words made my heart feel like it was flying higher than the moon. He wanted me. The man I'd had a crush on since I first saw him actually wanted me. It might have been silly to praise that after literally just having sex with him, but I wasn't some dumb school girl. I knew that sex didn't always mean something. Hell, I'd had sex in the past with people I didn't give a damn about, just because I wanted the pleasure. I was willing to risk that again with Lee, riding on the hope that maybe we could have more meaningless sex because of working together; but this was a game changer.

We cleaned ourselves up and the mess on the couch before redressing. The evidence might have been gone now, but I'd never be able to look at that couch the same again. Or Lee for that matter. When I looked to him now I didn't have to pretend I wasn't attracted to him, didn't have to hide my giant crush on the man. He knew and I was free to turn into a heart eyed fool without that fear of rejection that had been following me around until tonight. I could have sent his ex-wife a fruit basket.

Thinking of how the appearance of his ex made all of this possible made me start laughing, and Lee looked at me like I was crazy. "I'm sorry," I gasped, trying to stop my fits. "I was just thinking that if your ex-wife never showed up tonight, I don't know that I'd have ever told you how I felt."

Lee chuckled. "Well, looks like the woman finally did me a favor," he said, wrapping his arms around my waist and giving me that smile that I adored so much.

I snaked my arms around his neck. "She did me a favor a long time ago," I told him. "By being stupid enough to let a man like you go. A mistake I'll never make."

He kissed me again and there was only one thought on my mind.

I loved this tiny ass town.

#lee bodecker #lee bodecker fic #lee bodecker smut #lee bodecker x ofc #lee bodecker x reader #adventures with ana

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wormstacheangel · 3 years

Text

Suptober Day 1: Harvest

wc: 1.7k tags: fluff with the side of tiny case fic, established relationship, spoilers but cw they are drugged with cider,

It was a long hunt. One that they accepted as their last one, but, of course, they can never sit still enough not to take an easy local hunt. By local, he means a two-day trip away, but still, they saved a couple of old folks from a ghost, which was fun. Dean sure enjoyed getting thrown around until Cas finally burned the dentures.

Like he said, long hunt.

They stayed at a nice little Airbnb overnight. During breakfast, their waitress told them of the Harvest Festival a town over. Cas was still a little bruised up, but Dean convinced him to go, at least to try their famous apple cider.

“We’ll make a day of it! Just me and you.” With that, Cas agreed, taking Dean’s waiting hand across the table.

The festival was lively when they arrived in the afternoon, with more people than they expected considering the small town they were in but apparently when they say famous they meant it. The tents lined up with food from funnel cakes, donuts, chicken, and some pumpkin spice beer that Dean chugged down even though it tasted like shit.

They eventually ended up with bags filled with treats and souvenirs to take home to the kids--Sam and Eileen fall into the kids’ category. They each held a bag while Dean held Cas’ hand tight in his own, dragging him around from seller to seller, buying and tasting as he went.

“We should start heading home, or soon you’ll be too full to drive.” Cas teased as Dean finished off their bag of apple crisps. “You think we’re feeding an army.”

“Considering how Jack eats, we might as well be.”

“He gets that from you, you know.”

They continued their banter as they made their way out of the festival and to the parking lot.

Then they were stopped by a woman wearing a volunteer pumpkin shirt, “Aw, leaving so soon? Don’t ya wanna stay for the fireworks?”

That quickly took Dean’s attention, brightening up his whole face so much that once again, Cas couldn’t find it in himself to refuse. Instead, earning himself a small kiss on the cheek as a thank you before being was dragged to the car to drop off their items.

Once back in the festival, they walked around until another volunteer told them about the amazing view of the fireworks at the middle of the corn maze.

“It’s a small maze, but in the middle is a little hill. So it’s usually first-come, first-serve. But I haven’t heard of anyone taking it as of now.”

Once again, Dean was easily hooked in and took Cas along for the ride. Not that he was complaining. He enjoyed watching Dean get excited over small things, things he wouldn’t have permitted himself to get excited for before. Of course, it helped when Dean hooked his arm around Cas’s waist to tug him close, whispering, “Ever kissed someone in a corn maze, Cas?”

“You know I haven’t, Dean.”

That did it for Cas. A promise of a spectacular kiss that will put the fireworks to shame.

At the entrance of the maze stood a cider cart, and Cas made a beeline for it. “I at least wanna be warm if you are going to make me walk around in the cold.”

“On the house.” The saleswoman winked at them, and something uneasy passed through them, but they ignored it as she motioned them to go right on in that the fireworks should be starting soon.

They took their hot cider and walked right in, taking hold of their hands as they walked through the maze in comforting silence. Watching the sky above them change from orange and pinks to the dark night sky.

When the maze opened up to a clearing, Dean started to run—taking the small space on top. It was tall enough to see over the cornstalk and watch the lights twinkle from the festival up ahead. They could even see groups of people exiting the maze from their left, and for a second, Dean wondered why they didn’t run into anybody on their walkover. It looked like a lot of people were going through the maze, but nobody passed them.

That thought was quickly dismissed as the first firework lit up the sky, cheers from the crowd echoed the loud boom, and Dean felt secure with an arm hooking around his shoulders to bring him in closer. So they sat there watching the firework show and polishing off their now cold cider until Cas couldn’t wait another second.

Gently, he turned Dean’s face just enough so they could start the kiss slowly. The snap crackle pop of the fireworks above their heads just kept lighting up the fuse between them until Cas asked for them to find another place to spend the night.

“Should we go now?” Dean kissed down Cas’s jaw, feeling the hastily nods instead of seeing it. “Okay. Okay, let’s go.”

They both stood up and took one last look at the view before they got down. Turning left, where they were sure they saw the other folks exit from before. Every few steps, they pulled each other for another kiss-- smiling into them like giddy newlyweds--until they started to realize they’ve been walking for way too long.

The fireworks had long been over, and they soon realized it was their only source of light. It soon became so hard to see anything that they didn’t dare let go of each other’s hands. They tried to go back to the hill to see if maybe they could see the trail from there, but it was like it never existed in the first place.

“Fuck!” They turned the corner to find another dead-end. “Isn’t this shit for children!”

“You know we haven’t seen or heard anyone in a while. Not since-”

“We came in here. I know. I was thinking the same thing earlier when we were on the hill.”

“Why didn’t you say anything then?”

“Cause you stuck your tongue in my mouth and impending doom took a backseat.”

They started to run, calling out for help as they did, but it only felt like they were going in circles.

Then Dean yelled, “Hallelujah!” When a flashlight shined into their faces.

“There you two are. It’s time to go.” The old man sounded so relieved to find them. He didn’t look sinister. He didn’t even make it sound like they were gone for that long. “You two okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah. We got lost, I guess.” Dean shrugged, watching as Cas stared ahead of him.

“Many people do. But they always find their way out, though.”

They followed the man out of the maze while Dean’s knuckles brushed alongside Cas’. They were listening to the man recite a memory when suddenly Cas tugged at Dean’s arm.

“Dean.” It was a shocking gasp.

“Cas?” Dean turned around to watch; Cas’s eyes rolled to the back of his head before dropping like a ragdoll. “Cas!”

And just like that, Cas was out to the world.

Dean fell to his knees to take Cas into his arms, but it was useless. He was heavy, and Dean’s body was starting to tingle, his muscles becoming weaker with every passing second.

“Don’t you worry about your little friend.” The man flashed his light on Dean’s face. Blinding him, but Dean kept glaring up at him. “Just like you, he won’t feel a thing.”

“What did you do to him?” He tried to growl, but it came out too breathless for it to be threatening.

“Same thing we did to you. Same thing we do every year to a couple of tourists.”

Dean could feel himself slipping out of consciousness, but he kept trying to shield Cas from whatever was coming.

“Don’t fight it, boy.” The man walked over to him, raising his flashlight high above his head. “Hate it when they struggle.”

And with a single hit, Dean was knocked out. Falling over Cas. Hoping that at least he gets killed first this time around.

Dean woke up again when he felt someone kicking his legs with little to no effort. His arms were numb, and he realized it was because they were pulled back and tied around some huge boulder.

“Dean?”

Dean recognized the voice and happily groaned out a complaint. “Hate small towns. Creeps. All of them.”

Cas chuckled in relief. “Glad you’re okay.”

Dean blinked a couple of times before his eyes focused, looking across from him to find Cas in the same position as him. Cas looked dirty, a few scratches on his face from being dragged, which made Dean furious—tugging at the ropes that hold him back from checking for any more injuries.

“Fuck! Shit! You okay? They hurt you?”

“Not as much as they did you.” Dean didn’t feel much pain besides the stretch on his shoulders and a raging headache. “I guess that’s not true. You have a swell on your head.”

“Yeah, well, I went down swinging. Unlike you.” Cas didn’t look amused, but he looked concerned. Dean followed his gaze, looking for an explanation or a way out. “I guess we’re either bait or dinner.”

“I’m used to being bait.”

“And I’m used to being dinner. Well, aren’t we a match made in heaven?” This time Cas glared, and weirdly enough, it made Dean relax a little. “Okay, so what’s the plan?”

The plan was simple, while Cas may not be a full-powered-up angel, he was still an angel. And he was stronger than an average human. So with a little more force, Cas had his arms free, rubbing his wrist while shrugging at Dean, “I always see humans do this.”

“Yeah, cause it hurts, so if you can just-” Dean motioned for his arms and Cas quickly reached to untie him. Then, when they were both free, they once again started to look around the empty cornfield. “I say leave now and call for backup; come back in the morning.”

“Considering we have no weapons, I think that would be for the best.”

“So much for date night.” Dean took Cas’s hand, and they quickly started to get themselves out of there. Running like maniacs as they pushed through the endless corn.

“I actually enjoyed myself today. You know, before the whole being drugged and left for dead part.”

“Really? That was my favorite part.” Dean joked, squeezing Cas’s hand as they made their way to safety. “You think all the stuff we bought was drugged?”

“Won’t stop me from having another donut.”

“Man, I love you.”

#suptober21 #wormstachewrites #fic #destiel #deancas #sorry its so late. work today was draining emotionally #established destiel #case fic

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the-bau-quinjet · 3 years

Text

Tolerate It

Summary: Reader struggles with feeling like Hotch is growing distant.

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x gn!Reader

Category: fluff/angst

Warnings: the reader has thoughts/feelings of inadequacy

Word Count: 3200+

Notes: This is my entry for @railmereid‘s 2k writing challenge! It was inspired by Taylor Swift’s song tolerate it! I think there’s only one direct quote (I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life).

You met Aaron on accident. It could be said that a lot of people are met on accident, and that’s just how people meet other people. But with Aaron it felt different. It felt as though every little thing that went wrong that day lead you to the accident that would introduce Aaron Hotchner into your life.

After the shit show that was today, all you want to do is get home and sleep. Maybe also eat dinner, but honestly even food is on the backburner of your mind right now.

Your drive home from work was the first uneventful thing to happen all day, a necessary moment of peace. You made it into your apartment without any trouble, swiftly moving to change into your fluffiest pajamas and sleep.

The second your head hit your pillow, the fire alarm sounded. The blaring alarm screeched in your ears as you groaned. You forced yourself out of bed to comply with the alarm. Without thinking, you put on your slippers, grabbed your keys, and walked out the front door.

Once you made it to the street, you turned to see the building really was on fire. It looked contained to one patio, but it was big enough for you to give up your plans of sleep. Instead, you chose to turn on your heel and walk down the street to escape the crowd.

You didn’t have a plan as to where you were going. You just wanted it to be quiet. Before long, you found yourself in a park. Looking around, you spotted an empty bench. Perfect. You can just sit, enjoy the quiet of the park for however long it takes to fix the fire issue.

You start trekking toward the bench, now walking with a purpose, when you notice a man chasing his child. The child laughs loudly, joy so clear on his face. The man smiles at him, still running behind him.

His smile is so infectious, it has its own magnetic force pulling you towards him. Switching directions from the bench, you are now walking toward the grassy area they are playing in, not looking at your surroundings. You’re so captivated by the happiness on display in front of you, you don’t notice the change in terrain.

You end up tripping on a rock, falling and tumbling down the slight decline to land in a heap at the feet of the very man whose smile distracted you.

To make matters worse, he was not stationary. No, that would have been to simple. He was, in fact, still chasing the child. So, rather than rolling to a stop and looking up at him, you rolled right into him, causing him to lose his balance and fall over you.

The two of you were a tangled mess of limbs piled on top of each other. Slowly, carefully the two of you separated, gingerly moving arms and legs to avoid further injury. Helping each other rise from the ground, you were both speechless, equal parts amused and horrified at what just happened.

“Are you okay?”

You jumped at the sudden intrusion that brought you back to reality. Spinning around, you realized it was the child.

It took you an embarrassing amount of time to form a response. “Oh, um... yes I’m okay. Thank you.” Turning back to the man, you finally realized what just happened. “Oh my god. I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

He chuckled, a small smirk appearing on his face before he replied, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

“Oh, good.” Your relief was short lived as you realized what you were wearing and how you were dressed. “Please tell me you didn’t see me roll all the way down the hill?” You cringed at the thought.

“I could say it, but it wouldn’t be very honest.” Again, a small laugh left his lips.

“Do you think we could pretend?” You took a deep breath as he quirked his eyebrow. “Ya know, that I didn’t just make a complete fool of myself?”

“But that’s not true! Daddy said when something’s not true it’s a lie and lies are bad.” The boy chimed in again, earning a chuckle from both adults. You bent down to talk to him.

“You are absolutely right, lying is bad.” You nodded along with him, matching his serious expression.

He took in your expression, as if judging the sincerity of your statement. Slowly, a smile began to form as if he was glad you agreed with him. “Do you want to play tag with us?”

Looking from him to his father, you took the slight smile and nod of his head as an invitation to accept his offer. “I would love to.”

That series of accidents led you to where you are now, though. A year and a half later you are sitting in your shared home, watching Aaron Hotchner do paperwork for what feels like the millionth night in a row. More realistically, it is the ninth night in a row, but you’re feeling lonely and dramatic. Those nine nights have been spread out over the past month, interrupted by nights he spends away from home.

You yearn to be closer to him. All it would take is for you to cross the room, but it feels as though the distance from the couch you are lounging on to the desk he is working at is too far, like there is some impassible divide preventing you from interrupting him.

So you just keep watching. It has been 36 minutes since you started your observing. If he sticks to his pattern, he’ll pause in nine minutes to stretch, giving him the opportunity to notice your eyes on him. You’re hopeful that this time he’ll smile when he sees you.

So you wait. You watch him read. You notice the way his head dips just a bit lower as he tries to focus tired eyes on the smudged handwriting of a fellow agent. You notice how his hand squeezes the pen tighter than before, turning the once smooth glide of ink across the page into rushed, jagged strokes of letters. You notice the barely there wince as he flips the page, the result of the familiar feeling of a paper cut he’s grown all too used to. You notice everything he does. Which is why you’re not surprised when he speaks.

“You’re staring.”

Glancing at your phone, you note the time. Nine minutes later. Right on schedule. The smile you hoped for is noticeably missing, replaced by a curious tilt of his head.

“I’m basking in your presence.”

If he wanted to, he could figure out how lonely and dramatic you are feeling. But with the majority of his energy still directed towards the many reports on his desk, he only notices the surface level. Tired, slightly miffed, but enjoying that he is home.

There was once a time when he would have noticed it all though. A time when he noticed everything about you, sometimes before you had even noticed it about yourself. You’ve learned how to hide it though, to save him the energy that would be expended to profile you.

“You should consider a new career path. Comedy could really be for you.”

His deadpan joke doesn’t surprise you, but him rising from his desk chair does. For a minute, you expect him to come to you. To attempt to cross the impassible divide you’ve built in your head. Instead, he turns into the kitchen. He pauses at the island, drinking from the glass he never brings to his desk to prevent anything from ruining his files.

When he returns to his desk, squandering any lingering hope that he may have been done for the night, you rise. Unwilling to do what you had hoped of him, you turn away from his desk and move toward the stairs. Just before you lose sight of him, you turn back.

“Don’t forget to sleep tonight.”

Your tone is soft, emphasizing your concern to cover up the lingering loneliness.

“I’ll be up soon.”

You respond with a slight nod of your head, another thing unnoticed by Aaron as his eyes never left the files.

You flitter through the second level as you complete your routine to prepare yourself to sleep for the night.

You can’t help but notice the cold sheets on the empty side of the bed as you wait for Aaron, knowing you’ll likely be asleep before he comes to bed.

You’re surprised to wake up the next morning with Aaron still in bed next to you. You watch his chest rise and fall with the steady in and out of his breath. His face is fully relaxed, a sight you so rarely get to see.

You’re not sure how long you watch him sleep, but you notice when his rhythmic breathing changes pattern indicating he’s waking up. His eyes flutter open slowly, allowing you to see the exact moment he notices you.

“You’re staring again.”

The smile you are still hoping for is again absent from his face, too used to the frown that has taken over his features near permanently for the past month.

“I’m still basking in your presence.”

You notice the beginnings of a grin forming on his face. The twinkle in his eyes. The slight twitch of his lips. It’s nearly there when the moment is interrupted by the distinct, shrill ringtone indicating a call from the bureau.

You watch as he sits up to answer the phone with his typical “Hotchner”. If you hadn’t spent the last year noticing everything you could about the man, you would doubt that he had been asleep less than three minutes ago.

His brows furrow, his body leaning forward to sit a little straighter as he takes in the information from whoever is on the other end of the phone. His eyes trace the pattern of your comforter, up until he throws the blanket off of himself to rise to his feet. He’s changing into his suit before hanging up. Without even hearing his responses, you can tell where this is headed.

After he hangs up, you speak before he has the chance.

“I take it you won’t be here for dinner with my parents tonight? I’ll try to reschedule it.”

The question should express your loneliness, but you do well to hide the full truth. It’s easy to sound understanding because you are. You do understand, which is why you never plan to tell him how you feel.

The grim expression is enough for you to know you’re right, you don’t need the verbal confirmation. You nod your head, a smile on your face that doesn’t meet your eyes as he walks out of your bedroom.

While Aaron was away, you did everything you could to keep yourself busy outside of your typical 9 to 5 workday. Aside from the typical reading, cleaning, and TV watching you normally do you; you successfully navigated another conversation with your parents about why it was necessary to reschedule dinner a second time and played action figures with Jack, always in agreement about how his daddy is a hero.

Every night you found yourself staring at the door, hoping it would swing open and reveal him on the other side. Every night you grew less hopeful and more discouraged than the one previous.

Five days after he left, Aaron returned to your shared home. Despite the late hour, you waited for him on the couch. Knowing he probably hadn’t eaten dinner, you kept some food warm for him.

When the door swung open, you were in front of it in seconds. You pulled him into a hug, one he was too exhausted to reciprocate, and kissed his cheek.

Moving farther into the house, he dropped his files on his desk swiftly turning to head upstairs.

“I kept dinner warm for you.”

Your words stalled him at the bottom of the stairs. He turned around slowly, barely looking at you.

“I actually ate with the team tonight.”

His words hit you like a bus, but you turned to hide it. He didn’t eat with the team often, so you never blamed him when he stayed with them a bit longer than usual.

“Oh, okay. I’ll just put it in a container for tomorrow then. Did you want to talk about the case?”

You’ve always been willing to help him carry the weight of his job, but you’ve been trying harder to get him to open up this past month. Typically he brushes you off, tells you he’s fine, and then buries himself in paperwork.

He surprised you this time. Maybe he could tell you were upset, or maybe he was just too far in his head. Either way, rather than continuing on his path up the stairs, he moved to sit in the kitchen while you put the food away.

You listened as he ranted about the local officers withholding information about the case. You listened as he complained about the poor weather. You listened to every word, slowly washing and drying the dishes until they were sparkling. You listened until you were practically asleep, leaning against the sink. You didn’t dare to interrupt in fear he would shut down again. Or maybe it was you shutting down, but that’s a thought for another time.

When he finished talking, he rose from his chair, too worked up to sleep now, he sat down at his desk.

You watched, noticing everything you could.

Your weeks repeated much the same for the next few months. Your loneliness morphed into something new with each night you spent watching Aaron work.

It’s one such night when everything changes. You were trying to watch him work, but your thoughts drifted away from his actions as you lost yourself in your memories.

The first case Aaron went on after you moved in with him and Jack was the hardest for you. After a straight week of seeing him so often around the house, it felt like a slap in the face to come home and not have him there. Somehow you made it through, and you were clingier than usual when he came home.

He noticed how it affected you. That was before you started hiding your feelings from him. He told you he thought about you in every spare moment. That he wanted to solve the case even more than usual just so he could come home to see you even just a few minutes sooner.

He calmed all of your fears, protecting you from your own intrusive thoughts about holding him back when he was working.

You couldn’t help but think about every time he recognized how you were feeling and did what he could to help. How he would reassure you that he wanted to be with you, bringing you little key chains or stuffed animals from the cities he travelled to. How he would smile when he saw you. Where was that man now?

You thought back to the first day you met Aaron. It was like he saved you from a terrible day, bringing a smile to your face after hours upon hours of crap.

“Do you think we could pretend?” You laugh lightly to yourself at the memory of Jack telling you not to lie. Not realizing you spoke the words out loud, you’re surprised to hear Aaron from across the room.

“Pretend what?” The confusion is clear in his voice and the furrow of his brows.

“Hmm? Oh, um. I was just thinking about the first day we met.” Tears begin to brim your eyes as you think about how much everything has seemed to change. “And how you became my whole world and now I feel like I’m begging for footnotes in the story of your life.” The tears are now freely falling down your face.

Aaron looks even more confused now. “What?” He’s frozen at his desk, pen in hand, reports on the surface in front of him.

“I’m so sorry. I just feel like I’m taking up so much of your time and you have such important things to do! God, I’m so selfish. I’ve tried so hard to hide it though, so you can focus on people who actually need your help.” The panic in your voice grows as you speak, along with the tears falling from your eyes.

“Y/N...” Suddenly, Aaron is on his feet, easily crossing the imaginary divide you’ve built in between the couch and his desk. He slows down, moving gently as he pulls you into him on the couch, moving your legs across his lap so he could pull you into his chest. “Sweetheart, you could never take up too much of my time.” He speaks slowly, so as not to start another round of sobbing.

“What?” Your confusion is clearly communicated with the one word question, but you’re on a roll with your feelings so why stop now. “Are you saying it’s all in my head? Bu-, but, but you’ve been so busy every time you’ve been home! I’ve barely seen you, and I’ve tried so hard to not let it bother me because I know how important what you do is! I do, I understand it all so much. I could never be mad at you for working so hard. I just feel like you’re tolerating me being here when you have so many more important things to do.”

Now breathless, your rant ends with more tears forming in your eyes. Aaron is quick to wipe them away as they fall. “You’re right. I have been busy.” His voice is full of concern and regret as he thinks about the past few months. “But please don’t ever doubt for a second that you are the most important thing in the world to me.” He pauses for a second before continuing. “Well, other than Jack.” This earns him a slight chuckle from you before you reply.

“Jack is the most important to me too.” Your clear your throat, hesitant to voice your next question. “You’re not mad at me?”

Aaron looks so taken aback, you would laugh if you weren’t so nervous. “I could never be mad at you. Especially not for having completely valid feelings. I’m so sorry I haven’t been as present as I should’ve been. I love you so much, Y/N. More than I could ever put into words, and I will be doing a better job of showing you just how much you mean to me from now on.” There’s a slight edge to his voice, as though he’s annoyed with himself for you feeling this way. “Please, don’t ever hide your feelings from me. I never want to lose you.” His own voice is cracking, slight tears in his eyes at the idea of you not being in his life.

“I promise.” You lean up to kiss him, trying to convey just how much you’ve missed him.

“Let’s go to bed.” He lifts you up from the couch, carrying you toward the stairs.

You shriek, clinging to him even more. “It’s only 9:15!” You laugh at his antics. “What about your reports?”

“I have more important things to do right now.” He smirks at you, quickly moving into the bedroom to show you just how much he cares about you.

permanent tag list:

@mac99martin @goldeng1rl8 @measure-in-pain

#renswritingchallenge #aaron hotch hotchner #aaron hotch x reader #aaron hotchner angst #aaron hotchner fluff #Criminal Minds #criminal minds x reader #hotch x reader

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mypoisonedvine · 3 years

Text

Love, Theoretically | Sebastian Stan x reader (chapter 10 - FINALE)

series masterlist

series summary: having lost your husband, sister, and best friend all to the same extramarital affair, you ran away to a secluded villa in the Hungarian countryside to write and get a little time away from the life you’d left behind. you were only looking for peace and perhaps some inspiration for your novel, but instead you found an unlikely connection with the immigrant repairman– even though the two of you don’t speak the same language.

word count: 6k

warnings: implied smut, angst, fluff, romcom tropes, lots of swearing, pregnancy mention/minor breeding kink

note: click the asterisk for a hyperlink to a translation when the time comes

Six months later...

“It’s good!” she beamed, setting down the last chunk of pages and taking off her reading glasses. “Oh man, that ending hurt, but it’s really, really good!”

You leaned back into the plush chair and sighed with relief. “You think so?”

“It’s best-seller material,” she assured. “With some editing, of course. God, I can’t believe you were sitting on this for so long.”

“What are the biggest changes you want to make?” you asked.

“Well, I’m thinking we’ll cut the romantic subplot,” she mentioned in passing, like it was no big deal. “It’s distracting.

“Distracing?” you repeated. “Nia, it’s the story. It’s a romance.”

“I thought it was a thriller,” she frowned.

“A romance disguised as a thriller,” you corrected.

“Listen, I get what you mean, but I didn’t get this—” she tapped the nameplate on her desk: ‘NIA BROWN, HEAD PUBLISHER’ in shiny letters— “for nothing. I know what I’m talking about, and I know what your readers want. Violence, gore, drama!”

“It has all that!” you defended. “But it’s all there to talk about the real love he finds in her!”

“What do you mean ‘real love’?” she pressed flatly.

“I mean…” you pondered. “I mean love where you feel like a version of yourself that you actually like. Love where you feel unjudged, no precedents or caveats or back-up plans. Love that fucking hurts because you never wanted to rely on anything or anybody. Love that lives in silence because you don’t even need words.”

She furrowed her brow. “That… sounds nice, I guess, but I don’t think anybody really has that. Everybody needs a back-up plan. Everybody needs words— a writer should know that.”

“Oh my god. Oh my god,” you groaned, your face falling into your hands. “I’m so fucking stupid. Jesus Christ, I’m a moron.”

“What? What’s going on?”

“I had that! I had that, and I let it go! I’m the dumbest bitch on the fucking face of the Earth.”

“Don’t say that,” she soothed, but you were already standing up.

“No, I need to find him,” you decided as you grabbed your coat and briefcase. “I need to go back and try to fix this. I love him, I’ve never— I didn’t know I could love like that, I didn’t know I could be loved like that… oh my god, I need to find him. It isn’t over.”

“It isn’t over?” she repeated incredulously. “You said Michael signed the papers!”

“It’s not Michael,” you rolled your eyes as you stormed out of the office. “It was never Michael.”

You ran into the first telephone box you could find, slamming the door shut as you searched your purse for the business card that probably wasn't even in there.

After a moment, you gasped with delight when you pulled it from a very bottom pocket and began punching in the number as fast as possible with shivering hands, long-distance charges be damned.

“Hello?” the confused voice on the other end answered.

“Mrs. Alberti, hi— does Sebastian still work for you?” you asked hastily.

“No, dear," she sighed, apparently recognizing you by just your voice (and likely your request), "he quit recently, and moved away.”

“Moved?" you repeated with a wrinkled brow. "Where?!”

“I assume back home, sweetheart; to Bucharest.”

“Shit,” you sighed. “Shit!”

“Are you having your ‘run through the airport’ moment, sweetheart?” she realized.

“Yes, I think so— do you have his address?”

“Well, no, but I’ll see what I can find.”

You waited rather impatiently as she shuffled through papers in the background, mumbling to herself as she apparently searched for information that could help you.

“All I’ve got is the address of a previous employer… a carpenter,” she finally explained, breaking the silence. “It was his only reference when he came to work here," she explained.

"Wow, you really did just hire him for his looks," you blurted out.

"He was desperate for work, that boy had nowhere else to go,” she defended.

“Right, well, I guess if that’s my only lead then I’ve gotta go for it,” you decided. “Thank you, Mrs. Alberti.”

“I told you to call me when that book was a hit. Did it happen yet?” she piped up.

“It’s not published yet,” you explained. “It needs some more work… but I think it’s almost ready.”

“I think so, too, dear.”

Learn Romanian in 10 Weeks! A practical language guide.

Week 1, Day 1: Greetings

Hello Salut

Goodbye La revedere

Thank you Mulțumesc

You’re welcome Cu plăcere

Good morning Bună dimineata

Good afternoon Bună ziua

Good evening Bună seara

Good night Noapte bună

You brushed your hair back out of your face with a sigh, turning the page as you mumbled the phrases to yourself. Broken Hungarian and your high school education in Latin were not getting you as far with this as you had been hoping.

How are you? Ce mai faci

I love you Te iubesc

“Te iubesc, te iubesc, te iubesc,” you repeated over and over in a whisper.

Each day you had a new routine: practice Romanian for an hour, check flight prices online (or call the airline), research what you knew about Sebastian and the address Mrs. Alberti had given you, and then get back to practicing Romanian again.

Oh, and occasionally you worked on the edits Nia wanted for your manuscript. You were focusing on the minor changes— grammar errors, rearranging sentences— and putting off her big request for the removal and replacement of the romantic aspects. More than ever, they seemed like the most important thing the book had to offer.

You had a small apartment, just a place to sleep and shower really; much too small to fit everything you’d already taken from Michael’s house (you know, the one that used to be your house) along with what he’d shipped to you that you forgot before. He included a letter in the package as well. You threw it out, unopened.

Truthfully, you never really fully unpacked. As much as you realized you probably should, in order to really feel like you had a real home, you couldn’t bring yourself to empty your suitcases when you knew you’d be packing them again any day now.

You also realized how outrageous this all was. Ignoring the unlikelihood of even finding him in the first place, Sebastian probably wouldn’t want anything to do with you after you broke his heart, left, and then randomly tracked him down after over half a year. But to be totally transparent, you weren’t really doing this to get him back, necessarily. You knew that was probably never going to happen. You were doing this because you needed to try. You needed to go there, and get hurt, and come back knowing you did everything you could: you’d never be able to live with yourself if you did anything less than that.

You couldn’t start your new life until you had put everything else to bed. And if that meant being 100%, painfully certain that you and Sebastian could never be together, then that was just how it needed to be.

After two weeks of looking, there still weren’t any reasonable flights to Bucharest, so you booked another trip by train, figuring you could use the three day trip to brush up on the key Romanian phrases you were going to need as well as prepare your speech.

Yes, your plan was a speech. You didn’t have a back-up plan. You didn’t even have a return ticket back to London yet.

A passage by Yeats came to mind; But I, being poor, have only my dreams. I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly, because you tread on my dreams.

In all your life, you’d never understood before why someone would want to only have their dreams. But now, here you were… and yes, it felt terrifying and vulnerable and uncomfortably naked, but it felt pretty damn good, too.

With a sigh, you scribbled out the last sentence you’d written, tossing the trash paper aside. You looked up out the window at the scenery flying by in a blur, worried that if you didn’t look out from the train every once in a while you’d get motion sickness.

The sun was beginning to set already, the green of hills and trees tinted orange. You only indulged in it for a moment, though, before getting back to this god-forsaken speech you were deadset on finishing before you arrived in Bucharest tomorrow. At first, you’d figured the translating would be the most difficult part… but writing in English wasn’t exactly a piece of cake, either. You had so much to say, and suddenly so few words for any of it.

You’d probably done more editing on this than any of your novels combined; the crumpled up pages spilling out of your wastebasket were proof enough of that.

“And I’m a fucking writer!” you groaned aloud, to no one in particular. “How is anybody else supposed to be able to do this, if I can’t?”

Other people aren’t as emotionally constipated as you, the voice of your inner critic reminded you plainly, making you roll your eyes at yourself.

A rap at your door made you sit up straighter and turn around. A stewardess slid open the frosted glass slightly to give you a friendly smile. “Is everything alright, ma’am?”

Your brows furrowed at the sound of her accent. “Is that a Romanian accent?” you asked.

“Yes, ma’am,” she nodded.

“So you’re fluent in Romanian and English,” you concluded.

“And Portuguese, yes ma’am,” she agreed.

“Could you come in here for a moment and help me translate something?”

She seemed slightly confused at the request but stepped forward, sliding the door most of the way shut behind her. Leaning beside you on the desk, she picked up your handwritten letter and blinked her wide, brown eyes a few times. You felt slightly embarrassed knowing she was reading such intimate thoughts, but that was how it felt the first time someone read anything you wrote so you were pretty much used to it by now.

“I usually ask the passengers what brings them to Bucharest,” she mumbled after a moment. “This is the most interesting thing so far. Am I reading this correctly, that you intend to confess your love to someone you met—” she scanned the page quickly— “during a vacation in Hungary?”

“Yup,” you smiled awkwardly, popping the ‘p’ at the end of the word.

“And he doesn’t speak English?” she assumed; you nodded. “And… you don’t speak Romanian?”

You nodded again, and she breathed in and out quickly, sitting beside you as she stared at the letter.

“I’ve never seen anything like this before,” she explained.

“Sorry for sucking you into the entropic vortex that is my life,” you chuckled.

“I don’t mean to pry,” she sighed, setting the letter down, and you laughed a little internally at the idea that she was worried about prying when she just read the most personal piece of writing you’d ever put to the page, “but do you think this is… enough? I mean, to build a relationship on?”

You just gave her a shrug. “I have no idea. But, you know, I spent my whole life worrying about stuff like that. I dated my husband for seven years before we got married, because I wanted to be sure. I was initially interested in him because he was successful and ambitious, and it made me feel like this was a really secure relationship that I could rely on. I double majored in English and Computer Science because I wanted a more stable career to fall back on in case being a writer didn’t work out, and even though it did, I’ve spent most of my career publishing what I thought people wanted to read instead of what I wanted to write, so I’d have a better shot at a good paycheck. I grew up thinking the best thing I could ever have was security. And now I’m divorced, watching my royalties shrink every month, more insecure in every way than I’ve ever been, and I’m realizing that the choices I made didn’t give me what I wanted. I gave up so much in the name of safety, and I let the one good thing I’d ever found go, so I could go back to being the same person I always was. I’m ready to settle again, if this doesn’t work… I’m ready to accept that this is just the way life goes, and be thankful that I got a taste of the kind of stuff I thought only existed in the sort of books I’d read but never write.”

She swallowed as she looked at you, and you felt your eyes water as you stared out the window towards the dimming scenery one more time, smiling at the sight of a distant village, a church with a steeple, vineyards and farms. Someone’s whole life is in that little town, you imagined, and they’re just watching your train go by like they see every other day.

“Sebastian gave me more security than I’d ever had before, even though the whole thing was such a ridiculous little whirlwind, and nothing like I ever imagined my life could be. But he made me want to be honest and raw and write sappy letters like the one you just read. He doesn’t have any money, at least as far as I know, and I haven’t known him for seven years, and on paper it makes no sense… but you would understand if you knew him. If you felt that joy that he radiates, if you saw him live his simple little life like it’s the best thing in the world. You would understand if you knew how much I needed this. You would understand if you had been just as miserable being who I’ve been for so long, and finally had a chance to be somebody you think you were maybe meant to be the whole time. So, if I never see him again, I hope I just get to thank him.”

You waited for her to say something, but furrowed your brow at the long moment of silence, looking back from the window finally and finding her staring at you with a tear running down her cheek. When you met her gaze, she quickly wiped it away with a sniffle and looked down at your desk again. “Let’s get to translating, shall we?” she announced with a half-smile.

You noticed the way the other passengers looked at you as everyone was in line to deboard from the train car; you stuck out like a sore thumb, since everybody else was carrying heavy luggage and all you had was a backpack.

In your defense, you really had no idea how to pack for a trip where you knew neither the duration nor the true final destination. So, it was mainly filled with your essentials, a few clothes for any kind of weather, and enough leu to buy anything else you needed along the way.

The stewardess was waving goodbye to everyone as they shuffled out into the train station, occasionally stopping to shake a hand or give directions to nearby destinations. When you were just about to pass by, though, she pulled you into a tight hug.

“Good luck,” she whispered, holding you just a moment too long before pulling back and giving you an encouraging look. “If he doesn’t take you back, feel free to blame my translation… because if he knows what’s in your heart, I know he’ll say yes.”

“Yeah, that’s the hard part isn’t it?” you laughed weakly. “Thank you for your help. I guess if I come back alone for the return trip tonight, you’ll know how bad it went.”

“Then I hope I don’t see you again,” she winked.

It being a major train station and all, cabs were waiting around every corner so it was pretty easy to grab one and give them the address you already had written down for this exact purpose.

“This is pretty far,” the driver explained, “on the edge of town. Not a tourist spot.”

“Good, because I’m not a tourist,” you nodded, already only giving him half your attention as you pulled out the translated speech to practice.

“And you can afford this?” he pressed. You sighed and dug through your bag, pulling out a haphazard stack of bills and handing them through the plastic partition.

“Is this enough?” you asked, and he didn’t answer, just taking the money and starting the car as you smiled and leaned back in your seat.

As much as you had tried to convince yourself to not get your hopes up, the butterflies in your stomach felt more like whole birds at this point, demanding to break free as you practiced the words hand-written on the page over and over again, committing it all to memory.

“What are you reading?” the cab driver asked after several minutes.

“Oh, nothing,” you mumbled, “sorry if I’m bothering you, you can turn on the radio.”

“No, it’s not bothering me, but what you are saying… it’s very odd. It sounds like something from a play, or movie,” he explained.

“Um, it’s not,” you replied, a little embarrassed. “But does it sound like it’s from a good movie? Like, if you heard a character say this to another character, would you think they should get together?”

“I… don’t know,” he answered, sounding confused. “I mean, it depends on what happened, right? How they met, how well they get along…”

So, you told him the whole story, as succinctly as possible (which is not very succinct at all). By the end, he was actually giving commentary as you spoke.

“Why the hell did you leave?” he interjected, clearly irritated with you. “You loved him!”

“Yeah, well, sometimes love isn’t enough! I loved my husband too, and look how that turned out,” you defended.

“But that’s different. That was love for all the wrong reasons.”

“I promise, it felt very real at the time,” you shrugged.

“And now?” he countered. “You realize that this man— Sebastian, right?— is real.”

“I hope I’m right this time,” you offered. “But even if I am, he may not agree.”

The driver scoffed, taking a hand off the wheel to wave dismissively. “If he’s anything like you said, then he will still be completely in love with you. After all, you still feel the same way after all this time apart, don’t you?”

“If anything, I love him more every day,” you admitted, your heart beating quickly just to say it aloud.

“You know, when I met my wife, she was engaged to another man. He was rich, good-looking, and he wasn’t even a bad guy unlike this husband you describe. He was a good man, but he wasn’t right for her. They were… content together, but she wasn’t truly happy. Every night I would come to her window and beg her to marry me, because I knew that she knew we were meant for each other, but she was scared because her family wouldn’t approve and she would be a poor man’s wife.”

“How did you convince her to marry you instead?” you asked eagerly, sucked into the story already.

“I didn’t. On the day of the wedding, some people told me to go and break it up but I didn’t. I thought it would be wrong, to try to ruin her happiness and take it for myself by making a scene at the wedding. I realized she was her own woman and if she wanted to choose him, I had to let her. I had locked myself in my house, not wanting to see anyone that day, and she appeared at my door. I didn’t need to convince her because she knew the truth in her heart, and called off the wedding herself.”

“Wow,” you smiled.

“She was still in her dress!” he recalled with a hearty laugh. “She looked like an angel. We were married just a few days later. And next month will be thirty years,” he added as he lifted his left hand to show the golden band on his finger.

“Thirty years, that’s… a long time,” you sighed.

“It wasn’t always easy,” he admitted. “But it was always worth it.”

Just as you wondered what you could possibly say to that, you felt the car slow down to a stop.

“This is the address you gave me, this is it,” he explained, pointing out his passenger-side window. You leaned up against the glass and gasped in dawning fear as you saw the storefront dark and empty inside.

“No, nonono,” you whispered rapidly to yourself as you swung open the door and hopped out, pressing your face against the glass to try to get a look inside and finding what was undeniably a closed carpentry business. There was a note on the door, taped on the inside of the glass, and you knew enough Romanian to know it said something about a vacation and three months.

“Shit!” you yelped, holding your face in your hands, wondering if your journey had come to an end before it really began.

“Are you alright?” the driver asked, rolling down his window to speak to you.

“This was my only lead, I don’t have his real address,” you explained. “He used to work here, I thought maybe someone would know him…”

He sighed, giving you a sympathetic look. “Get back in, we can search nearby. You came too far to give in yet.”

But getting back in the car felt like giving in, too, which you realized as you looked back at the note taped to the carpenter's door. This was the closest you'd gotten, and it felt wasteful to leave with nothing.

Just as you were ready to hop in the passenger seat and start searching aimlessly through suburban Bucharest, or maybe look around for a Romanian yellow pages, you heard a noise from behind you, across the street; a laugh. His laugh. But it couldn’t be because it was too good to be true… and yet you found yourself whipping your head around and hoping beyond all reason that it was Sebastian.

Across the street was a restaurant, with a large patio where patrons were dining and chatting as they sat at wrought iron tables, and your eyes searched the crowd for any signs of him.

And then your gaze landed on a head of thick brunette hair, red and gold highlights so obvious now when the sunlight hit it this way. Broad shoulders wrapped in a white button-up shirt. He was facing away from you but he was looking to the side so you could see his face; he was smiling, laughing at something someone had said. And it was his smile that you recognized; it was like everything else faded away, and in that moment you thought maybe you could almost be happy with just this, just seeing him be happy even if it had nothing to do with you.

“Sebastian,” you called out to him, but he didn’t react. “Sebastian!”

His whole body turned, his eyes met yours, and you couldn't help but let the tears well in your eyes as you ran across the road to him.

He looked, understandably, stunned, and you realized he was actually waiting on a table at the moment; he said something to them, apparently excusing himself, and stepped closer to you.

But he stopped walking, not coming any closer, not exactly dragging you into his arms like you might've preferred, but with a breath to try to soothe your racing mind, you summoned your memories of the practiced letter and began. *

“Când am venit în Ungaria…” you started slowly, doing your best to remember the words and hoping your pronunciation wasn’t too awful, “nu căutam dragoste. Căutam spațiu, claritate și poate o idee de carte de un milion de dolari. În schimb, am găsit tot ce am căutat toată viața mea…”

You did your best to bite back tears, especially when his expression was nearly unreadable and you had no idea how well this was going.

“Ești tu, Sebastian, bineînțeles că ești tu,” you sighed, laughing slightly. “Ai fost acolo pentru mine când nici nu știam ce vreau de la nimeni. Ai fost prietenul meu fără să spui vreodată un cuvânt - cel puțin nu un cuvânt pe care l-am înțeles. M-ai iubit și nu știam ce să fac cu asta, pentru că uitasem cu mult timp în urmă cum se simțea să fii iubit. Și ce simțeai să iubești cu adevărat pe cineva. Dar te iubesc. Și am fost prost să te las să pleci, atât de neconceput de prost. Vreau să fim noi, Sebastian. Lasă-mă să te iubesc, mai dă-mi o șansă și îți promit că nu te voi mai lăsa să pleci niciodată.

The first thing he said was your name, and just the way he said it made you fall in love with him all over again.

“I… I dream that you would come back,” he shakily replied. “But now I cannot believe. You are my dream.”

Tears were openly flowing at this point and you wanted to run into his arms, but you tried to stay calm and hear him out. He stepped closer, almost hesitant, like you would run away if he got too close too fast.

“I love you, very much that I am sure I am insane person,” he explained with a grin, and you giggled. “We will live anywhere, do anything you would like— be my wife.”

You gasped as he pulled you into him, gripping your arms tightly as his desperation became apparent.

“Marry me?” he asked softly.

“Da,” you nodded, “yes, of course, anything—”

He kissed you suddenly, but gently, and it said more than any words in any language could.

It was a small wedding, in the Hungarian countryside by the lake. You could remember diving into that lake for lost pages of your manuscript; you could remember looking out over the water and dreaming of this moment you were living right now, thinking it was impossible.

He didn’t have much family, but they welcomed you with open arms.

Your family, well, they were too busy with planning another wedding, for your ex-husband and your ex-sister. A few of them sent cards but the rest were suspiciously quiet. You honestly didn’t even notice… you had a new family to attend to, anyhow. And it wasn’t like you didn’t have any guests, since you were able to track down and invite a stewardess named Maria, and a cab driver named Andrei and his wife, Paola.

Sebastian’s cousins weaved flowers into your hair and his grandmother tailored her dress to fit you like a glove. A picture of his parents was hung nearby in tribute; he told you they would’ve wanted to see him get married but that he felt, in some way, they were able to even if they had passed away quite some time ago.

You realized you’d never seen him in anything even mildly formal before; in fact, the suit he wore was rather casual, all things considered, but he looked so painfully cute in it. Sometimes you thought he actually looked a bit out of place wearing a shirt, though, especially one that was buttoned up all the way.

Luckily, the shirt was halfway unbuttoned about ten minutes into the reception.

Mrs. Alberti cooked a massive dinner for everyone, and even grew the flowers that you carried down the cobblestone aisle.

And wow, can Romanians drink. You had to be careful not to try to keep up with them, because if you had you would’ve been blacked out halfway into the night and the last thing you wanted was to forget even a moment of this.

As the night started to wind down to a close, you and your new husband retired to the lakehouse, running up the stairs and finding them as creaky as always.

He wrapped his arms around you in the hall and kissed you eagerly as you stumbled back into the bedroom, tripping over the doorway and falling onto the bed together.

It felt so right to have his weight on top of you, to feel his smile against your lips, to wrap your arms around his neck.

“This room,” he mumbled into the kiss. “Do you remember first time?”

“Yes,” you nodded, “da, I remember, how could I forget?”

He grinned and moved his lips down to your neck. "I thought of you every day… I love you,” he whispered.

“Te iubesc,” you whispered back.

It was almost like the first time in so many ways: passionate, yet oddly hesitant as you rediscovered each other. It was comfortable, though… you couldn’t think of any other person you felt so comfortable with, somebody who finally got you out of your own head and who made you want to experience everything life had to offer.

You were sure you’d never gone so long without worrying about something in all your life.

“My wife,” he whispered against your skin. “This is all I had wanted… from seeing you in very beginning.”

“You’re all I ever wanted,” you sighed in return, “ești tot ce mi-am dorit vreodată, Sebastian.”

Life with Sebastian was beautifully simple. You spent most of the day writing, usually, while he built furniture to sell and occasionally gardened with his spare time. You could always tell how busy you’d been with a new novel lately by how perfectly groomed the hydrangea bushes were.

You’d told him once that you’d come to Hungary looking for a million-dollar book idea. A Killer in Disguise performed alright, but not anywhere near that. The Language of Love, on the other hand, was definitely a million-dollar idea… about eleven times over. Sebastian didn’t seem to worry too much about how much money you made, though; he was just proud to say that he was the inspiration for your hit novel. You secretly suspected that he was more proud of your work reaching enough international notoriety to be translated into Romanian.

His English still needed some work, but you found it endearing. He was determined to get better and spent at least a half-hour each day practicing, but you hoped he wouldn’t get too perfect because you would miss the silly little mistakes he made. At least you could be sure he’d keep the accent forever… damn, that accent; and he knew exactly what it did to you, too.

In fact, you were crossing through the hall in your robe one evening when your husband’s voice stopped you.

“Darling wife,” you heard Sebastian call from the bedroom in a playful sing-song.

“What is it, Seba?” you asked with a smirk.

“Come in here, please…”

You opened the bedroom door to find most of the room covered in rose petals: most of all the bed, which was surrounded by candles, and topped with a shirtless (as per usual) Sebastian, laid on his side seductively with a long-stemmed rose (one you recognized from his very own garden) between his teeth.

“What are you doing?” you laughed. “Is this some sort of special occasion I’ve forgotten?”

You were already searching your mind for what it could be, but your two-year anniversary had passed a few months ago already and since it was spring it couldn’t be the anniversary of when you first met since that was late in the summer.

“Iss not quite a thpecial occathion yeth,” he answered before taking the rose from his mouth so he actually made sense. “I was considering it could be a special occasion, when we’re done…”

You smirked and climbed over the candles and into bed with him, taking the opportunity to run your hands over his chest. “And what occasion would that be?”

“A year from now, it could be the anniversary of when our child was conceived,” he answered.

Your breath caught in your throat, your voice reduced to a whisper of surprise. “Seba—”

“If you’re not ready, I will be understand,” he instantly added, stern yet soft. “Only if you want this, I just thought that maybe—”

You silenced him with a kiss, lacing your fingers into his hair and letting him roll you onto your back. He pulled back just enough to let you answer, but your noses were still bumping into each other and you smiled.

“I’m ready, Sebastian. More than ready,” you whispered.

He grinned and kissed you again, deeper and slower as he held your face with one hand and gripped your waist with the other. As his lips trailed down to your neck, you were interrupted with one pressing thought.

“Can I ask you something?”

He popped up and looked down at you with a smile. “Sure!”

“Why are you wearing ratty old jeans?” you laughed.

“Hey, these worked on you the first time,” he defended.

You gasped. “You don’t mean those are the jeans—”

“Yes,” he nodded, “the jeans that I had been wearing when I was working on Mrs. Alberti’s cottage. And, truly, when I was finding an excuse to work outside your window.”

“Wait,” you sat up, “did you actually work outside my window on purpose?”

He laughed, hanging his head quickly before looking back at you again with a sparkle in his eye. “You are very smart, my love, except for those times when you are— how do you say? Oblivious.”

You chuckled, unfortunately very aware that he was right.

“Didn’t you ever wonder why I was building a window frame, nearly a dozen metres away from the window it was for?”

You thought for a moment before dropping your face into your hands and laughing. “No, I didn’t notice that. I was too busy giving you a thorough eye-fuck,” you recalled.

“Yes, because I was not wearing a shirt and this distracted you,” he pondered, sounding suddenly like a scientist explaining a theorem or something. “See, that’s the beauty of wearing the jeans and no shirt. The body distracts you while the jeans seduce you.”

“How about you take the jeans off and put that body on me, capisce?” you pleaded; not that you didn’t love his humor or anything, but maybe his funny bone wasn’t exactly the bone you were interested in at the moment.

He grinned devilishly and suddenly pulled your legs apart, settling his body between them as he kissed your neck again, nipping at your jawline and ear. “You’re being impatient, dragă,” he purred. “You want to have my baby that badly?”

You whined involuntarily, arching your back as his hands roamed your body and finally began to untie your robe and push the silk out of the way. “Yes, Sebastian, please—”

“Let’s just say, theoretically, I wanted to have more than one? Would you have another of my children?” he asked softly as he reached up and palmed at your breasts, teasing your nipples which were already much too hard and sensitive for how little he’d touched you. The rough denim rubbing against the inside of your thighs was oddly arousing— maybe it was the sensation itself, or maybe it was just that this was almost like the first thing you imagined when you saw Sebastian all those years ago.

“Yes,” you moaned out your answer, “yes, you know I’d do anything for you.”

“What if I wanted a big family?” he pressed. “Really big? Like, Catholic big?”

“We can have our own fuckin’ Brady Bunch, Seb, I just need you right now,” you begged, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him into a hot and desperate kiss.

He decided to wait until afterwards to ask what a ‘Brady Bunch’ was. You decided to wait until afterwards to ask when he’d learned how to use the word ‘theoretically’.

sfarsit; the end

#sebastian stan x reader

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cyborg-franky · 3 years

Note

Hi there! I'm here for the event. Congrats on running this marvelous blog. Always giving us *chef's kiss* content. So, May I request Law and prompt number 5? I was something like... The outcome of "reader" coming out alive of it barely, and Law's reaction (angry, angsty shit, i know i make my man's suffer...) after they treated them. G/N pronouns are fine, thanks for reading, op. <3

Thank you <3 I try really hard to do something I enjoy doing but also making stuff others enjoy reading. I apperiate every kind comment <3

Law x GN Reader SFW Prompt: Injured in a big battle TW: medical stuff Word Count: 625

Law had always been confident in his abilities, on the battlefield and in his doctoring, there wasn’t much that he couldn’t do with or without his devil fruits power. But his confidence as a doctor and captain had been shaken. Leaving him for the first time in years uncertain, stumbling, grasping for threads of hope. He’d never doubted how you could handle yourself; he’d seen you lay waste to marines before, you could hold your own and with that he had become complacent.

And you’d paid the price for his lapse in judgement. The battle had been hard, many of his crew had suffered, even he had almost lost a limb if not for his fruit’s properties. The guilt that wayed down his heart made him ache, his tired expression didn’t match how emotionally exhausted he really felt.

His knee nervously bounced as he sat by your bed, watching with constant nervous anticipation that your chest would rise and fall, allowing him the reassurance you at least didn’t need the machines on you any longer.

He chewed his thumbnail, watching you sleep. He couldn’t lose another person in his life, not someone he cared for so dearly, especially due to his own shortcomings. He blamed himself for losing Cora-san and he’d blame himself if he’d lost you.

Law hated the fact he knew he’d done everything possible, that it all hinged on how your body would fit together and fight to get over the hill. After the battle he’d put you under, he didn’t want you to see or feel what he was about to do, how your heart had been in a light blue cube while he poked and prodded it, patched things up so meticulously.

His arm draped over his stomach, feeling the dull ache of his own injuries, he’d live, he knew he wasn’t in critical condition, able to focus his attention on you fully was the goal. Sighing he leaned forward in his chair, biting his nail harder, his foot tapping on the surgery floor.

“That’s so annoying, fuck” You moaned, voice shallow and pained. The sound of agitated taping had stirred you from a pained sleep. You attempt sitting up was foiled when Law pressed his hand on your shoulder softly, pushing to lay back.

“You got hurt bad, you need to lay still” His tone was firm, strict, leaving no room for an argument but you could also hear the waver in his tone, it must have been bad if Law was shaken.

“Are you ok?” You mumbled, coughing softly, you couldn’t even move your hands, wires coming in and out of you. “I’m fine” Law mumbled, he adjusted the pillow behind you, allowing you the slightest elevation.

“Thank you for saving me” He flinched at your words, he didn’t deserve the thanks, he’d not been the one to find you at the critical moment. “It wasn’t me; it was Bepo who brought you here in time” You rolled your eyes despite how the action irritated your eyes.

“Was it Bepo who patched me up too?” You saw the dark-haired man shake his head.

“Then thank you”

He moved the chair closer to your bedside, sitting once more and watching as your eyes fluttered closed, you were going to be ok, you’d be out of action for a few more days but you’d live. He watched you slip into a peaceful sleep once more, needing your rest. His inked hand reached over, placed gently over your own.

Law wanted you to know he was here for you, would be still here when you woke up, the selfish part of his heart wanted the connection, needed to feel your warmth, that he wasn’t alone, that you weren’t going anywhere either.

#one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #one piece law x reader #sfw #gender neutral reader #300 follower event #trafalgar law x reader

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oliviayamaoka · 3 years

Text

The Distraction Continuation (Ghostface / Jed Olsen / Danny Johnson x Reader)

As requested, this is a continuation of the Distraction fic I made. Check out the first fic if you haven’t already. Enjoy! :)

You sighed deeply as you crossed your arms, shutting your eyes in slight annoyance at what was to come. Another trial. You hadn’t been in one for a while but your break was rather short-lived. There were three others that stood by your side. Ace Visconti, David King, and Yui Kimura. You respected them and actually enjoyed their company. Ace was funny, David taught you a couple of things, and Yui was always nice to you, encouraging you.

“Where do you think we’ll go this time?” Yui asked you, nudging your elbow with her own. You instantly lit up. Human interaction was comforting.

“Haven’t been to Hawkins or Glenvale in a bit.” Y/N replied with a slight shrug.

“My bet is the asylum.” Ace interrupted, pointing finger guns with that stupid smirk of his. Yui rolled her eyes, she didn’t seem to like Ace very much. Not since he flirted with her one time, even if it was jokingly.

“We might actually be there if Ace himself says so.” David said as the familiar gust of air surrounded the four of you.

You shut your eyes tightly, getting chills from the cold fog and air. The smell of fire and spring overcame you. Y/N opened their eyes, realizing that Ace’s bet was right. As always. A small laugh escaped your lips, a feeling of enjoyment before all hell could break loose again.

Your gaze averted to the familiar structure of the Crotus Prenn Asylum. A sound played in your head, the screech of the Nurse. You were always curious about her but never got the chance to even talk to her unlike... no, it was one time. You weren’t gonna go around and try talk to killers like you did with him.

You put your palm to your forehead, cringing at the memory. Not in a bad way but maybe you could’ve done something differently. No, not really. Jed was a psychopath, a murderer. He was charming in a fucked up sort of way. You sighed as you walked towards a generator behind the grey brick walls.

There wasn’t any indication that it was the Pig or Freddy, thankfully. You began to work on the generator. Your thoughts turned to the fear of being hooked, stabbed, and hurt. You shuddered at the thought of it, the feeling of the hook would probably never leave you. Death was forever here, unfortunately. Elodie and Felix’s conversation had given you hope, maybe there was a way out of here.

“Shit.” You mumble as you shielded your eyes from the small explosion.

Y/N huffed. You felt slightly disappointed in yourself and began again. Your head perked up as you heard stomping. It wasn’t loud enough to be the Oni or Trapper.

You kept a head on the generator as you noticed a dark figure stomping towards you. You needed a moment to process the situation. It was Ghostface? Oh shit, it was him, you thought. Flashbacks of your last encounter played in your head, he was definitely pissed off and you couldn’t blame it at this point.

“Don’t fucking try it.” He muttered in reference to you breaking into a sprint.

You felt panic wash over you as you quickly observed your surroundings. There weren’t any nearby pallets or vaults, it was a random open area near a hill with a chest and hook. Perfect, just perfect. Ghostface was quicker than usual, he grabbed you by the waist aggressively to tackle you down.

Ghostface held a knife to the back of your head once you hit the ground. You grunted as he put down all his weight onto you and assured that you wouldn’t be able to escape. The ground felt so uncomfortable, especially against your face. There was a few moments of you struggling beneath him to escape but it became no use. You stopped struggling after he pressed the blade against your skin.

“Didn’t bring a toolbox this time, Y/N?” He asked mockingly, pressing his gloved finger over the small slit. You winced at the stinging sensation but it was nothing you couldn’t handle.

“You know how to hold a grudge, Jed.” You replied. You were utterly terrified yet you always felt the need to reply to his stupid remarks.

“Indeed I do.” He replied, grabbing you and making you stand up. He held the knife to your back and pressed it slightly.

Ghostface was actually angry. He didn’t seem to mind actually hurting you or pressing the knife into your skin. You gasped at the painful sensation as he looked around, he saw the killer shack. He held a tight grip on your shoulder as he forced you to walk that way.

You instantly knew where he wanted to go. You just hoped the basement wasn’t there. Of course, you had known that this day would eventually come. But, why now? It was such awful timing, especially with the blue mood you had. Once the two of you reached the shack, he shoved you onto the ground aggressively.

“You’re pathetic... talking and talking last time we met. Now, you’re just a shitty excuse for a survivor.” He said to you. You scoffed.

“If it helps, Jed, I’m sorry.” Y/N replied. Your hand reached to the back of your neck where he had cut you. There wasn’t much blood but it still hurt. You stared at your bloodied fingertips as the man got more infuriated.

“You don’t get to call me that. And why the fuck are you apologizing?” He questioned you. His tone was venomous, this terrified you but him killing you was inevitable and well... you wanted to see him, anyways.

“If you didn’t care, you’d have hooked me now. I must’ve really hurt your feelings, huh?” You said, half-jokingly but you were also genuine.

“I don’t care.” He replied to you almost instantly. You knew that was a lie.

“Then why won’t you hook me? You could’ve slashed my back open but instead you pinned me to the ground... weirdo.” You mumbled.

He fell silent for a second. Ghostface was a bit baffled by you. Why weren’t you begging for your life? The version he remembered of you was different, or maybe he killed too many survivors that would beg. Not only that but he planned this out thoroughly. He was practically counting on you to scream and beg for your life. Ghostface had even made an offering for this realm because he researched it extensively, as he did with most of his previous murders.

Despite what he may have thought, Y/N was absolutely terrified. However, there was a strange feeling of attraction to him. Not necessarily a crush just yet but there was also a rivalry in which you felt comfortable talking to him. He felt like a real person. Well, of course he was a real person but you had no trouble making shitty remarks to him.

“I want this to last because you were being a little bitch last time. I’ve been dying to slice you open and make you regret that stupid little stunt you pulled.” He said to you.

You sat up, bringing one knee to your chest casually. There was a feeling of bravery that washed over you like last time. Y/N sighed deeply and looked around the shack. It was a basic shake. No totem, no gen.

“Yeah, sure... then do it.” You said to him.

“You’re not making this any easier.” He replied, more annoyed with you.

“Nothing you do is gonna make me regret what I did. Even if you do kill me and make me suffer, I’m still gonna come back alive. I’ve been puked on, trapped, and even had some weird ass trap put onto my head.” You said, standing up and pointing your finger to his chest.

“But you, Danny, only have a knife. I know the Legion or whatever their names are can use that better than you. You’re just a weirdo with a mask.” Y/N finished.

Ghostface seemed rather stunned, yet offended. Mainly because he couldn’t doubt anything you said. It became known that the Legion studied the human anatomy extensively, more than Danny ever cared to do. His area of expertise was stalking and memorizing a person’s schedule. But still. his ego was always bigger than any logic. The cloaked man grabbed your wrist. He oddly didn’t grab it too tight, he lifted your arm over your head.

“And what does that make you? I’m still better than you to some degree. You’re trapped here because the Entity thinks you deserve it and I get to kill anybody I desire.” He said, the tip of his blade poking your stomach.

“I guess we’re both shitty people.” You shrugged as his grip somewhat loosened. He sighed deeply before throwing you towards the generator.

“I had hoped killing you would be satisfying.” He muttered, bitter that your reaction wasn’t what he imagined. You fixed your shirt slightly and leaned against the generator. A part of slowly began to accept the growing crush you developed on the strange murderer, you didn’t care at this point since you were damned to an eternity of trials.

“It probably would’ve been if you weren’t so easy to talk to.” You said to him as he snapped his head towards you, confused for a moment. Easy to talk to? He scoffed in response.

“Easy? You’re the fucking weirdo here.” He said, with a bit of a defeated tone.

“You’re no ladykiller, Danny, but... I’m charmed. I guess it’s something killers like you do though.” You said to him.

“I don’t charm or seduce people. I watch them.” He corrected you.

“Explains a lot.” You said, looking at your nails. Ghostface was quick to give into his ego and crossed his arms in a very stubborn manner.

“Actually, I did. As Jed Olsen, anyways. People were so trusting of him and neglected to suspect the new guy in town. It made it easy to watch people and I had a lot of excuses to spend hours doing so.” He said to you.

“Jed sounds nice.” Y/N shrugged.

“Well, Jed isn’t real, babe. He’s a shitty facade of what people like in a person. Made it so much easier for myself.” Ghostface said.

“Okay then,.. what did you do? As a career?” You asked him.

“I was a journalist and wrote for the Roseville Gazette. They made me cover my own killings and I did a good job doing so. Nobody could really understand my work though, no matter how much I tried to when I was Jed.” He said, a proud tone in his voice as he spoke. You were weirded out and cautious but you wanted to try and understand him.

“So, is that why you do it? For art?” You asked him as his head perked.

“That’s exactly why! There’s something very beautiful about the redness unique to somebody pouring out of them, even mixing with others. Not only that but just toying around and seeing how loud one can scream. Each scream is so unique and different. And just like art, you can fix your mistakes if it isn’t done right.” He explained, he seemed more relaxed.

“Fix? But wouldn’t they be dead?” You asked him, genuinely confused.

“You have to be an expert craftsman to fix it. A scream is a delicacy, something I choose not to indulge myself in often. Y’know, don’t want anybody hearing what goes on. When I do want to hear the screaming, it’s usually when my target has piqued my interest or mildly annoyed me. It feels rewarding after going through all the effort to memorize their lifestyle.” He said.

“A weird but cool way of looking at it, I suppose.” Y/N said.

You didn’t really care about morality at this point. Such things as the Entity exist, anyways, You weren’t sure what you did to deserve being stranded here. Even if you did have a weird romantic interest in him, so what? Why would the Entity care? Why would any Gods care? And even then, you seemed to have an interest in his hobby. Blood and killing didn’t faze you anymore.

“You think so?” He asked you.

“Depends on the person, I guess. I’d only do it to bad people.” You said.

“But, you’d do what I do?” He asked you.

“Yeah...?” You responded. Danny seemed a bit giddy.

“How would you do it?” Ghostface asked, he seemed way too excited to hear about your non-existent methods of killing.

“I don’t know...” Y/N replied, feeling somewhat flustered by how close he was to you. It was a different type of feeling when he wasn’t trying to stab you.

“If you want, I could show you some pictures and give you tips.” He said.

“And kill who? We’re stuck in this hellhole.” You reminded him.

“What about the other survivors? They can’t all be innocent.” Ghostface said to you. He had some appreciation for you since you listened. It was crazy how much this strange man can switch up.

“No, never. I’m not that crazy.” You said as the loud horn of the exit gates blared. You looked around, really surprised. He seemed just as surprised.

“That long?” He questioned.

“Guess I’m just that good of a distraction.” You said to him as he silently sighed in frustration but didn’t seem to care. A part of him enjoyed your talk.

“Guess you’re gonna be my one kill.” He said, shifting towards you and pushing you against the wall. You were taken aback by his swift movement.

You squirmed against his body, somewhat sliding downwards so kicking was pretty much useless unless you wanted to completely fall. The two of you grunted quietly as he turned you around, shoving your face against the hard wall. It was uncomfortable but he wasn’t being as rough as he usually was. At this point, you were scared of his knife so you tried pulling his hands away from you in the awkward position. Ghostface tightly pinned one of your arms on your back, you winced as he tugged on your hair.

He leaned inwards, poking his head towards your neck and hair. Ghostface took a moment to memorize your scent and what your hair texture might have felt like. For some strange reason, he seemed to want to learn everything about you. It might have been a bad idea for you to have opened him up about his art.

“Get off of me.” You demanded in a stern voice.

“You’re scaring me, Y/N.” He replied sarcastically.

You froze up when he slid his hand under your shirt, his fingertips trailing on your back. It wasn’t the motion itself but rather the feeling of his ungloved hand. You felt yourself go into a rather catatonic state, not in fear but you were quick to wonder why he would take his glove off. A thousand thoughts and scenarios played in your mind. His touch was soft but still managed to leave you with chills.

Ghostface, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying himself. He made notes of how soft your skin felt, his hand curiously wandered upwards. It wasn’t long before his hand wandered to your more sensitive areas. A gasp escaped your mouth as kept you pinned with his knees, his hands groping you a bit more roughly. Your face heated up when he squeezed you, you didn’t seem to struggle either.

“Fuck...” You whispered.

“If only we had the time.” He mumbled, sticking three of his gloved fingers into your mouth. Your eyes rested as you stared upwards, allowing him to continue touching you.

“I bet you’re getting all excited over this... if only I could capture the look on your face right now. How does it feel? Having somebody like me have their way?” He asked you. You felt aroused yet ashamed to oblige him.

“It feels good...” You managed to say, his fingers still in your mouth.

You felt the bulge in his crotch grow hard but this wasn’t the time or place. As much as he wanted to fuck you then and there, he needed to have some control over himself. He pulled his hands away and slid his glove back on. You let out a sigh of relief but also a whine. You knew just as much as he did that it just wasn’t the right time. You wiped the saliva from your lips and slowly stood up.

He pulled you backwards by your waist. You felt him rub his knife near your crotch, gliding it teasingly. His other hand wrapped around your neck. You heard him chuckle rather darkly. At this point, you seemed more hot and bothered than he was. Ghostface squeezed your neck a little harder, wanting to get one last sound of of you before he let you go. He didn’t care whether or not the Entity would be displeased or not.

“Guess you’ll have to be a whore some other time.” He said, cutting you on the arm slightly. You pulled your arm away quickly.

“Whatever.” You replied, flustered by his comment. Did that just happen?

“Better go before the Entity kills you itself.” He said to you.

“Right, right... see you around, Danny.” You said before quickly walking away and then running towards the exit gates.

His head tilted curiously. Ghostface wasn’t sure if he had feelings or not. He admired you for listening to him and asking some questions though. But, now that he knew you’d do things with him willingly, he had some ideas. A wide smile grew behind his mask as he began to fantasize about the photos he would eventually take.

You would probably come to regret your actions, seeing as his obsession with you would grow. Danny needed to know everything about you and even felt a bit possessive now. It didn’t matter, there was many possibilities within the Fog. Pray that you’ll be ready for your next meeting.

NOTE: Currently writing a full fledged Danny fic with a different plot but have the sequel to the Distraction. Ty for reading!

#dead by daylight #dead by daylight x reader #ghostface #ghostface x reader #jed olsen #jed olsen x reader #danny johnson #danny johnson x reader #dbd fanfic #dbd x reader

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snelbz · 3 years

Text

The Return {The Arrival, Part 2}

Summary: Back at the lake house, ten years later... Collaboration with @tacmc.

Word Count: 6402

The Arrival Series Masterlist

Shelby’s Masterlist

Tara’s Masterlist

10 years later….

“Every year,” Nesta began, shaking her head as they drove up the long, winding driveway. “Every year, we are the last people here.”

With a roll of his eyes as he put the truck in park, Cassian got out and shut the driver’s side door behind him. Once again, he had the boat, which the others, who had surely arrived hours before, were most likely waiting for.

They needed a getaway.

As of the month before, Cassian had three times the responsibilities at work. Add two teenage boys and a ten year old that thought she was far older than she was, Cassian was exhausted. He knew Nesta was, too, and when she got out of the car to leave the boys to their bickering, Cassian knew she was feeling that exhaustion, deep.

She looked over at him and he gave her a smile, which she immediately returned before opening up the back door and giving her first order of the vacation. “Thorn. John. Bags inside. Now.”

John groaned as Thorn muttered, “I’m eighteen, I shouldn’t even be here.”

Cassian knew Nesta was biting her tongue as she told Scarlett to follow her around back to find Nesta and Elain.

Cassian shot Thorn and John a look that shut them both up as he heard, “Boys giving you a hard time?”

He looked over his shoulder to find his oldest niece, and smiled. “Hey, Lunabug. Where the hell are the rest of your pants?”

Luna looked down at her cutoff shorts before snorting and giving her uncle a hug. “First of all, watch your mouth. Second of all, these were eighty bucks, so be nice.”

Cassian hesitated. “Eighty… Your dad let you spend eighty bucks on a scrap of denim?”

“It’s good to see you, too, Uncle Cass,” Luna said, ignoring the question altogether.

As he unloaded the rest of the bags and hopped back in the truck to pull it around back, Nesta found Feyre and Elain just where she expected to: tanning on the back deck.

“Nice of you to finally show up,” Feyre crooned, raising her sunglasses to look up at her older sister.

The glare Nesta gave to Feyre told her if her daughter wasn’t feet behind her, she’d be giving her a very vulgar gesture.

“Hi, Scarlett,” Elain smiled, ignoring the silent bickering between her sisters. “You ready for a fun weekend?”

“Yes ma’am,” she replied, her manners nearly as impeccable as Luna’s. “Where is Layla?”

“In the bonus room with the twins,” Feyre said, letting her sunglasses drop back into place as she laid down on her chair. “They brought a bunch of makeup, so I’m pretty sure it’s makeover time.”

Scarlett’s eyes were bright as she smiled up at her mother and hurried into the house.

“Where are the boys?” Nesta asked, stealing Feyre’s drink and downing half of it in one large drink.

Feyre snatched it back, with a muttered, “Bitch,” as Elain shook her head and pointed to the dark haired brood on the docks.

“They’ve been swimming while they waited on Uncle Cass to show up with the boat.”

“Not only do I have Thorn and John to deal with, I’ve also got Little Miss Drama Queen herself to get ready and in the truck,” Nesta said, eyeing Feyre’s drink again. “Plus Cassian. But I gave up on wrangling him years ago.”

Elain shook her head as Feyre snorted. “And Thorn is too much a spitting image of Cass, is that the issue?”

Nesta shook her head, plopping down in a lawn chair opposite of them. “Thorn wants his independence, but he also wants me to cook his food, do his laundry, and clean up after him. That’s Thorn’s issue. And John wants to do everything his cool, adult big brother does. Which annoys Thorn.”

“He’s eighteen now,” Elain said, sighing. “Our husbands were no different at that age. Wanting to be men, but too immature to handle themselves.”

“They’re still too immature to handle themselves,” Feyre mumbled, which made them all laugh.

Her sisters - they were exactly what Nesta needed.

They watched as Cassian drove down to the dock and lowered the boat into the water. Bennett and Lannan were there, swimming, and the eldest helped Cassian guide the boat in and tie it up. Lannan helped, too, but being only ten, his judgement wasn’t the most trustworthy.

The sliding door was pushed open and Azriel wandered out, the top of his hair combed back, and sporting a hot pink lipgloss, which he was attempting to wipe off with a tissue. “Shit, this stuff stains.”

Elain arched a brow as she caught sight of her husband. “I kind of like it.”

He narrowed his eyes at her, but there was no denying the small smile that appeared on his lips.

“It’s a good look,” Feyre agreed, to which Azriel rolled his eyes.

“It’s better than the alternative,” he sighed. “They wanted to recreate a look they saw on YouTube, but were devastated when they realized the signal wasn't strong enough to play a full video in HD.”

“What a travesty,” Elain gasped, faking her horror.

“Thorn is going to hate that,” Nesta snickered. “He may not be able to FaceTime his girlfriend.”

“He’ll live,” Cassian announced, jogging up the porch. “Spending three days focused on his family is good. The kid needs it.”

“The kid needs a kick in the ass,” Nesta muttered, and motioned for Cassian to come closer. He did so, climbing onto her chair and nestling himself between her legs. “But I love him, like I love you.”

Cassian hummed and kissed her, softly.

“My god, what do your kids think when you do this at home?” Feyre asked.

“They’re used to it by now, I’m sure,” Azriel mumbled.

“Absolutely,” Cassian mumbled, before kissing his wife, again.

“Party’s here!” Rhysand came around the corner of the house, carrying two cases of beer. He repeated the same thing his wife had said, looking at Cassian and Nesta. “It’s about time you joined us.”

“Blame the kids,” Nesta said, her arms wrapping around Cassian’s broad shoulders.

“Speaking of the kids, tell them to get ready,” Rhysand said, dropping the cases of beer on the porch. “As soon as these are in the fridge, we’re starting up the boat.”

“I don’t want to go on the boat.”

They all spun around to find Thorn, his phone in the air as he tried to find signal. “Can I have the keys to the truck?”

Cassian scoffed. “Hell, no.”

“I have to run into town,” Thorne said, stubbornly.

“You can tell Marion that you’ll call her when you can,” Nesta said, calmly.

“This isn’t about Marion,” Thorn argued - a complete lie, and they all knew it. “We don’t have anything to drink. We just have water, juice boxes, and alcohol. And, unless you want me to break into the beer-.”

“Try and see what happens,” Cassian warned.

Thorn rolled his eyes, and even though he was the spitting image of Cassian, the look was so much like Nesta that Cassian couldn’t help but chuckle.

“I’ll take Luna and Bennett. They’re trustworthy,” Thorn pushed.

Cassian looked at Azriel and Rhysand, who shrugged.

“Fine. Be back in an hour,” he said, and dug the keys out of his pocket before tossing them to his oldest son.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, and went back inside.

“You know we have drinks in the cooler in the garage, right,” Feyre asked, rolling her eyes as Rhys got a warm beer out of the case and popped it open.

“I figured,” Nesta said. “But Thorn would do nothing but complain the whole time on the boat and would, in fact, break into the beer if we left him here. Might as well let him go have a little freedom before dinner.”

“And if he takes Ben and Luna, he’ll be less likely to get into trouble,” Cassian added, even as Rhys and Az gave each other disbelieving looks.

“Luna, yes, but Bennett is as likely to get him into trouble as he is to get him out,” Rhys admitted.

Feyre finished off her drink and said to her sisters, “Why did we procreate with these idiots? It made our kids idiots.” She stood and said, “I need a refill.”

Elain stood and grabbed her empty glass as well. “Speak for yourself, my kids are all honors students and make good choices.”

Cassian groaned as Nesta rolled her eyes. “Yes, your prized children are the exception to our hooligans. Now, I’m going to put on a swimsuit and tell the girls to do the same.”

Cassian watched her as she left.

He, Azriel, and Rhysand threw beer into the cooler as they heard Thorn, Bennett, and Luna speed away in Cassian’s truck.

“They’re going to do something stupid,” Rhysand mumbled.

“Don’t drag Luna into this,” Azriel countered, carrying the cooler down the hill to the boat.

“She’s already been dragged, bud,” Cassian said, clapping a hand on Azriel’s shoulder. “Now we just pray that they return in one piece.”

“Where are they?” Elain sighed. “We’re not even going to get on the water before the sun goes down.”

“They were finishing their makeovers,” Feyre said, sipping from a glass of wine by the island. “Lily said they’ll be down soon.”

“Aunt Feyre,” Layla’s little voice called from the top of the stairs. “Can you come here for a minute?”

As one, the sisters looked at each other.

“This can’t be good,” Feyre sighed, taking another drink from her wine glass and heading for the stairs.

Nesta and Elain followed, and they could all hear the frantic, panicked words before they even topped the stairs.

“It wasn’t supposed to look like that! You should have followed the tutorial.”

“I can’t. I couldn’t watch the TikTok to make sure I was doing it right.”

“What happened?” Feyre said, pushing the door open and freezing.

Layla and Scarlett were sitting on the couch against the far wall, caked makeup on both of their faces, but the twins were sitting at the desk, a mirror in front of them. A long strand of Lily’s hair laid on the desk in front of them, and she had a pair of safety scissors in her hands.

“Don’t be mad,” Lily said, locking eyes with Feyre in the mirror.

Crossing her arms and leaning on the door frame, Feyre smirked. “Why would I be mad, it’s not my hair that got chopped.”

True enough, Lily’s hair looked far differently than it had the last time her mother had seen her. A fourth of her head looked like it had received a very dreadful bowl cut, while the rest of her hair remained the same, hanging halfway down her back.

She stared in the mirror in horror as Olive tried her best to style her twin. “I mean, it’s not so…bad.”

“I’m going to start freshman year looking like…” Lily’s hands slowly covered her mouth as she stifled a quiet sob.

“It’s not so bad,” Olive repeated, a little more convincingly. “It just needs…some product…”

“It looks like I took a knife to my bangs!”

“Bangs?” Nesta repeated. “Is that what you were going for?”

“Yeah,” Scarlett said, answering her mother in favor of her cousin. “They told her to on Tik Tok.”

“Oh, Lily,” Elain breathed, trying to hide her quiet laughter.

“This is a disaster!” Lily said, covering her entire face.

Feyre sighed and stepped up behind her daughter, resting her hands on her shoulders. “We’ll go see Aunt Mor and get it fixed when we get home. There’s still some time before school starts for it to grow in, and I’m sure Aunt Mor can work her magic. Okay?”

Lily sniffled and nodded.

“Come on, girls,” Nesta said, holding a hand out for Scarlett and Layla. “Let’s go get ready to go on the boat for a bit before dinner.”

“And you, Lily. We’ll find you a hat to wear,” Feyre said, dropping a kiss to the top of Lily’s head. “You, too, Livy.”

“Olive,” she snapped. “It’s Olive.”

With a heavy sigh, Feyre said, “I’m sorry, you’re right. Olive, my apologies. You girls go get changed and meet us on the dock, please.”

Elain and Nesta headed down the stairs, Feyre on their heels, but they waited until they got onto the back porch before looking at her.

“What was that?” Elain asked, raising an eyebrow as she looked at her.

“That is new,” Feyre sighed. “For whatever reason, we can’t call her anything but Olive. Liv, Livy, she’s not having it. It’s immature.”

“So, if I call her Livy, the name that I’ve called her since birth, she’s going to snap at me?” Nesta asked. “Yeah, I’m not going to call her Olive. It’s weird.”

“Well, it is the name on her birth certificate,” Feyre said, laughing.

Nesta shrugged. “Details.”

Elain agreed that it was weird, and they were still talking about it as Scarlett and Layla ran onto the deck, ready in their swimsuits, then down to the docks where their dads and Lannan were waiting. The twins were close behind, Olive still moody and Lily covering her hair with a hat.

When Rhysand questioned why she was wearing a beanie with a swimsuit on a boat, they all told him to mind his own business.

“Where is Luna?” Lannan asked, looking towards the house, as if his big sister might appear out of nowhere.

“She went with Thorn and Bennett into town. They aren’t coming on the boat, but they’ll be home before dinner,” Elain promised, which earned a pout from Lannan. Even though they were years apart, the two were still extremely close and it warmed Elain’s heart.

After an hour or so on the boat, the sun had begun its slow descent, and they headed back in.

“Everyone go get washed up while we make dinner,” Rhys announced. With a smirk, he added, “No impromptu haircuts.”

Lily’s beanie had fallen off during one of their faster rides and Rhysand tried not to laugh.

He really did.

He did not succeed.

“Dad!” She cried, hurrying up the deck stairs and rushing towards the house. “It’s not funny!”

As soon as she was in the house, he muttered to Azriel, “It’s pretty damn funny.”

Elain went into the house to start the food, but came back out a few minutes later. “The kids aren’t back yet. They were supposed to be back by now.”

“I’ll try calling Bennett,” Rhys said, heading into the house and going to their room. A few minutes later, he joined them in the kitchen. “No answer. Have y’all heard from them?”

“No,” Elain said, shaking her head. She looked at Azriel, concern written on her face. “And it’s not like Luna to go so long without checking in.”

Azriel frowned. “I’m sure they’re fine, Lainy. I’m sure they’re just being teenagers.”

Even he didn’t believe himself.

Cassian swore. “I’m sure Thorn was leading the way. He’s-.”

They could hear a car pulling into the driveway, and all six adults turned their heads toward the sliding door, waiting.

Luna and Bennett appeared a moment later, looking sheepish and refusing to make eye contact with any of them.

“Luna,” Azriel began, starting with the one that was most likely to talk. “Where’ve you been?”

“In town,” she answered, without missing a beat.

Nesta was looking around. “Where’s Thorn?”

Neither of them answered.

Cassian crossed his arms, and repeated, “Where’s Thorn?”

Bennett was rubbing the back of his neck when he muttered, “Jail.”

Everyone froze. It was Nesta who said, “I’m sorry, what?”

“Thorn got arrested,” Luna whispered, staring at her feet.

“He— What do you—?” Nesta was shaking her head, clearly not processing what they were telling her.

“Luna, Ben, follow me,” Rhys said, pointing to the back hallway where the adults’ bedrooms were situated. He looked at Feyre. “Think y’all can start on dinner while we handle this?”

She nodded, but was moving towards Nesta, who looked like she was about to pass out. “Go. We’ve got this under control.”

Cassian looked inclined to disagree, but Rhys walked down the hall, Luna and Bennett a step behind, and he and Azriel followed. They sat down on the end of the bed and faced their fathers and uncle as Rhysand shut the door.

“What happened?”

Luna looked like she was going to be sick under the disapproving gaze of her father. “We got drinks and were hanging out in the park by the Square. There weren’t any kids around so we were just messing around on the swing set. And then Rion got there and—.”

“Marion?” Cassian interrupted. “Thorn’s girlfriend showed up?”

They both nodded and glanced at each other. “I guess she was planning to come up the whole time.”

“The drinks are in the bed of the truck,” Bennett interjected, clearing his throat.

“Ben, in the kindest way, I don’t give a damn about the drinks right now,” Rhys sighed. “What happened that was illegal? Why is Thorn in jail?”

“They went back to the truck,” Luna said, quietly. “We stayed on the playground and we figured we’d just leave when they were done.”

The men silently stared at them.

It was Azriel who awkwardly asked, “And when you say they went back to the truck…?”

“They were having sex,” Bennett replied, bluntly, while Luna’s cheeks were on fire.

“In my truck?” Cassian asked, outraged.

Again, they both nodded. Luna went on. “We noticed it was getting a little late and started heading back that way and when we got closer, we saw the cop putting them in handcuffs.”

“The cop at least let us take the keys, so we could bring the truck back,” Bennett shrugged. “I guess he let Rion off, cause he only put Thorn in the back of the cop car.”

“Are we in trouble?” Luna asked, her wide, hazel eyes filling with tears.

Rhys and Azriel looked at each other and sighed. “No,” Azriel said, at least. “But you should have called us immediately when something went wrong.”

“My phone was dead,” she defended, pulling it out and showing them.

Bennett looked at Rhys. “And you know I never have signal out here.”

Rhys nodded and sighed. “Go get cleaned up for dinner. Don’t tell your brothers and sisters about this. We need to talk to your mothers first.”

They nodded and headed for the door, but Luna looked up at Azriel and wrapped her arms around his waist. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

Taking a deep breath, he hugged her and said, “I know. We’ll get this taken care of.”

She nodded, and followed Bennett out of the room.

Azriel and Rhysand both looked at Cassian, who had his hands on his hips and was staring blankly at a spot on the carpet.

Without another word, he grabbed his truck keys from where Bennett had left them on the bed and was out the door. There were words going about behind him as he went, but no one stopped him. It wasn’t until he was outside unlocking the driver’s side door that someone called his name.

“Cass.” He turned around to find his wife on the porch, holding up a shirt and his wallet. “Forgetting something?”

With a defeated sigh, he slowly walked back up to the porch and pulled his t-shirt over his head. “He got arrested for public indecency, Nesta. Marion came up. He was fucking in the back of my truck-.”

“Don’t act like you and I weren’t doing the same thing at eighteen,” she interrupted, looking up at her husband and his grim, frustrated expression. “Sneaking your girlfriend somewhere, taking advantage of the short time you have together… It wasn’t that long ago it was you and me.”

Cassian crossed his arms. “That’s not the point. How the hell are you so calm right now?”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong.” Nesta scoffed, one brow raised. “I’m gonna kick his ass when he gets home. He’s grounded, which he’ll protest because he’s eighteen, which is gonna make me kick his ass even more. But, for me to do that, you need to go get his ass and bring him to me, which I know you’re not gonna wanna do, because you're stubborn and pissed off.”

Cassian’s jaw locked. He didn’t say she was wrong…because she wasn’t.

“How many times were you arrested when you were his age?” she asked, rubbing her hands up and down his crossed arms.

Cassian didn’t answer.

“We all do stupid stuff,” she continued, then reached up on her tiptoes and kissed him, softly, even though Cassian’s lips hardly moved in return. “Go get him, have a civil conversation, don’t yell…too much. Then bring him home, so I can make him cry with my disappointed stare.”

At that, Cassian cracked the smallest smile, knowing she was absolutely right.

He turned to head for the truck and she hollered, “I’ll save him a plate. I doubt the food is very good in prison.”

Pausing as he opened the truck door, Cassian scoffed, glancing back at his wife. “He’s been in jail for less than three hours. I’m sure he’s fine.”

She was smirking, but he could see the sadness and worry in her eyes. “Bring my baby home safe, please.”

Half an hour later, Cassian was parking the truck in the lot behind the police station of the small town. It was mostly a vacation spot, for people like his family, so they’d never needed a big police force. Crime was low here. The worst sort of thing that happened in this town had: teenagers being stupid teenagers.

After speaking with the woman at the front desk, signing a bunch of paperwork and posting his bail, Cassian was leaning against a wall near the front door, waiting for his eldest son. A sullen looking Thorn appeared a moment later, an officer behind him. After shaking the man’s hand, Cassian and Thorn were out the door and heading for the truck. They hopped in, the engine revved to life, and they were off, heading back towards the cabin and their family that waited for them. And still a single word hadn’t been spoken.

Thorn was the one to break the silence. “Well?”

His tone immediately set Cassian on edge and he had to remind himself that that was because it was often so much like his own and to calm down. But it didn’t stop his hand from tightening on the wheel. He took a deep breath before saying, “Well, what?”

Cassian’s eyes were still on the road, but he could feel Thorn looking at him. “Aren’t you going to yell at me?”

“Do you want me to yell at you?” Cassian asked. “Do you want me to tell you what a dumbass decision you made today, not only jeopardizing your future, but also Marion’s, and you could have gotten your cousins into serious trouble, too?”

“Luna and Ben would’ve been fine,” he grumbled, crossing his arms over his chest and slumping in the seat. “They weren’t even involved—.”

“And Marion?” Cassian interrupted. “I assume since I didn’t get to have a nice chat with her father in the lobby, they let her go, but she could’ve been in big trouble, too, Thorn.”

The truck cab filled with silence and Cassian took another deep, calming breath before he went on. “Do you know what my first arrest was for?”

Thorn looked over at his father, the man on the Velaris Police Force who never did anything wrong. “You’ve been arrested?”

“More times than I’m going to admit,” Cassian said, but glanced at Thorn before settling his eyes back on the road. “And the first time was for public indecency.”

The silence returned. “Were you having sex-.”

“No,” Cassian said, stopping him before he could finish his sentence. “I was at a party, eighteen years old, and I got drunk, then went streaking down the middle of the road. It was a nice neighborhood, too. Scared the shit out of an old woman sitting on her porch, reading a book. There was a police car sitting right around the corner.” Cassian nodded to Thorn. “At least you were arrested with your clothes on.”

For a moment, Thorn said nothing, but then he laughed, quietly. “Sounds stupid.”

“It was stupid,” Cassian agreed. “Almost as stupid as shagging your girlfriend in the back of a truck in broad daylight.” He gestured outside, to the setting sun.

“Shagging?” Thorn repeated.

“You’d prefer me use a different term?” Cassian shot back.

Thorn shook his head. “Look, I get it, alright? But there was no one else around-.”

“Yeah, which is why you didn’t get yourself in deeper shit. If there had been kids around, Thorn—.” Cassian snapped, then took a second to calm himself back down. “If that cop hadn’t driven by the parking lot and seen the truck off, but moving, I’m sure you wouldn’t have gotten caught. You’re right. But, that’s not the point. The point is-.”

“I know, dad,” Thorn said, his tone hardening. “I don’t need the lecture.”

“No?” Cassian asked.

Thorn shook his head.

“You already know what I’m going to say, then?” Cassian pushed.

Thorn nodded.

Cassian snorted. “Then do tell. Please.”

“You already said it!” Thorn said, tossing his hands in the air. “I’m an idiot, alright? I made a dumbass decision because I can’t control myself. I almost got Marion and Ben and Luna in trouble, and I got my ass tossed into the back of a police car, alright? I know what I did wrong, dad. And I’m embarrassed enough, so…just…please. Save the lecture.” Near the end, his anger faded, and all Cassian could hear was defeat.

Cassian cleared his throat. “Why embarrassed?”

Thorn shot his dad an exasperated look. “Seriously? I just got my naked ass dragged off my girlfriend before getting handcuffed and thrown in the back of a cop car, and you want to ask me why I’m embarrassed?”

Cassian looked over the console at Thorn, then back to the road. “Worried she’ll dump you?”

Thorn thought for a second, then shook his head. “No, but it’s just…not how I wanted today to go.”

Cassian nodded, then thought carefully about how he would ask his next question. “When you two… I mean, I assume it’s not the first time you’ve… You’ve been together a while…” He sighed, then bluntly asked, “You’re careful, right?”

“She’s on the pill,” Thorn mumbled, and when Cassian glanced over as he pulled into the driveway and parked the truck, his son’s cheeks were bright red.

He smirked. “So you’re man enough to have sex, but not to talk about it?”

“Not with you,” he muttered, unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing out of the truck.

Cassian followed suit and clapped a hand firmly on his son’s shoulder. “Well, that’s too bad. Cause not only are you about to have to talk to me about it again, but your mother as well.”

Thorn’s eyes went wide and his feet stopped moving. In the moonlight, the color of his eyes weren’t visible and he looked like a mirror image of Cassian at that age. “Mom knows?”

“Oh, yeah,” Cassian replied, getting him moving again. “The only ones that don’t are your brother, sister, and cousins. But the three of us are about to have a conversation and I don’t know if you’ll enjoy it as much as you enjoyed ours.”

Cassian could see a fire going down by the docks and hear the laughter of his family. He knew there would be one person missing from the revelry and found her sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee and two plates of food on opposite sides of the table.

Nesta was rolling the coffee cup between her hands and her steely eyes flicked up to them the second they opened the sliding glass door.

Cassian didn’t say anything, just picked the plates of food up and took them to the microwave, heating them up, one by one.

Thorn lingered by the door, his hands shoved into his pockets. Finally, he started, “Mom, I—.”

Nesta held up a hand to stop him and pointed to the chair closest to her. “Sit.”

She stood and met Cassian in the kitchen, while Thorn did as he was told. She quietly asked him, “You talked?”

Cassian nodded, already diving into the plate of food. “Yeah.”

“You talked or you yelled?” She asked, raising an eyebrow.

With a shrug, Cassian ate another bite of steak. “Both. I’d say it was a productive conversation.”

“So should I be the good cop or the bad cop?” She asked, crossing her arms and leaning against the counter.

“I think he’s probably had enough of cops today,” Cassian said, and Nesta could see he was trying not to smile. “Probably best for you to be his mother instead.”

Pinching the bridge of her nose, Nesta sighed. “You know what I mean, Cass. Do I need to break him down more or should I start picking up the pieces?”

“I’d say a bit of both,” he admitted. “He’s embarrassed, and rightfully so, but I don’t think the ramifications of how bad this could have been have settled in yet.”

She nodded and picked up the second plate. Looking up at her husband, she wrinkled her nose. “Go take a shower after you eat. You smell like the lake.”

Nesta didn’t give him a chance to answer and instead carried the food back out to the dining area and set it down in front of Thorn, before taking her seat again.

“I’m not hungry,” he mumbled, staring at the food in front of him.

“Too bad.” She took a sip of her coffee. “Eat.”

He did as he was told, eating a few bites in silence until Cassian crossed through the living room, headed for their bedroom. “By the way Nes,” he called out. “Marion is on the pill, in case you wondered.”

Thorn dropped the fork he was holding and covered his face. “Dad.”

“Have a good talk!”

Nesta had closed her eyes and was taking deep, controlled breaths. When she opened them again, her blue-grey eyes met Thorn’s identical ones. “I’m too young to be a grandmother.”

Thorn looked away as he said, “I’m not… We’re being careful.”

“It takes more than her being on the pill to be careful,” Nesta said, calmly. “Accidents happen.”

“I really don’t want to talk about this,” Thorn whispered, staring at his plate.

“Then you shouldn’t have gotten arrested for not being able to keep your hands to yourself,” Nesta replied, simply. “Thorn-.”

“I love her,” he replied, finally looking back up at Nesta. “I love her, and when I’m around her, I can’t even…think straight. I know what we did was stupid, mom, but in that moment…” He shook his head. “You can blame it on stupid teen hormones or whatever, but that wasn’t what this is for me.”

Nesta sighed, setting her coffee down and laying a hand over his. “It’s not that you got caught having sex. It’s not even that you were arrested, but that is a part of it. It’s that you lied to us, Thorn. To me, and your father, and your aunts and uncles. You told us going into town had nothing to do with Marion, but in all reality, that was the whole reason you wanted to go. And you roped Bennett and Luna into it, which could have affected them.”

He nodded, not saying anything, just taking the reprimand.

“We’re upset with you because we’re disappointed. This could have ended much worse, and Marion is lucky they let her go.”

Nesta released his hand, but turned her own palm up, holding it out and waiting. Thorn looked at it for a moment, before glancing up at her face, and sighing. He pulled his phone out of his pocket and placed it in her hand. She placed it on the edge of the table and said, “You won’t be getting this back for the rest of the weekend. And when we get home, your father and I will discuss your full punishment.”

“I got thrown in jail,” he mumbled. “Isn’t that punishment enough?”

Her sharp laugh surprised even herself. “Absolutely not. But this weekend isn’t just about us. It’s about your cousins and your aunts and uncles and spending time with them. So finish eating and go join them around the fire.”

“And if they ask where I’ve been?” He asked as she stood and picked his phone up.

Pausing for a moment, she considered telling him to tell them anything but the truth. But they would all find out eventually. “That’s up to you. But keep the sex talk to a minimum. Scar, Lannan and Layla don’t need to hear about that yet.”

Thorn’s jaw locked, but he nodded, once. He stood and cleared his plate, even though anything had hardly been eaten off of it. He stopped before walking out the back door. “Can I at least text Rion to make sure she got home alright?”

“I’ll text her mom,” Nesta replied, simply.

Thorn hesitated. “Saying what?”

“Just making sure she got home safely,” she said, shrugging. “I’ll tell her to let Marion know you're grounded from your phone for the weekend so that she doesn’t worry.”

Thorn nodded, slowly. “And…the other stuff?”

Nesta watched him for a long moment before saying, “Even I think having your ass handed to you by Mr. Salvaterre for being caught with his daughter by the cops is too harsh a punishment. I won’t say a thing.”

All of the breath left Thorn’s body. “Thanks.”

The second Thorn was out the door, Cassian came around the corner, his plate cleaned.

“I should’ve known you were listening,” Nesta said, sipping from her mug as she watched her husband stride to the sink.

As he set his plate inside, he chuckled. “Oh, I wasn’t missing that. And I think you should reconsider. Watching Lorcan kick Thorn’s ass for defiling his daughter may be good for us all.”

Nesta rolled her eyes and looked out the back door, where Thorn was slowly walking down the hill toward the fire. “He means it. I can tell. He loves that girl.”

“You sound like that worries you,” Cassian said, sitting in the chair next to her before pulling her onto his lap.

“I don’t want his heart broken. That’s my baby,” Nesta said, simply.

“Ah, yes,” Cassian muttered, his lips on her shoulder. “Our little felon.”

“Don’t call him that,” she chastised. “He made a mistake. A big, stupid mistake, but I think he understands the consequences of his actions.”

“He better,” he murmured. “They each only get one get out of jail free card.”

Nesta’s quiet laughter shook her body. “I’m fairly sure neither John or Scarlett will need theirs.”

“You’re probably right,” he said, holding her tighter against him. “We can let this go until we get home. Let’s enjoy our time while we’re here, yeah?”

“Exactly.” Nesta turned and kissed him, but when he made a move to deepen the kiss, she put a hand to his chest and pushed him away. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you smelled like a lake. You need a shower.”

Rolling his eyes, he gave her another quick kiss before she stood. “Fine. I’ll go get in the shower. But only if you promise to make me a s’more when I get out.”

“Sounds like a fair trade,” she said, heading for their bedroom, Thorn’s phone in hand.

“I’m surprised he didn’t ask you not to go through his search history,” Cassian called from where he still sat at the table.

“You’re disgusting,” she hollered back.

“I’ve also been an eighteen-year-old boy,” he chuckled.

“Oh, I remember well,” Nesta laughed, turning off her son’s phone and placing it on the top of her dresser.

Thorn would be fine, reckless nature and all. He was his father’s son, after all, and Cassian had turned out pretty damn good, even if he was the cockiest, most reckless young man Nesta had ever had the pleasure of knowing.

Even if said man was sliding out the back door and not following her down the hall to take a shower like he’d said he would.

Exasperated, Nesta went onto the back porch to yell at him, but he was running down the hill, taking off his shirt as he did so. Once he reached the bonfire, he was throwing Thorn over his shoulder and running down the dock, toward the lake.

Nesta had no idea how he could still toss Thorn around like a sack of potatoes. They were nearly the same height, with those same broad shoulders.

She watched as Cassian jumped off the end of the dock, taking Thorn with him beneath the dark water, jeans, shoes, and all.

Nesta laughed quietly as Rhysand, Azriel, Bennett, and John all followed their lead, running down the dock and diving in.

“Nesta!”

Her eyes shifted to the fire, where everyone else sat. Feyre was waving for her to join them. “Come have a drink and help us laugh at these foolish boys!”

Nesta could hear the girls giggling as she walked down the hill to join them. Lannan was sound asleep on the ground in front of the fire, obviously having worn himself out from the day, and Scarlett and Layla weren’t far behind.

Nesta took the lawn chair that either Rhys or Az had vacated between her sisters, and took a deep breath in as she gazed up at the stars. They weren’t as beautiful as the ones she’d come to know and love in Velaris, but they were still a glorious sight.

“Everything okay?” Elain asked, taking Nesta’s hand.

She nodded, eyes still on the stars. “We’ll deal with it when we get home,” she replied, looking down at her sisters. “For now, we want to enjoy this weekend. Enjoy our time with our family.”

Feyre and Elain both smiled at that and Feyre rested her head on Nesta’s shoulder.

Tomorrow would be a new day. The sun would be bright and shining and they’d spend the day how they’d originally planned.

But that didn’t mean it wouldn’t be a day as crazy as today had been.

#the arrival #the return #acotar 2nd gen #snacmc collabs #snelbz tacmc collab #acotar #acomaf #acowar #acofas #acosf

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boop-le-snoot · 3 years

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main masterlist ☀️ taglist & faq

hot wheels | natasha romanoff x reader

explicit, 5,2k words, f/f. meet-ugly but still very much wholesome. we love a girlboss. natasha catches some random woman keying her brand new car but decides to be the better person for once and hear the woman out. turns out, being the better person can even get one laid! warnings: singular use of the d-slur, references to an abusive ex, lesbian sex.

[no y/n, no "you", nickname only, no reader description - race/age/body type neutral, she/her pronouns]

Natasha gave the tall, lanky boy an unimpressed look as she side-stepped the arguing couple to avoid colliding with the annoyed, teary-eyed woman the boy was groveling to. It was nearing rush hour and there was shopping to be done before the heavy NYC traffic could steer her already busy schedule down into an unmanageable chaos.

"But, Foxy, you know I didn't mean it! I love you, more than anything!"

The items on the spy's list were checked off methodically, item after item landing in the cart with a quiet thud as the redhead maneuvered through the isles with tactical precision. The usual afternoon crowd began to fill the store, taking up the so-needed breathing space; Natasha's shopping trip wasn't a moment of leisure and with her neverending to-do list full, she hurried to the self-check-out register, flying through the motions mindlessly.

Scan, place, beep, boop, pay, load up the bags, make way to the car, load up and pedal to the metal.

Scratch that. No, scratch - Natasha's eyes bulged as she neared her shiny, brand new Charger, seeing the obvious defects even from a mile away: the paint, previously cherry red and gleaming in the sun, ruined by a series of thin, gray lines, standing out unpleasantly on the otherwise pristine vehicle.

And the culprit, who's tuft of hair peeked over the hood of the car on the other side of the Charger, almost fully hidden between her car and the large Chevrolet in the next parking spot over.

Natasha's fingers clenched around the handle of the cart as she fought the urge to reach for her knife safely holstered under her leather jacket. "Excuse me?" Tone quiet and deadly, the spy prepared herself to fight or at least slightly shake up the hooligan.

The figure froze, vaguely familiar clothing and a puffy, tear-stained face slowly rising from behind Natasha's car. "In my defense, he deserves it," the girl - Foxy - the one that was arguing in front of the store earlier, declared through a stream of angry tears. "Call the cops if you want, I don't care." It was unclear if the girl recognised her, the Black Widow, as she made no move to run for the hills, just pathetically sniffled, pocketing the keys she used to scratch Natasha's car.

"That's my car," The spy responded flatly, a great deal of amusement crawling into her face as Foxy's eyes bulged, jaw fell slack, horror plain and evident overshadowing the waterworks. Natasha quickly pieced two and two together but patiently waited for the initial shock to subside before popping a question. "A word of advice, if I may?"

Foxy nodded, dumbfounded, frantically scrambling for the contents of her pockets, searching for something with the agility of a panicking cat, more than half of the contents spilling out onto the ground.

Natasha unlocked the car, popping the trunk and loading in her bags as she raised her voice to be heard over the noise of a busy parking lot. "Don't mess with the paint, the insurance will cover it. Slash three tires - not four - or take a swing at the front bumper and the headlights," the trunk slid shut with a quiet click as the spy inspected the damages close-up. Her Charger looked like it was attacked by a pack of aggressive, feral cats with nails of steel. "And always check the number plates before committing acts of vandalism to make sure you're enacting revenge on the right person." The last part was said with a smirk.

As the spy stepped closer to Foxy, she noted the excessive puffiness of her cheeks and the shaking fingers that held a checkbook and a pen. The woman looked torn between terrified and apologetic, worrying her lip between her teeth. "I'm so, so sorry. Todd just got his new car, it's identical to yours and I didn't get the chance to memorize the number plate yet," the offending man's name was said with a pitiful growl. "How much?" She weakly motioned to the ruined bodywork.

"What'd he do?" Natasha didn't resist her curiousity, leaning against the driver's side door and sizing up the other woman. She was pretty, well-dressed and reasonably wealthy on the first sight. "Yeah, he looked like a Todd," The quip slipped from the redhead's lips as she remembered the man from earlier. Foxy looked way too good to be wasting her time on someone who looked like an adolescent that hadn't outgrown his skater boy phase.

Foxy chuckled shyly at Natasha's remark, smoothing a hand over her face. "Lord, where do I even begin..." The sigh was loud and long. "He lived in my apartment rent-free, made me give up my cat by lying about his allergies, went through nine low-wage jobs in two years, did nothing but play video games in his free time and developed a pot addiction, thus spending all his money on it," she began steadily but her tone grew in pitch with every added offence as Natasha's eyebrows climbed higher and higher. "My last straw was when he took out a loan he couldn't pay off to buy his brand new cool car," the words were spat out with venom. "I threw him out last Saturday. He's been following me around all the time," Foxy continued, growing dark in the face. "And then I found out he had been cheating on me for I don't know how long. I just... I just lost it," she finished pathetically, all but crumbling into a pile of human misery.

Natasha's face had frozen into mute disbelief somewhere around the first half of the story, repulsion and astonishment mixing into a flurry of quiet rage on the random woman's behalf. Menfolk were bizarre animals, and as much as the spy felt herself annoyed by her roommates at the tower, she couldn't help but feel relieved that the men surrounding her were far from douchebags of the casual variety. This Todd, however, was no amateur, and had done Foxy really, really dirty.

The redhead made up her mind rather quickly. "That's a lot to unpack," she carefully studied the micro-expressions on the other woman's face. "I have a couple of nice bottles of wine at my place and nobody to share them with. Care for a glass?"

Foxy's eyes widened once more. "I don't- I don't want to take up your time, I mean, I'm sure you've got more important shit to do, like save the world and y'know..." The stammering was followed by a shy look to the side.

So, Foxy had recognised her. And she didn't go running the other way like most people that encountered her in disadvantageous situations did. "I actually don't, I was just getting my shopping done for a lack of better things to do," Natasha lied seamlessly, motioning to the other side of the car. "Hop in." Mission reports and Barton's pizza date could wait.

The woman made quick way around, buckling into the seat in seconds, right before Natasha peeled off from the parking lot towards the Avengers tower at breathtaking speeds. The car was a gift from Tony - one of the rare things he managed to get right - and an absolute pleasure to drive.

"What's your name?" The redhead asked, juggling the steering and her smartphone effortlessly.

The woman rattled of her first and last name on between attempts to fix her runny make-up and wipe the dried snot and tears off her face. "Foxy is a nickname my gramps gave me, said I used to excessively play with fox pelts in the attic when I was a kid," the woman added with a snort, totally oblivious to Natasha's eyebrow raise as the spy read the information on her in-between overtaking slower cars.

Good student, good family life, stable income and good career growth in a prospective sector. What did Foxy even find in a guy like Todd? The most important information, however, was also most pleasing. No ties to any kind of intelligence gathering organizations.

As Natasha parked and popped the trunk once more, the other woman offered a hand with her shopping bags. Friday acknowledged the newcomer, startling her, causing Natasha to roll her eyes and mention, loudly, that if Tony decided to pay them a surprise visit, he may end up castrated or shot on sight, much to Foxy's bashful snickering.

Once the shopping was put away and the wine opened, the spy let herself curl up on the couch opposite the woman who studied her Spartan style apartment with curios eyes. The lack of knick knacks must've been a surprise for her: Natasha's apartment looked bare compared to what she'd seen in other's people's homes but the desire to make the environment more cozy had never been strong enough to actually act upon it. She wasn't used to staying in a place for very long.

"Do you still want to get back at the bastard?" The redhead asked once the first bottle was coming to an end. The alcohol was sitting low, pleasantly warm in their bellies and the food that they'd ordered in the middle of a casual chit-chat lulled them into a state of comfortable stupor.

"I want to gouge his eyes out and wear them as a battle trophy," Foxy was slightly slurring her words, much more affected by the wine than the stoic, experienced agent. "But I guess I can settle for petty crime or arson."

"I'm sensing you didn't tell me the whole list of grievances," true to her words, the spy felt as it there was a possibility quite a few things were being left unsaid.

Foxy sighed once again, placing the empty glass on the table and using her palm to prop her flushed face against it, blankly staring off into the far end of the room. "I came out as bisexual last year and he was giving me so much shit for it. Todd kept pushing for a threesome and when I refused, started accusing me of cheating during our fights, called me a whore a couple of times," the more she spoke, the higher Natasha's anger levels rose.

Not only was a Todd a dick, he was an abusive one. Truly, the grand prize of Asshat Lottery. "I have an idea or three," the spy twirled the remaining red liquid in her glass before downing it. "But it'll have to stay between us two."

"I'm listening," Foxy turned to meet Natasha's face, eyes considerably more alert than seconds before.

A few days past their amicable wine-and-revenge get-together, Natasha's doorbell rang as if she wasn't already had been made aware by Friday that a visitor was coming up to see her. Boxes of hair bleach and dye laid stacked on the living room table, surrounded by jewelry and assorted accessories. A pitcher of fresh sangria topped the ensemble, two clean glasses placed neatly on the tray next to it.

"Hi, Nat," Foxy's smile was a mile wide - a far cry from the sniffling sad sack of a woman the spy had first met. The nickname flowed freely from the woman's lips, as calm as Natasha's own answering grin and greeting. "I gots the stuff," waving her purse about, the woman kicked off her shoes by the door, approaching Natasha with the same smile that seemed to be more effective at lightening up the room than Tony's expensive designer lamps.

As Natasha's plan achieved a solid state, the two women had quickly come to a realization that Natasha was far too recognizable with her signature red hair and over a flurry of text messages, the decision to switch to a warm caramel blonde was made unanimously. Foxy had rebuked any and all Natasha's attempts to affirm she'd be able to do it herself and the spy gave into the other's chiding, relenting to have her hair dyed by a person who at least had a possibility of seeing the back of her head without having to perform acrobatic tricks.

Foxy was an easygoing, non-problematic person. She was fun to have around, quiet but witty, with intelligent eyes and a realistic view on the world. It was something Natasha valued, alongside the lack of probing questions regarding her past or her job - her insides clenched uncomfortably at the thought of having to lie about those things, or even worse, having to admit to the wrongdoings in her past, however Foxy carefully steered away from topics that were sensitive and never gave Natasha as much as a side-eye if the spy appeared to lack some minor detail that normal women her age all seemed to be aware of.

The curiosity had her ready to burst. Nat's natural defense mechanisms were quite confused, not sure what to make of the woman who almost too friendly to be true, but the kindness in her eyes and the sometimes shy, awestruck looks she gave Natasha when she thought the redhead wasn't looking made up for it in spades.

"What do you think?" The noise of the hair dryer finally ceased, Foxy's voice echoing in Natasha's luxuriously large bathroom.

The newly-blonde spy studied her reflection with a tilt to her head. The ombre was a nice touch - her own hair was naturally darker than the caramel and honey blonde she had chosen, so the almost-brown shading at her roots took much away from the contrast between her lighter hair and darker brows. It was just another disguise for the spy, but somehow, this one felt more like home than any of the previous faces she had worn.

"I like it, you were right about the ombre," Natasha voiced her thoughts, eyes sliding over to the smiling woman behind her, feeling the corners of her mouth begin to creep upwards in involuntary response.

"You looked good with red hair, don't misunderstand me," Foxy briefly raised her hands. "But you have a light complexion and lighter colors do wonders for bringing out the youthfulness. Even if we don't have much joy these days, a good hair color is an opportunity to showcase the bit," she briefly touched her own hair in an exaggerated attempt at driving her point home.

The fun part was done, the time came to execute the revenge. It wasn't exactly anything special; rather, the plan was quite simple - let Todd make a fool out of himself in front of his friends and perhaps (a slightly, teensy possibility) get himself arrested. The two women took their time to get dolled up, not too much - but rather, adding just that little bit to themselves to easily attract moderate amounts of attention from men.

The bar was busy, noisy and full of people when the two women stepped through the door. Natasha's eyes scanned the room out of habit, easily spotting the tall, lanky Todd in the far end of the bar, laughing and boozing with equally pathetic-looking man-children. The urge to gag was almost irresistible.

The spy let herself to be led to the bar by Foxy who looked mildly uncomfortable. Natasha was sure that if she was to touch the other woman's face, it would be flaming under the circumstances. "Try to relax a little, I won't bite," with a quip to her companion, Nat ordered them a vodka cranberry each, sitting down with her back to the men. "Tell me when he notices us and starts moving this way."

Foxy nodded minutely, clutching her drink for dear life and taking generous sips to calm herself down and relax like the spy had requested. They talked about everything and nothing in between, Natasha's hand on Foxy's knee crawling closer to her hip as minutes passed by without interruption. Loud noises of men playing darts and drunkenly cheering reached the womens earshot every now and then, causing Foxy to throw increasingly infuriated glances towards her ex-boyfriend and the Black Widow's current victim of choice.

Sitting opposite the perfectly composed, smiling woman, it was clear as day she was, indeed, best of the best. Despite knowing Foxy for only a few days, Natasha managed to pull off a very convincing girlfriend: her body language was nothing short of absolutely besotted and the googly eyes the spy was making had Foxy constantly remind herself that it was only for show. There was no way this gorgeous, incredible human would be interested in someone as plain and ordinary as herself.

"Heads up," Foxy's smile suddenly grew a mile wide as she stared directly at Natasha, eyes alight with fury at the scene about to unfold. Natasha's reply was to briefly tighten the grasp on the other's leg in silent support.

"Hey, baby," Todd was drunk enough for the stench of his breath to reach both women. "Oh, I see you're with a friend," his attempt at flirting only made Natasha scrunch up her face like a cat that accidentally smelled a lemon.

"Leave me alone," Foxy stated firmly, knowing the phrase wouldn't do anything to deter her overzealous ex, but this time - she counted on it.

"It's okay, I can share," the slurred words had a couple of people nearby raise their eyebrows at the audacity.

"I'm not interested," Foxy snapped. "In fact, there is absolutely nothing your freeloading, cheating ass can bring to my table."

The woman radiated satisfaction as gasps sounded out around them; Todd was a regular at this bar and most people there knew him in one way or another. The moment of joy, however, was brief.

"Listen, bitch, you have no business talking to me like that," full of drunken bravado, the man spat angrily, taking unsteady steps closer to Foxy. "What you need is a decent man that can handle your outbursts, not some dyke..." before he could even utter another offensive syllable, Natasha had his wildly gesturing arm twisted painfully behind his back, easily forcing the inebriated man to his knees.

"Wanna try that again, champ?" Sarcasm flowed freely from the spy's lips as the patrons in the bar gasped. The civilian clothing and the new hair color might have been an effective short-term disguise but once the crowd had seen her neat little party trick and had taken a good look at her face, nobody was doubting her identity. "Call the cops, will you?" She addressed the shocked bartender who immediately scrambled to obey.

"I didn't do anything!" Todd cried out, eyes drunkenly darting between the Black Widow's quiet rage and Foxy's grim stone face.

"Huh, that's weird. Because I clearly heard and saw an attempted hate crime," Natasha's voice attained a sardonic tint. "And I have a bar full of witnesses," the spy shrugged, letting go of his arm but keeping a boot firmly planted on his back to prevent him from escaping. "I hope you have a lawyer."

Foxy snorted, reaching for her unfinished second drink. "Tough luck."

Out of the corner of her eye, she spied Todd's friends inching closer to the exit door second by second, as if they could stand a chance against a professionally trained secret agent. Luckily for them, Natasha wasn't interested in the remainder of Todd's gang of losers and merely raised an eyebrow when the other men reached the door, a tiny smirk appearing when his pleading eyes didn't cause any reaction in his friends, the spineless worms, hopping out of the door without as much as a goodbye to the man laying face-down on the dirty floor.

As soon as the police arrived, awestruck by one of the NYC's most famous superheroes just casually standing in a bar, they eagerly collected the inebriated offender, briskly escorting Todd to the squad car. The bartender and several other patrons confirmed Natasha's words that an attempted hate crime had taken place. Cops were in and out in less than fifteen minutes and the otherwise-pleasant hole-in-the-wall bar returned to its usual evening bustle.

"Celebratory shots?" Natasha laughed as Foxy exhaled, deep and slow, once her racing heart calmed down.

"My treat," the other woman motioned for the bartender and soon, a line of colorful glasses appeared in front of the women. Each downed a glass easily, slamming it back on the table. "Man, this is everything I never knew I needed," Foxy confessed with a shy smile. "Thanks, Nat. You're the best."

The spy responded with a satisfied smile, picking up another glass and holding it out for a toast. "To revenge well-deserved," the glass clicked, alcohol slid easily down their throats. "So, what now?"

Foxy's eyes shone in the bright lights of the bar, relieved and tipsy. The small empty glass twirled easily between her fingers. "Dunno," the shrug came and went. "Maybe go on vacation. To Florida."

Natasha let out a belly laugh, downing her last shot without as much as a stutter in her movements, Foxy's eyes lingering on the stray drops of alcohol running from the spy's plump lips. "A vacation with the crackheads? Romantic," the quip was received with an eyeroll from the other woman.

"Spoilsport," Foxy, too, finished her booze and placed the money and a hefty tip on the bar, tapping twice to get the bartender's attention. "I meant more like - lay on the beach, sip mimosas, look at sexy people in swimsuits..."

"Florida is for old people," Natasha objected, pulling her leather jacket back on and leading them both outside. The evening air was crisp, bringing a clearer head and re-arranging the thoughts back into a more sensible state.

Foxy easily picked up her pace to match Natasha's precise strides leading them in the direction of the former's building. The warm buzz of vodka coupled with the fresh air and her desire for retribution well-fed, Foxy settled into a comfortable silence next to the spy. They reached the building quickly, their pace brisk and distractions lacking.

"Care for a nightcap?" She didn't know what prompted her to blurt out the words; as soon as the words registered in her brain, they were already out and Foxy's face heated, fingers fumbling for the keys in her pocket, Natasha's touch still warm and lingering on the side of her leg.

The spy seemed amused, studying Foxy's nervous habits with a crooked smirk. "Sure," she agreed amicably, following the woman into the apartment building, not missing both the rigidity of her back and the added spring to her step.

A moderately sized, well-decorated apartment revealed itself behind the open door, scarcely illuminated by the NYC lights coming in from a glass wall in the living room, reflecting the vast living space furnished with a large couch.

As soon as the door clicked shut, Natasha turned around, stepping into the other woman's personal space with the grace of a predator. Two shining eyes stared back at her in the darkness, framed by fluttering lashes. Foxy's bottom lip disappeared behind her teeth, skin gleaming with perspiration.

The recently-turned blonde spy wasted no time caging the other woman between her body and the door, chests almost touching. The air around them was charged, Foxy's heart thudding loudly in her chest as she gulped. Natasha studied her expression, "You want this?" she whispered against her lips, sharing the oxygen between them.

"Ye-yeah," a short nod and a gasp later, the women were devouring each other, grasping at their hands and shoulders like they were drowning. Hot and wet and sharp from the booze, the kisses were as graceless as their fingers haste in removing each other's top layers of clothing.

The sharp corner of the living room archway dug painfully into Foxy's back, bringing an additional sense of awareness: this was real. This was happening. Natasha's blonde locks flowed through Foxy's fingers, soft and silky, a contrast to the teeth pulling on her lip in impatient hunger. Foxy grunted in response, parting from the other woman to send her t-shirt flying somewhere in the direction of the kitchen.

"Bedroom," mere minutes in and she already sounded utterly and throughly ruined.

"Couch," Natasha was equally feverish to get to the good parts. Her belt was unbuckled and the nice button-up she'd worn hung open, a plain white bra iriscendent on her alabaster skin.

Letting herself be led to the couch, Foxy could barely take her eyes off the woman in front of her, making sure she wasn't ogling Natasha outright yet secretly hoping to be caught anyway. The blonde was like a porcelain doll, unreal, firm and soft at the same time.

The moment Foxy gracelessly landed on the couch, Natasha was all up in her space, straddling the other woman with the grace of a savage cat; lips once more attached to her flesh, Natasha left a trail of hot, wet marks starting at the jawline and ending at the cups of Foxy's bra.

Not knowing what to do with her hands, Foxy grasped Natasha's hips, unable to hold back a moan heavy with lust as the spy ground down with her hips. It was exhilarating to see the other woman affected by their heavy make-out session; nothing short of absolutely smitten to see Natasha pull back, panting and disheveled, to shed her shirt and her bra.

Unable to resist the urge, Foxy's hands reached out to cup the spy's round breasts, tugging her closer to pop a rosy nipple into her mouth. Natasha shivered, arching into the caress, holding onto the other woman's hair and tugging it in the direction only she knew.

Natasha wasn't loud, she wasn't wild; her moans were more like muted gasps but her body spoke for her louder than any words: the grinding was getting more impatient, Natasha's hold grew stronger. As Foxy fumbled for the button of Nat's pants, she felt the soft, delicate lace underneath. Natasha had come prepared.

"Hold on," the spy mumbled, hopping off Foxy's lap to quickly push her pants and panties down her legs with practiced ease. The other woman followed suit, leaving herself to be bare besides her underwear, the attempt to remove them intercepted by Natasha. "Let me," quiet words tickled the skin of her throat where Nat had immediately attached her mouth.

Foxy scrambled to intake the oxygen she needed, letting herself feel the hot glide fully, having lost herself in pleasure, missing the exact moment Nat's fingertips breached the waistband of her panties. Soft and nimble, so different to a man's roughened skin, the sensation was as strange as it was sweet. The urge to arch and rock her hips against the nearest surface intensified and Foxy could only keen, quiet and high, causing Natasha to chuckle to herself.

"Enjoying yourself, sweet girl?" The miniscule trace of coyness seeped into the blonde's voice. The engorged, puffy, moist flesh of Foxy's lower lips parted eagerly to Natasha's experimental dip.

"Yeah, yes," the woman slid down, spreading her legs in invitation. "Please, touch me," begging to be filled in all the empty spaces, Foxy threw her head to rest against the back of the couch, watching Nat through unfocused eyes.

"Oh, I will," the spy purred, sliding lower to put her face next to Foxy's dripping cunt. The spy's fingers glistened with arousal and she popped them into her mouth, licking them clean before doing the same to her lover's swollen folds. The response was instantaneous and loud, Foxy shook under Natasha's expert teasing. "Stay still," she ordered quietly, patting Foxy's belly.

Molten, honeyed waves of bliss overtook common sense and awareness, tiny sparks shooting up Foxy's cunt every time Natasha suckled at her clit. The spy read her body like an open book, following the movements of her hips with her mouth, always a step ahead and slightly south. Foxy's peak was imminent, approaching rapidly, as Natasha's sweet merciless assault wrung every single drop of the thick, precious liquid out of her cunt.

It only seemed to gush more, the woman pushing her cunt into Natasha's face as the latter doubled down on her efforts to bring her to ecstasy.

The waves began deep in the pit of Foxy's stomach, making her legs tremble, her toes curl and the flutters of her cunt increase in speed and intensity. Silky soft and typhoon wet, her orgasm crashed her mind into million pieces and Nat dutifully extracted everything until the last drop with the skillful touch of her tongue and fingers.

"Tash," Foxy moaned. Her legs quivered at the slightest touch to her oversensitive cunt.

"Mhm," was the blonde's reply, contented humming getting closer and closer until the womens lips met once more in a fierce, passionate kiss.

Foxy's hands immediately sought purchase on Natasha's hips, searching for the spots that would make the spy's body song in the same way she'd done to Foxy; seemingly much more reserved, quiet but happy sighs broke past Nat's lips in response to gentle hands stroking where she was most sensitive.

"I've got a vibe in my bedroom," clarity finally broke through the orgasm haze, Foxy's brain slowly coming back to reality.

"No, I want your fingers," Natasha's reply was assertive as she moved her hips in tandem with Foxy's hand, dripping the sweetness of her around all over.

The urge to pop the fingers into her mouth was strong, so Foxy did just that, moaning at the tangy taste, Natasha's breath quietly stuttering at the sight in front of her.

"I want to eat you out," the words barely had left Foxy's mouth as Natasha flipped them so she was the one laying on the couch, spread-eagled and open for the other woman's eager mouth to explore. Wet, sloppy and so, so tender, Foxy let herself taste the arousal of her lover.

"Yeah," so soft, one could easily miss it, the approval didn't get lost in the headrush nonetheless. With grace, Foxy sought the spots that would force Natasha to break her silence with slow, broad motions until the blonde had no choice but to arch her hips into the sensations, chasing her pleasure, losing the aura of restraint she'd so carefully cultivated.

No time for self-control. The temperatures were climbing steadily with every single movement, both lost in their imperfect shared rhythm, the soft of Foxy's tongue and fingers like finest silks on Natasha's eager cunt. Two fingers slipped in without resistance, immediately seeking out the soft, spongy spot that made the blonde's toes curl and mouth open in a silent scream.

Foxy's free hand groped around for Natasha's ass hastily, bringing her hips closer to her mouth, tongue never ceasing its assault on the blonde's clit as her body grew more rigid, fingertips going white with the force she was gripping the comforter.

"Gospodi bozhe," came the mumble, the only warning before Natasha's powerful thighs locked Foxy in place as the blonde rode out her orgasm, violently shivering, dousing the other woman's face in her sweet release. Dutifully, Foxy stroked the silk of Natasha's skin everywhere she could reach, her hot breath on the blonde's pussy easing her back to Earth through the aftershocks.

Natasha's eyes opened, feeling her lover's look of adoration, and she cracked a reluctant but genuine smile. There was something about Foxy that was just so-

Natasha taglist (open, see fic hat for info; crossed out nicknames are the ones I couldn't tag, please update your info):

@mikariell95 @letsby @sleep-i-ness @toomanyrobins @persephonehemingway @bluecrazedandbeautiful @slothspaghettiwrites @xoxabs88xox @marvelsbanner @sapphicnoodle69

#bun writes #bun writes: drabbles #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff smut #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #black widow x female reader #black widow smut #black widow x reader

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castleoikawa · 3 years

Text

‧₊◜ # breath

↳ ❝ i am so incredibly sorry that i fell in love with you, it was never my intention. ❞

—description you had never meant to fall in love with the king, his fiery temper and cold demeanor would turn anyone away. yet, the childhood memories seemed to stay with you both.

—pairing king katsuki bakugou x castle stable girl reader

—warnings aged up characters, swearing, angst, fluff

—word count 3k

—authors note my first request! i hope that you enjoy this! :D

masterlist | unedited

Your job was rather boring. You would attend the stables, slaving away to maintain the horses for each of the king and his court. Your day would consist of constant heat, moving, and cleaning up only to start again right after.

You seemed to always be moving. You would be on a horse, gliding through the acres of land; or you would be feeding them, grooming them, cleaning their hooves and applying new horseshoes.

Yet, everything seemed to freeze whenever King Katsuki Bakugou would be in your presence. Everything would be in utter standstill. Everything except the beating of your heart that ricocheted against your ribs.

He was an excellent rider; he had to be, being King and all.

While you were a child, Katsuki would sneak into the stables at dusk and steal them for midnight rides. You lived at a small cottage next to the stables, a small shack made of wood and stone behind the castle. So you always noticed when he would appear in the late morning hours with winded hair and flushed cheeks.

Those were the fleeting moments in which you witnessed the true him.

It continued into the preteen years as well. When his parents would tell him to rest in his bedroom, he would run to the stables and steal his gorgeous black horse named Hades and disappear into the night.

You would watch from your window, eyes gazing at the royalty as if he were a rare bird that you were afraid of scaring off.

“You stare a lot.” He caught you once. He was walking back towards the castle, between the stables and your home. You only blinked in response, pretending that you were invisible.

A small interaction that lead to more.

During the day, Katsuki would pretend to be uninterested and unaware of you.

When he would arrive with his parents, the King and Queen, for their midday rides throughout the week, Katsuki would stand with his back straight and hair brushed. He did not even look like the kid you knew, primed and pampered and perfect for his royal status.

He would ride his horse alongside his parents through the trails and gardens.

Yet, at night, he was free.

Katsuki indirectly invited you a copious amount of times to ride with him. He would never say it, but he would motion for you to join or say, “Don’t just stare like you normally do, Stable Girl.”

And you joined. Who were you to deny the request of the prince?

Your horse was much slower than his. He slowed down to match your speed, it was an endearing thing that you knew he did. Though he complained nonetheless, strings of “You are so slow!” and “You must be an idiot to enjoy riding like this.”

When you rode your palomino horse alongside Hades, it was as if you were riding next to the night sky itself. The only indicator that he was still with you was his light hair.

That was a routine for a majority of your childhood. Berated and ignored during the day, and free riders at night.

“The sun is rising.” You warned him one particular night.

The two of you were in the stables, just putting the horses in and petting their noses.

“Let it rise.” Katsuki rolled his eyes. “What are my parents going to do? Fire me?”

It was one time that you genuinely thought that he was handsome. At the age of fourteen, he was confident and bright. And as the sun rose, the golden hue reflected off of his skin as if he owned the sun itself.

“Mom, why does that girl have shit on her?” Katsuki once asked the Queen directly in front of you. The two of you were around the age of seven, perhaps eight.

The Queen only rolled her eyes. “Because that’s what her job is, stupid boy. She works in cleaning up the horse shit.”

“That’s fucking disgusting.” Katsuki said. You felt anger boil in your chest.

“Continue to use words like that and it will be one of your chores.” The Queen threatened.

He was one of power and authority. Katuski Bakugou was one of strict rules and temper tantrums that left the castle in fear. Because he was to be feared, he could flick his wrist and you would lose your head.

Those moments of childhood were far forgotten. A lost prince replaced by a king.

You should be pissed at the king. For years, you had been a secret. A nightly visitor that shared secrets under the moon. It was as if none of that had happened.

But you knew that he had more responsibilities than some girl who worked in his horse stables. He was to rule his kingdom, marry a wealthy girl from another kingdom to merge powers, and live his life of royalty.

You were to attend to the horses.

“That’s my horse.” Katsuki’s voice echoed through the stables, deep and loud against the near silence.

You realized that it was his horse that you were cleaning. You were too focused on your work to notice.

With the trimmer in your hand, you wiped the mud onto your pants. “If you plan to ride her, it’ll be a couple more minutes. I’m replacing the horseshoes right now.”

“You will make the king wait?” He inquired.

You leaned on the wall from inside of the stable. “I will.”

There was a moment of silence. He stood with his back straight and crown sitting atop his light hair, hands clasped behind his back. His cruel handsomeness peered at you in the afternoon sun.

You knew that you should not talk to him that way, and request instead of demand. You knew that he was debating on whether to hang or burn you for disrespecting him.

But instead, he said, “Carry on then. I will wait.”

You watched him for a couple of extra seconds before returning to your work. He said nothing else as he watched and waited.

He was to be married soon.

There was a three day festival both in the castle and along the streets. The princess is from another kingdom across the lake, and would bring a great deal of trading and business.

The arranged marriage meant that there would be a grand wedding in which everyone may attend, along with a week long festival after. Parties among parties.

And you were still hard at work.

When your parents passed, you were left with the remains with only yourself. An empty house and your single friend was no longer a friend.

You could not help the feeling in the pit of your stomach. One of jealousy and hope all at once.

“What are you doing here?” You looked outside, as if you were being followed and needed to confirm that no one else was around.

Katsuki Bakugou stood at your doorstep in casual clothes and a familiar look in his ruby eyes.

“You will come riding with me.”

“I will, will I?” You sighed. “Katsu-- King Bakugou. I suggest you go back to your castle. You have a princess to love.”

“It was not a request.”

He stepped back, expecting you to follow. You did.

“You did not answer my question, My Lord.” You said as you entered the stables. “What are you doing here?”

“Can you not be a complete idiot for just a second?” He barked, turning to you. “We are going for a ride. Like we used to.”

“I did not think you remembered.” You confessed, not fazed by his anger. He was always like that.

“How would I forget?” Katsuki turned to take his horse. “It was a majority of our childhood, was it not?”

“Didn’t seem like it.” You mumbled, mainly to yourself.

If he heard, he did not acknowledge it.

“Get your horse. Let’s go to the trails.”

You treaded slowly behind him, hesitant and nervous. Perhaps he was planning to kill you for your disrespect. He hadn’t said a word.

“King Bakugou...”

“Katsuki.” He stopped. He looked over at you. “You should know better than that.”

“We are not children any longer.” You said.

“That’s obvious.” His voice was impatient. “But we are in private. You can call me by my name.”

“That is the issue here.” You sat on your horse beside him, glancing at the open field. “We should not be in private.”

When there was no reply, you stole a glance at him. He was absolutely regal despite being in casual clothes. Black shirt and cloth pants almost blending into his horse. His light hair and ruby eyes seem to glow, matching the golden circular crown on his head.

He did not look as he usually did.

“The sun is rising.” His eyes were on the horizon, the darkness being covered in light.

You smiled. For the first time in a long time, you smiled. You thought that you caught a rise in the corners of his lips as well.

“Let it rise.” You said.

And he did smile, a full smile that you hadn’t witnessed since a child.

You knew at once that you were in love. It crushed into your chest as if it were beaten into you. It had always been love. In love with the king, in love with someone to be married, and in love with faded memories.

He came back at nights again. The saying was correct, history repeats itself.

You would run through the trails and the garden and end at the field, one that overlooked a hill of flowers. It was the same flower field you would end up as children.

“Run with me!” Katsuki would cheer, snatching your hand and bringing you into the flowers. Stubby child legs and chubby cheeks.

You would giggle and follow him as you always did, struggling to catch up to the fiery boy. The flowers would bend beneath your feet but neither of you cared.

Cold night winds hit your faces, the mixture of that and laughing leaving you both out of breath and with reddened cheeks.

It seemed like lifetimes ago.

You went to one party. One.

You dressed in the one dress you had, your mother’s dress. She wore it to every formal event that you could remember.

The castle was absolutely stunning, pristine whites and clean floors. Even in your dress and heels, you felt underdressed. You were sure that you smelled of stables and dirt.

“You were not there last night.” A voice said from behind you.

You were talking to one of the cooks, both of you laughing and exchanging jokes about working in the castle. You couldn’t remember the last time you had social interaction this much. It was enlightening.

King Katsuki Bakugou looked more stunning than you could imagine. A red cloak with fur around his shoulders, white and black fitted suit, hair styled to hold his crown in perfection. Rings decorated his fingers and earrings ran along his ears.

He excused the cook from the conversation, leaving the two of you alone in the corner.

“You will draw attention, talking to me in public.” You told him.

He scoffed. “It’s my party. I will draw attention if I speak to anyone.” He paused. “You look different, I almost did not recognize you.”

“It’s because you only ever see me in my work clothes or my pajamas.” You semi joked.

When someone walked by, Katsuki’s voice grew louder. “You don’t smell like shit this time, either. I wonder if you made that dress or found it.”

“Hm.” You glared. “Very performative. Must be easy to keep up the scary King act, huh?”

“You’re being rather informal to me today, especially for someone in public.” He said, but his tone was warning.

“Were you not the one who visits me at night and asks me to be informal?” You asked. “That was embarrassing, what you just did.”

“Oh, suck it up. It can’t be worse than what you do on the daily.” Katsuki’s eyes flicked to yours.

“I would rather clean up horse shit for hours than be berated in front of the castle workers.” You told him, stepping around him to meet with some of the maids.

You ignored the King for days.

It was a rather stupid plan, him being of his position. But you were both petty and angry with him.

For someone who knew you since you were a child, for someone who met you every day, and for someone who you knew to be warm and not cold... he really did have two faces.

“Open this door.” He ordered, voice casting throughout your house from outside of the door.

You flung the door open. “Go by yourself.”

“She lives.” Katsuki didn’t even have his crown on this time, just a shirt and clothes pants. “Come. You’re being stubborn.”

“I’d rather not.” You moved to close the door.

“It is as if you want to piss me off and fire you.”

“Go on and fire me then.” You threatened. “Try to find someone else who would take care of your precious horse as I have. Or meet you in the night as I have. Or...”

Something shut you up. A pressure against your lips forced them closed.

It took you a moment to realize that he was kissing you. Katsuki Bakugou, the King, was kissing you.

You kissed him back.

Falling into patterns, it would seem, was your specialty.

The nightly rides turned into kisses and smiles. The two of you would ride only to stop and end in the grass.

You thought of his wife, of his title. You thought of your job, your title. You thought of everything. Yet every thought would cease when he would grab your face and place a kiss to your lips.

You hated it.

Every time you met in public, he would act as if he knew nothing of you.

One particular morning, he arrived with the newly appointed Queen. His wife.

“It is disgusting here, Katsu.” She complained, lifting her dress to avoid the mud that littered the ground.

“You said that you wanted to learn to ride.” Katsuki said. “I told you to wear pants.”

He turned to you, not looking you in the eye as you brushed your horse.

“Is Maple available to ride?”

Maple. His mother’s old horse, a perfect chocolate brown and very calm.

“She is, and she’s freshly clean.” You said. Your mind flashed with memories of his lips on yours only hours ago. “Maple and Hades, My Lord?”

“Yes.”

You helped them lead the horses out of the stables and watched as he helped his wife onto the horse. She struggled but eventually managed to balance.

“The girl who works in your stables,” She said, though you were right next to her. Like you weren’t a person. “She’s a bit gross, yes?”

“Eh. I’m sure she’s used to it.” Katsuki shrugged.

“I couldn’t imagine living in such conditions.”

There was no defense, no “I’ve been coming through here every day for so long I hadn’t noticed”, nothing but a simple, “Let’s ride. We don’t want to be here all day.”

“These meetings need to end.” You told him. You were at the field, sitting on your separated horses and taking in the silence. “You are the King. You needn’t visit a girl who works in your castle.”

“You’re different.”

“How so?” You offered. “I work in your castle. It is not my job to kiss you, or...”

“Shut up for—”

“I need to say what I need to say.” Your voice was soft. “And I believe that...”

“ —just a moment.” He cut you off. “You are different. You always have been.”

“Is that why you only ever meet me in the dead of night?” You asked. “Or berate me during the day? I am not stopping these meetings and this friendship just to save your reputation in case we get caught. I am stopping them because I cannot take your constant changes.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” He rose his voice. He jumped off of his horse only to pace in front. “You simply don’t get it. Of course you wouldn’t.”

“You’re the King, Katsuki.” You said from above him. “I get that you have to—”

“Do the years not mean anything to you?”

“Do they mean anything to you?” You asked. “For years, you didn’t speak to me. Didn’t visit or see me as a person. For years I waited around and wondered about our friendship. And you come back and interrupt it now only to repeat the same things.”

“You’re a bitch, you know that?”

“And you’re a coward.” You spit. “You create false memories with me every single day.”

Katsuki went silent, looking up at you before mounting his horse again.

“I did not mean for this to happen.” He spoke in a single breath. He did not look at you. “I am so incredibly sorry that I fell in love with you, it was never my intention.”

He disappeared back into the trees, as he always did.

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