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kythed · 4 years

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free coffee & other perks

kuroo tetsurou x reader

synopsis: you work at the starbucks drive-thru where kuroo comes everyday demanding a free drink for his birthday. and, for some reason, you let him get away with it.

word count: 1,450

“Come on, it’s my birthday!”

“You’ve literally been saying that for two months straight.”

Kuroo lowers his sunglasses and flashes you a crooked smile, one hand resting on his steering wheel. You lean out the window of the Starbucks drive-thru, struggling to keep your apron from flapping up in the biting November wind.

“Go on,” he says, gesturing to the booth behind you. “Check my email. It says it’s my birthday.”

You can hardly keep from rolling your eyes as you reluctantly duck back in and pull up the membership tab on the boxy, outdated monitor beside the cash register. “Which email is it today?”

“[email protected],” he says, voice laced with barely restrained laughter. The corners of his mouth turn up ever so slightly as you hit the keys one by one, taking your sweet time in a last ditch attempt at petty requital for his blatant rule-bending. “Might wanna hurry it up. There’s about a dozen other cars behind me itching for their caffeine fix.”

“You know, I really ought to report this to the manager,” you sigh. Kuroo just cocks his head and lifts his eyebrows. His smugness should annoy you, but that vaguely impish grin does nothing but send a multitude of butterflies swooping into the pit of your stomach.

How frustrating.

“You won’t though,” he says. He knows he’s got you wrapped around his little finger. (You know it too, but you’re a little less than willing to admit as much.) “I think I’ll have a dark roast, by the way, for my special, free birthday drink. Since you haven’t yet asked.”

Chewing on your lip (mostly to avoid smiling), you jot down his order, though you already know it by heart. “With two sugars, I presume?”

Kuroo beams. “You know me so well.”

“Not by choice,” you say, but you allow yourself the tiniest of grins as he begins to roll up his car window. “We’ll have your order ready for you at the next window.”

Two months prior, Kuroo Tetsurou, con-artist extraordinaire, had pulled up to the Starbucks drive-thru you worked at to claim a birthday drink. That in itself was not unusual, but then he had showed up again the next day.

And the next.

And the day after that.

For months.

As it turned out, he’d signed up for a Starbucks membership about a hundred different times with a hundred different emails and a hundred different birth dates, just so he could finagle a free coffee each day.

It was ingenious, you had to admit-- you were a little jealous you hadn’t thought of it first. Maybe that’s why you’d been so initially intent on thwarting him.

And you could have put an end to it, if you’d really wanted to-- but there was just something about him that made you want to see him again. You couldn’t exactly put your finger on it-- maybe it was the sly glint underlying his gaze, or that unruly mop of dark hair.

Or that stupid, hyena like laugh.

Whatever it was, you had begun looking forward to seeing Kuroo everyday, and you almost hated yourself for it.

Almost, but not quite.

Which is why, the next day, when he still hasn’t made his daily drive by two hours after the time he usually comes-- 9 o’clock sharp-- you find yourself wondering where he is, even as you take dozens of other orders. An iced matcha latte, a small Americano, a double espresso-- but no medium dark roast with two sugars.

By noon, you accept that he isn’t going to show up. Maybe he’s sick or something, you think as you lean back in the booth’s single squeaky spinning chair. You spin lazily, pushing one foot off the ground. Squeak. Squeak. Squeeeeak.

Or, says a tiny voice in the back of your mind, maybe he just found someone nicer to buy coffee from.

You groan and put your head in your hands, suddenly regretting the countless times you’d threatened to get Kuroo’s membership revoked, or that time when you purposely got his order wrong just to irritate him. Maybe you should have been a little more pleasant.

You’re so lost in your thoughts that you almost don’t hear the revving of an engine approaching the drive thru until it’s right beneath the window. Shaking yourself from your self-imposed contrition, you scramble to put on your little green visor and your best customer service voice.

You pop your head out the window. “Hi there, welcome to Starbucks, how may I-- oh! It’s you!”

Kuroo grins and, against your wishes, your heart gives a resounding thump. “Someone’s rather excited to see me today.”

“N-no, I’m not,” you say, though your quivering voice gives you away. You can’t stop smiling, either-- damn it. “You’re just late-- I didn’t think you were coming.”

Kuroo presses his hand to his chest with a mock pout. “I’m touched.”

“Whatever,” you say, spinning a pen between your fingers. “Another dark roast?”

“Actually,” he says, pretending to read the menu. “I was thinking of trying something new today. Any suggestions?”

You blink. He’d never ordered anything other than a medium dark roast. “Uhh, well, I’m pretty partial to the vanilla iced coffee, but I don’t know if you--”

“I’ll get that, then,” he interrupts, smiling sweetly. “That and my usual.”

“You want two drinks? Your birthday scam only covers one.”

“Okay, for one thing, it’s not a scam,” he says, trying (and failing) to look offended. “I just happen to have a lot of birthdays. And two, I’m just gonna pay today.”

You give him a narrow eyed glance before shrugging incredulously and beginning to scrawl the order down. “Alright, well, if you say so.”

“Thank you,” he says. He clears his throat, voice taking on an oddly measured tone. “Also, uh, your shift ends in like twenty minutes, right?”

You look up, surprised to see his cheeks tinged with pink. He drums his fingers against the car window nervously. “Yeah, I do. How’d you know?”

“I, uh, I asked the girl at the pickup window yesterday.”

“Oh… why?”

Kuroo bites his lip before smiling brightly, tilting his head cutely like a 6’2” Shirley Temple. “Well, I happen to have two coffees coming my way, but I can only drink one. And, you know, the second one I’m purchasing happens to be your favorite. So, I just figured since you happen to get off soon, you could help me out.”

You stare, unable to register his words for a moment. Then it dawns on you. “Oh. My. God. Are you asking me out on a date? Is that why you came so late today?”

“What? No, no way,” Kuroo says, a wide grin betraying his words. “I just need someone to drink the extra coffee. With me. In a one-on-one environment.”

“That sounds suspiciously like a date.” You lean forward, resting your forearms at the edge of the window. Kuroo shakes his head with a laugh.

“Okay, yeah, you caught me. It’s definitely a date.”

“Ha! Knew it,” you say triumphantly. A soft breeze whistles through the drive-thru, lifting your hair from your shoulders. “Imagine that… the incorrigible Kuroo Tetsurou asking little old me out on a date.”

“What can I say,” he says with a shrug. “I have a thing for girls who bully me relentlessly. Unfortunately.”

“Yeah, that does kind of suck for you,” you say with false sympathy. Internally, however, your heart is throwing the biggest celebratory party it ever has, replete with confetti and champagne.

Kuroo rolls his eyes. “I gotta go; there’s someone waiting behind me. So… I’ll see you in like fifteen? In the parking lot?”

You pretend to consider for a moment. “Well… seeing as you’ll have a coffee waiting for me… I guess I could bear being in your company for a little while.”

“Oh, shush,” he says, shifting the car into drive. “I know you like me. You’re not slick.”

You can’t do anything but grin and shake your head as the car inches forward. He’s right-- you do like him. Probably a little more than you should.

“Make sure you’re still wearing the little hat!” he calls over his shoulder as he pulls away. “It’s cute.”

“Whatever you say!” you sing out as the next customer pulls up in front of you. When you take her order, though, the only thing you can think about is the impending not-date. A not-date with the bane of your existence, Kuroo “give me free coffee” Tetsurou. A not-date you are looking forward to terribly much... needless to say, you do wear the hat.

After all, it’s the least you can do for his birthday.

#haikyuu #haikyuu headcanons #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu!!#kuroo tetsurō headcanons #kuroo tetsurō x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou x reader #kuroo #kuroo tetsurō #kuroo tetsurou

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please-buckme · 3 years

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Makeup.

Bucky Barnes x fem!reader

Summary: Bucky and reader are old friends of a sort and have secretly, but not so secretly, had feelings for each other. What will arise when their feelings for each other are finally brought to the surface? Read the warnings and you’ll find out.

Words: 4.1k

Warnings: Smut 18+ NSFW, a lil fluff, self hate, oral ( m receiving, f receiving) unprotected shmex

A/N: It’s been a minute, but I’m so excited to share this with you guys! Thank you @gogolucky13 for putting up with my constant self doubt and questions 😅❤️

The days dragged on as she worked tirelessly through the week. Once Friday hit, though, there was an excited heaviness that ran through her chest. Friday’s always excited her because Friday, of course, meant the weekend was here and so was the bottle of wine that awaited her at home.

This Friday, however, excited her for another reason: Bucky.

Bucky Barnes is the best friend of y/n’s, newly single, ex husband. She had despised her husband for many years, and for good reason.

Y/n was never allowed to do anything without her husband’s approval. Her ex had her stuck under his thumb for over ten years. She couldn’t go out with friends, had to dress appropriately; which to him meant a dress, stockings and heels. And she wouldn’t dare leave the house without makeup. If he were strict on her on one thing more so than anything, it was makeup.

When y/n woke up in the mornings she had to put makeup on before he saw her, or else he’d make nasty comments. In the beginning, the things he would say to her made her feel horrible. She felt like crawling into a whole and never coming out, to save people from seeing the bare skin of her face. But after a while she’d snap back saying things like ‘I only wish you’d wear makeup, I can’t bear looking at your ugly mug for another second.’ she was harsh, but he was far worse.

She hated her life with him. He was dreadful to be around and a horrible man to be married to. At times, y/n felt like the only good thing that came from there marriage was Bucky. The second they met she’d adored him. Bucky made her laugh, made her feel human anytime he came over, which was quite often. She never really understood why Bucky was friends with him, but she never questioned it. She loved Bucky’s company and missed him so much. Since she’d divorced her husband she hadn’t seen Bucky; it’d been almost a year.

She called Bucky the other day to let him know that her ex had left some stuff at her house and wondered if he’d pick it up. She was elated when he agreed to come.

Y/n had just gotten home when she’d heard Bucky at her door. Shit she cursed to herself, he’s early. Her hands began to shake while the butterflies in her stomach began to flutter. Taking in a few deep breaths and a calming voice telling her ‘you got this, now open the fucking door before he leaves’ , she opened the door.

“Oh god, Bucky,” She purred. He was dressed in a tight leather jacket, adorned with his shiny, muscular, metal arm on full display. She shamelessly looked him over, practically drooling over the greek-god-like man in front of her. “Are you trying to kill me?” She giggled, feeling the blush burn on her cheeks.

“No, of course not.” He laughed, showing off his beautiful smile. Y/n’s breath hitched in her throat, totally enamored by his natural beauty. She stopped laughing and looked towards the floor mat at the door, suddenly feeling self conscious. Before she could be consumed by her self doubting thoughts, bucky continued, “I rode my bike over, which I now know was kind of stupid. I hope you didn’t have too much for me to grab.” He gave her a toothy grin, leaning against the door frame.

“I guess you’ll just have to come back for the stuff you can’t get, which is totally fine by me.” she countered with a wink. His blue eyes bored into hers, making her stomach twist. She bit back a moan then realized she hadn’t invited him in yet, “Oh my gosh, please, come in. How rude of me.” Bucky laughed, following her into the house and closing the door behind him.

“I did just get home, so do you mind if I get dressed down?” She asked, fiddling with the pins in her hair.

“Oh no, go ahead,” He sent her a soft smile, “Just tell me where the stuff is and I will go ahead and bring it down to my bike.” She nodded and had him follow her to the master bedroom closet.

“It’s these four boxes and a few of these dress shirts that I know he needs. I’m just gonna throw away the others.” She smirked and Bucky chuckled.

“Well, since I brought my bike, I can grab two of the boxes and the shirts but I’ll have to come back for the others.” He scratched the back of his neck. He brought the bike to impress y/n, which he realized worked when she gave him a look that could kill, at the door. It took everything in him not to take her right there, same for y/n too. He was secretly praising himself for bringing the bike, too, because now he has an excuse to come back.

Y/n smirked, “Sounds good to me.” She paused, biting her lip as she watched him grab the boxes from the top shelf of the closet. “I’m gonna go take my makeup off now, you good?”

“All good, Doll.” She blushed at the nickname before disappearing to the bathroom. She did her whole unbeautify skin routine, then slipped on some comfy leggings and an old t-shirt. Bucky got her the t-shirt years ago and it’s one of her most cherished articles of clothing, she wonders if he’ll recognize it.

By the time she was done, Bucky had finished strapping the boxes to his bike and was sitting on her bed, facing the bathroom.

“All done?” They simultaneously asked each other, both of them shyly laughed. The room was dimly lit, making y/n wonder what it would be like falling asleep next to him.

“Hey, I remember that shirt. It still looks great on you. Best purchase I ever made.” He smiles weakly. He looks sorful, looking back on the memory wasn’t great for him. He was going to tell y/n of his feelings that day but chickened out. He’s regretted it ever since.

Her nerves got the best of her in that moment as she cleared her throat and laughed breathily, “Uh, thank you. It’s one of my favorites, actually.” Bucky was lost in his thoughts as he stared at her “So- you got it all?” She asked, timidly.

“Um, yeah. As much as I could. Is everything okay?” He asked, suddenly sounding concerned. She tucked a few strands of hair behind her ear.

“I.. uh, yeah- why?”

Bucky huffs, “oh, no reason I just noticed you changed but didn’t take your makeup off. ” The flush on her cheeks turns to a little pink tint, was he being serious or mocking her?

“Shut up.” She laughs off the comment.

“What? Did I say something?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I did take my makeup off. This is my face.” She says, framing her face and sucking in her cheeks and puckering her lips.

Bucky laughs, “I guess I didn’t notice. You’re just as beautiful with it off. Might as well not wear it, in my opinion.”

“W- what?” She was stunned. No one has, not even her ex, told her she was beautiful in years. As time went on she started to hate the way she looked. Sometimes she couldn’t even bring herself to look at her reflection, not disgusted but certainly not proud of her appearance.

To hear someone as handsome as Bucky say she was beautiful made tears well up in her eyes, because even though it was only a comment, y/n finally felt beautiful for the first time in a long time. “What did you just say?”

“I said you look beautiful, y/n.” Bucky visibly gulped, standing up from her bed. He’d always thought y/n was beautiful. The first day he saw her he felt his chest fill with butterflies and fuzzy, lovey-dovey feelings. Then, when he realized she was the one his best friend had been fawning over, he felt envy and jealousy trump the pure, sweet feelings he’d had before.

All he wanted, though, was for her to be happy and just wanted what she wanted. If she wanted to date his buddy, he wanted it for her too. If she wanted to marry his buddy, fuck it, he’ll be the best best man a guy could ask for. If she wanted to act like she was happy in your miserable marriage, then Bucky was right there to comfort her when she felt unwanted. So, when Bucky heard it was finally over, he couldn’t wait to show up at her doorstep as her knight in shining armor. To show her the love she deserved and never let her doubt her worth again.

When she came out of the bathroom without her makeup, he was a goner. He knew she wasn’t allowed to go without makeup around her husband. And seeing her without it just made him love her more. Not only for her beauty but for being so comfortable with him that she didn’t care if she had it on. Her being comfortable around him is all he could ever ask for.

Y/n felt shy in front of Bucky. In all honesty, Bucky always made her feel a little flustered. When he’d come over to hangout with her ex, he’d always spend a decent amount of time with her too. It never passed the point of ‘you’re my best friend's wife, so you’re off limits’. He had never complimented her, not really, too afraid he’d be crossing a line. Afraid that she’d never want him to talk to her again or even want him in her house. He’d tell her she looked nice. But beautiful? This was new and she liked it.

Y/n felt all the feelings she’d had for Bucky over the years creep up inside her, boiling over. A second ago she was worn out, had plans to eat leftovers and go to bed; now she had a taste for something more.. appetizing.

“Take your pants off.” She nearly growled, pulling her hair back into a messy bun.

“W- what? Are you-“

“Bucky, take them off or I’ll do it for you.”

This made Bucky grin, “I prefer the latter.”

A whimper left her lips as they walked towards each other, meeting in the center of her bedroom.

Y/n was hungry, almost desperate, to feel Bucky on her tongue. She sank to her knees and ran her hands along his outer legs, slowly. Bucky took his bottom lip between his teeth while running his fingers through her soft hair, gripping at the bun and yanking it just enough to have a whimper escape her lips.

“I’ve dreamed of this day for so long, but never in my wildest dreams could I have pictured such a beautiful sight.” Bucky whispered just before y/n ran her hands over his fully erect and still clothed cock; earning a hiss from the man above her.

Y/n timidly undid his zipper. She was trying to calm her nerves. She hadn’t had a man in her mouth in so long. She always enjoyed giving head but her ex was never really into it. She was nervous. Nervous because she didn’t want him to feel how eager she was. She didn’t want him to think of her as a slut who would let just anyone fuck her mouth. Bucky was special to her and she felt like, in some way, she needed to prove that. Bucky calling her beautiful though did send a shiver down her spine and caused a wet patch to grow in her underwear.

“I want you in my mouth, Buck.” Y/n moaned, reaching into his boxer and pulling him from his confined space. They both gasped. Bucky gasped at the feeling of her small hand wrapped around the base of his cock and the cool air that hit him when she pulled out his member. Y/n gasped at his size. Bucky’s cock was beautiful. It was soft but hard, intimidating but welcoming. His cock was begging to be touched as the veins protruded, pulsing in her hand. The tip was a painful red, leaking; crying for her to taste his precum. “Oh, god.” She exhaled.

“Like what you see, Doll?” He smirked, rubbing his calloused thumb over her cheek.

“I love it, Buck. May I?” She asked, stroking him softly. He nodded, still smirking. He grabbed her chin and brought her face to the tip of his cock. Y/n hummed, licking the precum from the slit and watching him bite his lip in approval.

“Don’t close your eyes, Buck. I want you to watch me.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

She giggled before kissing the tip of his cock and sliding it into her mouth.

“Fuck!” Bucky breathed. She worked his tip, loving the salty taste of his precum on her tongue. She sucked delicately which was nice but Bucky needed more. Purely by accident, if you ask him, he bucked his hips, causing his cock to hit the back of her throat. Y/n moaned her approval and that’s all Bucky needed. He grabbed the back of her head and slowly thrusted back and forth into her mouth.

It was killing him to go as slow as he was but he didn’t want y/n to feel any discomfort. He did as she asked, though, and never peeled his eyes from hers. He groaned when she removed him completely out of her mouth.

“Shit, did I do-”

“Fuck my mouth, Bucky, hard.” She said kissing and stroking his shaft.

“Oh god, are you sure? I don’t want to hurt you.”

“I don’t mind a little pain.” She smirked, leaving an open mouthed kiss to his tip and slipping him back into her mouth. Bucky didn’t hesitate, positioning his hands around her face and thrusting harder and faster. She gagged when he hit the back of her throat, sending vibrations through his body. Tears ran down her cheeks as drool ran down her chin.

“You’re takin me so well, Doll.” Bucky groaned. Y/n hollowed out her cheeks and sucked a little harder at his words of encouragement. “Oh shit. Just like that, just like that. I’m gonna cum.” Y/n moaned, rubbing her thighs together. “You want my cum, huh? Want me to cum in this pretty mouth?” She nodded, never taking her eyes from his as his orgasm approached.

Bucky’s thrusts became sloppy, hitting the back of her throat every time before pushing all the way in and holding himself in the back of her throat. He groaned and cursed loudly as his cum ran down her throat. “Oh, god!” He whimpered before realizing her. Y/n gasped and coughed once he exited her mouth.

Bucky couldn’t wait any longer as he pulled her to her feet and smashed their mouths together, immediately slipping his tongue into her mouth.

The taste of her mouth was heavenly, making him even dizzier than before. She was sweet like candy with a hint of saltiness from his spend. He was overwhelmed with her. He felt like he could melt into her touch, live inside her bones so they never had to part. Just thinking of having to leave her side frightened him. He couldn’t be without her touch now. Didn’t want to spend one more second of his life without her.

Y/n moaned into the kiss as she undid the zipper of his leather jacket. “As hot as you look in leather, I need to see you.” Bucky shuffled the jacket off his arms and lifted his arms so she could remove his shirt. She hummed, “You have no idea how badly I've wanted to touch you. So many years,” She kissed down his chest, “Watching you at pool parties, seeing the water glisten on your skin. When you’d help fix stuff around the house, I couldn’t take my eyes off you. Especially when sweat trickled down your throat in the summer heat or when you drank water and the tiniest drop would spill from your lips just before you’d pour it over your head to cool off. It took everything in me not to touch you, Bucky.”

Just then, he yanked her up by her arm. He brought his forehead to hers, stifling his breath as he spoke, “I have no idea?” He asked, slipping her t-shirt off, revealing she had no bra on. Bucky groaned, “You think I didn’t notice the way you watched me? How hungry you looked when I’d slip my shirt off. It drove me crazy. I’ve wanted you since the second I met you.” He pinched her right nipple in his metal fingers, making her whimper, softly. “There isn’t one day that has passed since then where I hadn’t thought about you. Picturing you wrapped around my cock, screaming my name. Or wondering how you felt and taste when you cum on my tongue.” He kissed her left nipple now, making her shiver.

“Bucky.” She whined.

“I know, sweetheart. I’m gonna give you the life you deserve. You are my queen and I’m gonna treat you as such.” Before she could comprehend what was happening, Bucky had her in his arms and thrown to the bed. He removed her leggings and underwear in one quick movement, ripping them slightly, before spreading her legs with a loud groan and diving in. Licking a strip from her heat to her sensitive bud.

“Fuck, yes .” she hollered. Bucky hummed against her folds. He never would’ve guessed someone could taste so sweet, so delicious. He couldn’t help but stick his tongue as deep as he could into her heat. Y/n moved her hand into his hair and fucked his face, unable to control herself with how good his tongue felt inside her. “Yes, Bucky, yes.” She whimpered, more tears falling from her eyes as he sucked up all of her juices. She felt such a massive wave of pleasure like she had when he started suck on her clit, replacing his tongue with his fingers in her heat.

“You’re so sweet, y/n.” He groaned against her. “I could cum just by the taste of you.” She moaned at his praises and screamed when he sucked a little harder. “Cum on tongue, please.” Bucky begged and within seconds she’d reached her peak. Her legs trembled around his face as she desperately tried to keep them open. She could feel her juices gush around his fingers just before he removed them and sunk his tongue back in, licking up every ounce of her nectar.

Bucky was in heaven. Groaning his approval as he slippered up everything she could offer him. He was in a complete trance when he pulled his tongue from her heat. He needed more. He kitten licked at her sensitive bud, watching her shiver and squirm at his overstimulating actions.

“Please, Bucky I can’t - fuck .”

“Just one more.” He said between sucking and licking. “God, I could live on you alone. You’re drivin me crazy, Doll.” Y/n cried as the pleasure consumed her body, leading her to another mind numbing orgasm. Her hips bucked erratically into his mouth as she chased the high he’d just brought her to. Once he’d licked up all the juices from her again, he pulled away only to bring his cock to her throbbing entrance. Y/n felt dizzy, almost sick, from all the pleasure. She held her hand to his chest, panting,

“Bucky, please, kiss me.” She was exhausted. Bucky sucked all the juices and life out of her, but she wanted him. She wanted him now or more than ever. Bucky put on a lazy smile and leaned down to kiss her. Both of them moaned the second their lips met. The kiss was slow and passionate. Giving them both a headrush they’d never felt before. Tongues wandered and teeth clashed and bit. Lips puckered, pulled and sucked. Y/n had a strange feeling. A feeling like they’d done this before but in another life. Like they were always destined to be each other’s no matter the situation or time. She was his and he was hers. They would grow old together in this life and grow old in the next one too. Before she could stop the words she whispered, “I love you, James Buchanan Barnes.”

Bucky pulled back. She expected confusion or maybe mild discomfort, but Bucky just smiled and said, “I love you too, y/n. I love you so much.” They both laughed kissing each other even deeper. This is the moment they’d both been waiting for since day one and nothing could ever top this moment right here as they both held each other.

Y/n’s body powered through it’s tired state and the kiss had become needy and sloppy. “Fuck me, Bucky.” He chuckled softly as he pushed into her tight entrance. They both moaned into each other’s mouths as he pushed all the way in and stilled.

Bucky loved her so much. When she said those words he felt his heart drop into his stomach. He’d wanted to hear those words for so long and here they were, coming from the one person he loved most in the world. She was finally his and he was going to show her that. Show her that she belonged to him.

Once he felt her walls relax he pulled all the way out and slammed back in. Hips collided and breaths were shared as Bucky made her his. He groaned in her ear, the knot in her stomach tightened with every sound he made. “You’re mine.” He growled into the crook of her neck just before sucking on the pulse point on her neck.

“Yes, Bucky. I’m- I’m yours. Forever.” She smiled, so close to her climax when he rutted up into with new-found strength. He’d dreamed of this moment with her for so long and now here she was, underneath him, panting and about to cum for the third time tonight. The sounds he admitted from her were heavenly, pushing him closer to his release along with hers.

His metal fingers found her clit, rubbing needy circles over the sensitive bud. Her body jolted at the new sensation as screams of praise left her lips. Her words had become unintelligible as the knot in your stomach had finally snapped.

“Oh, god. Yes, baby. Cum all over my cock. You feel so good, so - good.” He whimpered. Her walls tightened around Bucky, adding to the pleasure, sending her into a trance of her own as her juices leaked all over the both of them.

She could feel the veins of his cock pulsating as his thrusts became sloppy once she came down from her high, signalling his high was about to hit him as well.

“Please, Bucky. Please cum inside me. I- I need to feel you cum inside me.” She panted, sucking at his earlobe.

“Oh, fuck!” He groaned loudly before filling her up with his spend. He rutted into her slowly, punching his thrusts with every sinful groan. Y/n watched Bucky as he lost control, it was beautiful. Someone so powerful and strong, crumbling before her, because of her. She rolled her hips up towards him, matching his thrusts. He whimpered at the action, making the knot grow in her stomach again. “You’re so perfect. So. Fucking. Perfect.” He punctuated every word with his hips smashing into hers. He continued his assault on her walls until it became too much.

His breathing was erratic above her, his face scrunched up as he came down from his highest of highs. Y/n smiled, running her hands over his chest and torso, so beautiful. Bucky lowered himself down to her, placing a kiss to her temple. Before he could pull out she stopped him.

“Don’t.” Her legs wrapped around his waist, securing him to her stretched hole. A gasp left both of their lips when she pushed him back in.

“What?” He asked, huffing out a breathy laugh.

“I just want to feel you inside me. I want to bask in this moment forever, with you.” She stared into his glossy blue eyes, getting washed away in his presents. She watched as his cheeks reddened, bowing his head and laughing. Bucky's bashfulness was breathtaking. Everything Bucky does makes her breath hitch in her throat.

“God, I love you, Y/n.” He breathed, kissing her lips, open mouthed and passionate.

I love you so much, Bucky. Never leave me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Doll”

Masterlist

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softboywriting · 4 years

Text

Don’t Go | Shawn Mendes

Summary: You and Shawn have an unusual friend/relationship and it’s finally time to take the next step. [non AU] [fluff]

Word Count: 1.2k

|Masterlist In Bio|

Shawn: Come over. I just got home.

You stare down at your phone. Heart racing. Hands shaking. Shawn being home is the best news ever. You've missed him so much and you know exactly what he wants, what you want, and you're gonna give it to him.

Half an hour later and Shawn opens the door of his apartment for you. He's got on pajamas, hair a mess, cheeks pink. Before you can say anything he pulls you in, bear hugging you as he closes the door behind you.

"Miss me much?" You giggle and he hums into your hair.

"I put the couch together. The new ottoman makes it like one huge bed."

"And that's where you wanna do it?"

He nods, dragging you over to the small living room. The couch is set up with blankets and pillows all over the white cushions. You give him a look and he just flops back into the puffy white comforter covering the majority of the end of the comfortable mess.

"We can watch a movie. I even have food, I actually went shopping before I came home." He says softly.

You toss your purse aside on a chair and crawl onto the blankets. "So you want the full treatment huh?"

"Yes please."

"Come here then." You sit yourself down in the middle of the bedding and Shawn wiggles around until his head is in your lap. "You know I don't do this for just anyone." You tease and he he smiles big.

"I know."

"You're special." You giggle and cup his cheeks. He looks up at you with those soft hazel eyes. They're the most beautiful thing you've ever seen. "Now relax."

"I will." He hums and closes his eyes.

You go to work, fingers massaging his face and temples gently, thumbs working over his sinuses and down his cheeks. This is you and Shawn's thing. You met him about two years ago at a party for New Years Eve. You remember finding him at the bar set up in his kitchen and chatting a bit before he mentioned he was having headaches frequently and you said you knew a few tricks to get rid of those. It was just an off hand comment, you never meant anything of it. But one thing led to another and you were giving him a full face and head massage in his bedroom while the rest of his friends partied in his apartment at midnight. Two years and you've been doing this for him whenever he gets home from tour or wherever he has to do. Last year you went from just face massage to shoulders and back. You're not a masseuse and you're not trained in this at all, you're just good with your hands, you always have been and Shawn really, really likes you.

Shawn moans softly as you work your way down his jaw and his neck. His muscles are tight, strained from singing so much lately. "Why can't you go everywhere with me?"

"Because I have a job." You laugh and he opens one eye to look at you. "A job that's not massaging you."

"But I could be your job."

"No Shawn. You'd be spoiled rotten if I did that. Besides you know that would never fly with your management or fans."

He groans, and you run your hand through his hair, tugging gently. "God yes, just like that." You tug again and his jaw goes slack. He's such a sucker for hair pulling.

You cup his jaw and he presses his face into your hand, mouthing at your thumb near his lower lip. It's funny, seeing him completely gone for you. He's such a control freak usually, you know how he is, always wanting to be in charge and to have the last say in everything. But with you he's unashamedly weak, putty in your hands.

"Do you wanna stay?" He mutters.

"I can't."

"You can."

"Shawn." You slide your hands down over his chest. "You know this is meant to be no strings attached. We agreed on that when we started."

"Well I hate it." He opens his eyes and stares up at you tenderly. "I hate no strings attached. I hate sneaking around to see you just for a massage and some company. I hate that I can't date you because-"

"Shawn." You slide your hand over his throat and he whimpers softly. "You're talking too much."

"I am not. I want you."

"You can't want me."

Shawn sits up and grabs your hands in his. They're so rough, callous from the guitar strings. "I'll be home for a while now. We could try. I could...you could stay here with me."

"I can't Shawn." You have to fight him on this even though it's all you want as well. It's just not feasible. He travels too much, lives a life in the spotlight, two things you're not up for. As much as it kills you, you have to deny him. "You know if we get too attached to each other it'll complicate things. You've got too much going on to have time for a relationship."

"I'm already too attached." He whispers softly, looking down at your hands. "I've been attached for a long while. It's stupid, I know. We said we would just be friends, just do this, not go any further because of my life. But I fucked up."

You pull a hand from his and run it over his messy hair. "It's okay. We knew the risk we were taking, being so physically comfortable and reliant on each other. I've gotten attached too but-"

Shawn leans forward and kisses you. "Stay with me." He cradles your head in his hands. "We'll figure out what to do later. Please?" His nose bumps yours and he lets out a shaky breath. "Please."

"I'll stay tonight." It's risky, a mistake you're sure, but you can't take it back now.

Shawn grins, pressing his lips to yours once more. This time you kiss him back, holding his head the way he holds onto yours. "Thank you."

Midnight. You wake up and you're unsure where you are, then it hits you. You're at Shawn's apartment, in his bed, curled up in his bedspread. This was never supposed to happen.

"Don't go."

You look over and see Shawn is awake, his face illuminated by the dim light of the Toronto skyline pouring through the open window. "What?"

Shawn turns, looping his arm around your waist. Securing you to his chest. "I've been waiting for you to get up and leave."

"You haven't been to sleep?"

"No."

"Shawn, you should sleep." You turn in his hold and brush back some straw curls. "Stop worrying about me."

"I'm so scared you're going to leave and never come back."

"I'd never do that to you."

Shawn presses his face into your chest and you rub his shoulder gently. "It's happened before."

"No, no, I'm not going anywhere."

"I fell for you." He mutters into your skin. "I fell so hard."

You hold his head against you, heart racing, stomach clenched. You've got it so bad for him. To know he has it just as bad is insane. "Shawn?"

"Yes?"

"I fell too."

He shifts so he is laying face to face and he touches your lips with his fingertips, admiring you silently for a moment. "I guess we were meant to be. Can't fight love."

You smile softly. "You can't."

"I'm glad you stayed the night." He says, leaning in and kissing your lips tenderly.

"I'm glad I stayed too."

End.

------------------

Thank you so much for reading. Please reblog if you enjoyed, want to save it, or just b/c you read it. Thank you again! -A

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weirdochick56 · 5 years

Text

the Sweetest Sin- Dean Winchester AU Imagine

Priest!Dean Winchester x Reader

Warnings: Explicit language.

Disclaimers: My characters don’t reflect my views on religion or Catholicism. I’m not an expert on religion or Catholicism by any means so please forgive any mistakes I make.

Word Count: 4, 179 words

Summary: When the Reader, a girl who prefers to stay away from religion altogether feels lost in the world, she stumbles into a church by chance. In there she hopes to search for herself and her purpose, but what she ends up finding instead is father Dean Winchester, a man who is devout to his faith and God but can’t help his carnal desire for the mysterious girl who shows up at the church late at night.

***

(Gif isn’t mine!)

This storm was ridiculous. The rain came down in big, fat droplets from the sky. Fast and aggressive, the dark clouds above you were rolling in and out, dropping more and more rain as they went, obscuring your vision of the road more and more as time went by.

You clicked your tongue in annoyance, hands tightening on the steering wheel so much your knuckles turned white.

“Fuck,” you couldn’t help but softly release the curse under your breath.

The word felt so familiar on your tongue, overused even..and yet you couldn’t help but hear your mother’s voice probing from one of the dark, dank corners of your brain.

“Why you wretched-mouthed girl! How dare you spew such profanities in front of God?”

You grinned cruelly. God. God didn’t give a dead rat’s last shit about you much less about the number of fucks you damn well please to‘spew’.

Shaking your head slightly to rid yourself of any thoughts on your family and God, you decide the rain was coming down too hard too fast and you needed need to pull over in the nearest building. It was too dangerous to drive like this.

You’d been slowly driving through a few small towns this time around, looking for a new place to stay in for a while before doing what you always did and fleeing as fast as your 1970 Chevrolet El Camino would allow you.

Your search had come up fruitless though, and now you were more lost than you were when you began. Maybe even more on a mental and emotional sense that a physically literal one.

A girl your age was supposed to have it all figured out by now. A nice college, a nice boyfriend, a nice life. Especially a girl with a family like yours.

You had an entire future planned for you. One that was filled with comfort and endless possibilities but you gave that up and took to the road and your grandfather’s car for the comfort and support your own damn family refused to give to you.

Off to the distance, you can see a blur of a building. A relieved smile curls your lips and you quickly speed closer to it. Upon closer inspection, you realize it’s a damn church. Because of course it is. You mentally roll your eyes.

You try not to let the fact stop you from taking shelter from the storm as you park to a stop in front of the small building.

Taking a deep breath, you grab your phone and duffel bag. Turning off the engine to your car, you decide that as soon as you get out you’ll make a run for it.

Shutting the door behind you, you can immediately feel your clothes and face and hair dampen, the rain cold and hard against your face. You break into a sprint, pushing your legs as far as they’ll go until you’re standing under the church’s steps.

You slowly walk up to the large wooden door before you, shivering. Your hand is wrapped tightly around your duffel bag’s strap and your phone is safely tucked into your back jean pocket.

You harshly knock on the door. No one answers so you do it again, this time harder and more pronounced. No answer.

You sigh, slumping against the door and sitting on the last stone step with resignation.

Looking out to the dark night, you watched as the rain hit the pavement of the street before you and sigh dejectedly once more. What had your life come to? I mean really. What the hell were you doing with it? What was your future? Would you ever have kids? Ever get married? Have an apple pie life?

How much longer would your almost completely mindless wandering last before there’d be nothing left of you?

Lost in your existential crisis, you feel more lost than you ever have. The world around you is confusing and blurry with the rain and you’ve never felt more frustrated with your thoughts and emotions. The stupid door wasn’t opening and you were outside a fucking church! Isn’t God supposed to be there for you when you needed him most?

“This is exactly why I refuse to-!”

And then suddenly, you’re falling backward the world around you spins upside down and you wonder if you’re floating for a split-second of insanity until it all comes crashing down on you. Or well- your body does anyways. You realize you’ve fallen backward when you land on your back and head, a sharp pain erupting throughout your backside. You yelp, eyes immediately squeezing shut in ache.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry miss!” At the distinctly deep, raspy voice your eyes snap open in alertness and widen at the sight before you.

The breath was knocked out of you momentarily when gravity worked its power and pulled you to the ground, but you’re almost certain it isn’t the reason your breath hitches the next time around.

No. The reason behind your hitched breath this time is in the form of a man. Dressed from head to toe in clerical attire, he towered over you. With a black collar shirt, lined by a white tab collar and black jeans that hugged his slim hips.

His handsome face was twisted into a frown, soft, pouty pink lips creasing with concern and the prettiest pair of apple green eyes you’ve ever seen glancing down at you all wide and glittery.

“Are you okay?”

You can see his ridiculously soft mouth moving but you’re too dazed by the way a strand of otherwise spiky dirty blonde hair falls onto his forehead and your sudden urge to brush it away with your fingertips. Your hand twitches.

“Oh no. Are you hurt really bad, miss?” The very real guilt and distress in his voice are what snaps you from your momentary trance.

...one now wondered was caused by the blow to your head or just the beautiful human being standing above you.

Shaking your head, you slowly sit up. A sharp pain explodes on the back of your head, shocking you momentarily as a small pained groan tumbles out from your damp lips.

The priest is quick to lean down, wrapping his large hands around your shoulder and ribs to help you up. You ignore how good their warmth feels all pressed up against your cold, wet skin and steady yourself onto your two feet, all the while leaning into him for support.

“Thank you,” you mumble, rubbing the sore spot on your head.

The priest, who you can’t help but notice smells incredible, hums in acknowledgment. He patiently helps you to a pew, settling you down softly before kneeling before you.

You hate to admit that you find yourself utterly disappointed when his hands are gone from your body.

You look down at him and smile softly. “Thanks.”

And just when you thought he couldn’t get more fucking attractive, his lips curl into what you think is a grin, flashing two rows of pearly whites and practically melting you into a puddle right there and then.

“You should really stop saying that,” his lips then dip into a sheepish smile. “I was the one who made you fall after all.”

His green eyes glimmer with a sort of mischevious emotion that is gone almost as soon as it arrived and for some odd reason- leaves you utterly breathless.

“You were, weren’t you?” You breathe out. searching his gaze for any trace of that look.

He licks his lip, tongue flicking over the luscious pink muscle while his green gaze trails over your body slightly. You know it probably wasn’t with this intention (because how could it?), but something about the way he looked at you it...left a trail of goosebumps in its wake, a shiver traveling through your spine. Arousal in its rawest form.

You were a bit startled by your body’s reaction to this complete stranger (who also just so happened to be a goddamn priest) and how instant it was. I mean, you just met the man.

“What were you doing out there in this storm, sweetheart?” his voice was soft and worried as he spoke to you, but didn’t fit the bearing he was giving off.

His natural tone was grave and deep and so masculine, made much more for yelling out orders and profanities than prayers. It didn’t really fit this mild-mannered priest thing he had going on. In fact, none of him did.

He was young and quite honestly- hot. What was he doing being a priest? Your interest and curiosity to know more about him peaks.

“I was driving but I had to pull over to the nearest stop. Too dangerous,” you briefly explain.

He nods in understanding. “I’m Dean, by the way. I was just closing up the place when the storm hit.” He looks out to the street before glancing back at you with a small smile. “No way I can drive home with the weather acting up like this.”

You smile apologetically. “I’m sorry for bursting in.”

He shakes his head, placing a comforting hand on your knee. “Hey, no problem sweetheart. I’m actually glad for the company. Plus, we welcome all here.”

You nod, clearing your throat, and trying really hard not to focus on his hand placed so softly and warm on your clothed skin. The touch was light and playful, but you couldn’t help but wonder if he felt the intensity and slight tension of it too.

He smiles comfortingly, retracting his hand. A comfortable silence settles in between you and you look around the small church, taking in the architecture, the paintings depicting scenes you were far too familiar with from the bible until priest Dean speaks up.

“Hey,” he frowns funnily at you. “What is exactly that you refuse to do?”

You furrow your brows, confused. “What?”

He laughs and your insides turn to jelly.

How could one human being be so fucking gorgeous? It’s not fair.

“When I opened the door you were saying something like ‘this is exactly why I refuse to’...what? What is it that you refuse to do exactly?” He looks at you attentively. His gaze is heavy and lightening all at once and you’re so confused by what it makes you feel.

What you were going to say suddenly dawns on you and you can’t help but blush, pursing your lips.

“So?...” he urges softly.

You grin sheepishly, tugging at the long sleeves of your white shirt down to your knuckles. Licking your lips, you sigh out loudly, facing the altar. The same sculpture of Jesus being crucified in every Christian church stared back at you. He’s bloody and sort of...resignated.

You can’t help but cringe when your mother’s voice slithers back into your brain. Nudging. Judging. Constant.

“Y/n, God doesn’t like naughty girls. And what you have been doing is sinful. Unholy on many levels. He’s watching. He’s always watching. He’s everywhere and he’s tallying this all up against you. You’ll burn in hell if you continue down this path of self-destruction young lady!”

“I was gonna say..” you sigh heavily again, your blush intensifying. You finally build enough courage to face him. “That this is why I refuse to believe in God.” By now your voice has dropped to a breathy whisper.

I mean, you were afraid of somehow...offending him. He was a damn priest, for fuck’s sake! He’s sworn under oath to God.

You await his reaction anxiously, expecting a frown or a reprimand like the ones your mom used to give you, but all he does is hum in acknowledgment, face unreadable.

“And why’s that?” He looks forward to the sculpture of Jesus as you stare at him, trying to decipher what he thought of you.

Your eyes trail over the sharp edges of his handsome face. His long lashes and brilliant green eyes, his soft pouty pink lips- beckoning you closer to him. Begging to be caressed with your own lips.

“Well, my life hasn’t been going so good lately, I just- I thought God was supposed to help you if you asked him to, right?”

He turns to you with raised brows. “Well have you?” He doesn’t sound judgy, just curious.

You think ponder it for a while. “Well, no.”

He chuckles lightly. “Well, that may be why, sweetheart.”

You slouch. “I just...if I’m honest I just- I don’t believe in him anymore. I used to, well- not believe in him. More like I believed he existed. But that stopped a while ago, I just didn’t want to keep doing that to myself I guess.” You shrug softly.

“Doing what, sweetheart?” He asks softly, not pushing you in a harsh way. Merely just..deeply curious to know.

You hesitate, turning to look into his warm apple green eyes before biting your lip in thought. He has such a welcoming, comforting gaze....plus, you’d probably never see him again after this, so would it really hurt to share your life story to a stranger you’d never see ever again?

“Believing in a God that will judge me for every little mistake I make. I don’t want to belive in a God that hates me for being human.”

At this, father Dean laughs. He laughs.

You immediately regret opening up to him. “This was a mistake,” you start getting up hurriedly.

His hand resting on your elbow stops you though, tugging you gently down next to him. “Oh lord, no sweetheart. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to offend you, it’s just- your perception of God is awfully skewed to me. I’m sorry,” he breathes earnestly.

You look at him for a second longer and sigh, settling down next to him again.

He continues. “The God I believe in doesn’t hate. He loves endlessly. He loves all his creations. Us especially. He’s forgiving and perfect and holy.”

You scoff. “Not the God I was raised with clearly.” You smirk sadly. “Everything I did was always wrong and he’d always find a way to punish me for it.”

You quickly grow uncomfortable with how comfortable you are sharing some of your most intimate details with this complete stranger and nervously rub your hands over your damp jeans to wipe away the sweat from your palms.

Father Dean, looks at you with a quirk of his luscious lips but quickly averts his eyes, a blush steadily creeping up his neck and ears.

You raise a brow. “What?”

He swallows, rubbing his scruff, but still facing toward the altar. Refusing to so much as glance at you. “You might uh-” he motions to you loosely with his hand. “Y-you might want to cover up, sweetheart.” He clears a crack from his voice with a small cough.

You look down, alarmed, only to have a blush of your own spread throughout your body like wildfire. You’d completely forgotten that you threw on a thin white long sleeve shirt this morning. The rain had made it see-through and your black lacy bra was now on awfully vast display.

“O-oh!” You quickly use your arms to cover up, your body flushing even more. “I’m so sorry, I-I don’t have anything to uh...”

“I-it’s fine. Here. Just...” He nods and begins taking his jacket off, still refusing to look at you.

You take the jacket and throw it over your shoulders, inhaling the delicious scent that almost instantly engulfed you. It was subtle but also so strong and dizzying to your senses. A scent that was soft but masculine all at once. God he smelled good.

“Thank you,” you softly mumble in gratitude, smiling gently at him.

He finally faces you, returning your smile with a sincere one of his own.

The atmosphere was unlike any you’d ever been in. It was the same level of static and silent as anytime you were alone in a shitty motel room, but quiet. They were two different kinds of muteness. Quiet was comfortable, comforting even.

For you, being in silence usually meant having to listen to your brain ramble on and on about all your mistakes- big and small.

But something about having father Dean next to you -his mere presence- calmed you and your stupid brain. (It was a smart brain, sure, but an overactive one too. )

Your heartbeat was strong and steady, your body felt awfully warm with his big jacket wrapped around you and you tightened it over your shoulders more, inhaling deeply through your nose once more.

“So...” you start. “What got you into this? Being a priest and all, I mean.” You quickly realize how nosey and pushy you sound, rushing to correct yourself. “I mean if you don’t mind me asking that is, of course!”

He laughs and it’s all manly and deep and husky and-ugh. This was so wrong to feel for a damn priest.

“Not at all, sweetheart. I guess I was kinda...born into it? Family business and all. My dad was a priest and so was my grandfather before him. I’m the oldest brother so I followed behind my father’s footsteps like a good son, I guess.” He shrugs, but there’s a light heaviness in his voice that throws you off.

“What about your other siblings?” You inquire.

“One, actually. Sammy. He’s younger than me.” His face immediately lights up at the mention of his younger brother. “He’s a lawyer. Didn’t wanna continue in the family business, I guess.” He shrugged.

“Was your father angry?”

He laughs a bit sadly and your heart clenches. “He was pretty upset. They fought about that the last time they saw eachother, actually. Then dad died.” He looks down at his hands.

You place a tender hand on his broad shoulder, ignoring the very clear, defined muscles flexing under your touch. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. “I didn’t mean to bring anything painful up.”

He grins at you, shaking his head. “Nah. Don’t worry sweetheart. Sammy is actually doing pretty good for himself.” His mesmerizing eyes light up with a damn endearing brotherly kind of pride. “Graduated from Stanford and all. Started his own firm a few towns over.”

You move your hand away a bit reluctantly, clasping it with your other hand and ignoring the small tingles coursing all the way to your arm.

“Do you like being a priest?” You ask a bit hesitantly. It was a bit of a risky question, but you assumed that you’d shared enough about your lives to be able to ask this comfortably.

He freezes, startled at the question you presumed.

“It’s been in my family for three generations, so I was raised with a huge faith in God and this lifestyle allows me to help others do the same.”

You smirk softly, raising your brows. “That’s not what I asked.”

He sighs, shoulders slumping. He looks upward- toward the sky, as if the bland beige ceiling of the hutch would give him answers.

“Do I like being a priest?” he repeats it to himself under his breath. He looks at you with a tiny smirk. “Ya’ know sweetheart, I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that question. I think...” he trails off, rubbing his sexy scruff. “I do,” he finally says, looking at you once more. “I get to work with a lot of underprivileged people and people who are better off as well, but I love helping people of all backgrounds find their path to God. I also like being able to give food and clothes and a place to sleep to people who really need it in the name of God because he is the one that makes this,” he motions to everything around him. “All of this, possible. I love giving back, I guess is the shortest way to describe it?”

You can tell he’s genuine, the way he speaks of his work. Passionate about it, driven. And yet- you’re left wondering about why he even had to think about the question in the first place. He liked it, clearly. Was enthusiastic about it, but did he love it?... And if not, why?

A smile spreads over your face inevitably. What an incredible man. It wasn’t fair that you couldn’t have him, your heart deflates.

“That’s amazing,” you admit earnestly.

He smiles modestly, face slightly reddening. “I guess it is. I don’t really...” he gulps. “I don’t know...sometimes I think that because of how I am- messed up, what I’m doing really means nothing.”

Your eyes widen incredulously, unable to believe someone like him could think so little of himself. “Are you kidding me?! Of course, it is! You’re dedicating yourself to helping people, selflessly. I mean-” your voice lowers slightly as you watch him closely. “You’re giving up a lot of things for your faith. That’s pretty incredible.”

He frowns at you. “What kind of things?”

You chuckle softly, shrugging. “I don’t know...things I know most people wouldn't be willing to give up. And I mean, it’s not my intention to presume anything about you, Father, but you’re pretty young and I’m assuming unmarried since you don’t have a ring.” And attractive to a point that should be illegal, you added mentally.

You gulp, looking up at him nervously through your lashes. “I think you’ve had to give more than a few things up.”

He sighs, contemplating this. Finally, he asks, “and do you think that it was hard for me to give these things up? A ‘normal’ life for my faith?” he uses his fingers to create quotations around the word.

You observe the way he’s looking at you. He doesn’t seem angry or offended...more like he himself is observing closely for your own reaction to his question. Testing you, in a way.

So you swallow your sudden anxiety and embarrassment down, looking him in the eye.

“I would assume so,” you mumble honestly.

The moment slows down for some reason. Maybe because it was quiet- too quiet. Maybe because everything was in sync at that moment. Maybe it was because his warmth was so inviting and he smelled so good. Or maybe it was because you’d found a safe haven amidst a storm- not in a place but in a person.

And suddenly you’re both looking into each other's eyes, gazing intently. You wanted to figure him out- you wanted to know everything that there was to know about that warm yet mysterious gaze of his. It was penetrating in a way you’d never expected. You felt so vulnerable under it- like he could easily see through you.

It startled you, but also made you feel so alive. No one had looked at you in that way for a while. No one had much cared for anything that had to do with you at all in a while, actually.

He chuckles, low and airy, his gaze trailing over your face in languid, gradual strokes.

It was so intense you swore you could feel his eyes caressing your skin- only lightly, though.

“There are some things...” his eyes land on your lips. “That I miss....things that I wish I could have again. Things I lay awake at night thinking about.”

His words are so provocative and teasing and so fucking sensual, your stomach clenches in pure and unadulterated need.

Your breath catches, lips parting as you take in the adorable freckles peppered all over his nose and cheeks. You were close enough to count them and clearly see the brown specks in his striking irises.

You hold your caught breath, waiting for him to continue speaking. You could almost see the words he was suppressing pushing at the tip of his tongue.

He finally breaks after a few moments of deep pondering.

“You’re really beautiful, sweetheart,” he mutters so low, you have to strain to hear.

You gulp the lump in your throat, heart racing. “Th-thank you. You are too.”

He licks his bottom lip, slow and torturous and my God, did you want to sin right now. “Thanks,” he rasps.

God likes good girls who don’t betray his trust, Y/n. You must always remain focused on pleasing him. And only him. He is all that matters.

His hand is reluctant and all too light when it softly brushes your cheekbone. Father Dean watches you closely, clearly nervous that you’ll flinch away.

But you only shudder under his touch, leaning into it.

“Father-”

“Call me Dean, please” he husks soft and your insides quite literally quiver.

“Dean,” you correct yourself meaningfully. “I just- fuck.” You gradually lean away from his touch. “You’re under oath and I don’t wanna be the one to-”

He finally snaps out of it, practically jumping away from you. You find yourself immediately feeling empty at the absence of touch almost immediately.

“God, of course, sweetheart. I am so sorry. I swear thay I’m not usually like this- I just...” he pauses, gazing at you softly. “I don’t know what it is about you,” he breathes.

You shake your head quickly getting up. “It’s fine, I know it was a heat-of-the-moment kind of thing. This storm is really stressful and tensions are high ‘round these parts and...yeah. Don’t worry ‘bout it.” What you’re saying makes absolutely no fucking sense, but you’re desperate for an out.

You run your fingers through your hair, looking out the window. “And look, it’s already over so I’ll just uh, be going now. Again, thank you for everything father. I really, really appreciate it.” You speak quickly, flustered, and don’t let him get a word in before you spin on your heels and walk away as fast as you can.

“Hey!” he calls from behind you.

You pause walking and look at him over your shoulder. “Yeah?”

“I never got your name, sweetheart.”

You smile. “It doesn’t matter what my name is. You’ll never see me again, Dean.”

And then you walked out.

***

So here’s a short-ish imagine because I’m a complete hoe for forbidden tropes, I’m sorry...

Lol, If y’all want a second part, lemme know, please!

Feedback is ALWAYS welcomed. Messages, replies, reblogs...I see them all!

A Special Thanks to:

@wildefire -my only SPN tag.

IF YOU WANNA BE TAGGED PLEASE SEND ME AN ASK OR MESSAGE. ALL MY TAG LISTS ARE OPEN.

And my lovely forevers, of course!

@jessikared97

@lilypalmer1987

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#dean x reader #dean winchester #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester fanfic #dean winchester au #dean winchester x reader #priest!dean #priest!dean winchester x reader #priest!dean x reader #priest!au #priest!dean x reader au

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garbagewhump · 4 years

Text

Live Feed - Drowning

[previous] [here] [next]

TW: Waterboarding, assumed off-screen non-con, extortion. Jaden being Jaden. That’s going to be a running theme for the rest of this series.

Miserably behind, I’ll catch up later. Here’s to catching up! Or trying to.

Dale was still miserably hungover, his head sore and throbbing, when Jaden graced him with his presence, slamming doors and chucking a whole entire person to the ground.

“Oh dear God,” he cried, then coughed around another spurt of stomach acid and bile.

Then he noticed that Jaden was basically naked and so was the newcomer. He wasn’t so stupid as to assume either man’s state of undress was mutually consensual. His stomach clenched again.

“What have you done?” Gingerly, he moved to sit up at a better angle. Every motion, no matter how slow and careful, sent a fiery burn through his broken bones, his leg especially, and threatened to upend his carefully constructed control over his stomach. “Dear God, you—”

Possibly threw a corpse at me, he almost said. If not a corpse, then still too close for comfort.

The man had brown hair and a thin, scrawny build, but other than that, he had been beaten half to death and lay in a tangled heap of bloodied and bruised limbs. If it weren’t for the shuddering, hitching rise and fall of the man’s chest, Dale would have assumed him dead. Dead at what, twenty something at most? That wasn’t a full life. That wasn’t even a half of one. The man was young enough that Dale could be his father. Suddenly, his own constant nausea rose sharply again and he bit back on a tide of vomit.

“Blah blah blah.” Jaden wiped a bit of blood off his cheek and only succeeded in smearing it more. “I’d be a bit more concerned about yourself, boomer.”

Panting like an animal about to be sick, he growled, “He needs medical attention if you don’t want him to die.”

“Oh, no, you see,” Jaden grinned, like a hunter watching a lame rabbit spring his trap, “the trouble is he doesn’t have any money, so he can’t get help.” The deranged sadist drew back his leg. “What a fucking shame.”

“WAIT!”

“You had my curiosity, but now you have my attention.” He snickered. “Also that little voice crack thing was totes adorbs.”

He ground his teeth together. The residue from puking up whiskey clung to his back teeth and the back of his tongue, sticky and bitter. It still tasted and felt better than swallowing his pride.

“If only healthcare was free,” Jaden drawled. “I got a doctor in mind but I don’t think she takes your health insurance.”

Not granting him the amusement of a proper response, Dale glowered balefully.

“Spoiler alert, you were supposed to get on a r/selfawarewolves style soapbox and give a valiant and heroic speech about how I should help this prick without monetary compensation.”

The sorry, broken young man crumpled between them suddenly hitched and groaned.

“Sleeping beauty awakens! Kinda. Dale, you better decide fast. Am I gonna get him to a doctor?”

“It’d be the morally decent thing to do,” he spat. “But when has that ever appealed to you?”

“Says the dude who worships the shit the Cheeto spews.”

“He needs help!”

“Wait, are we still talking Trump?”

The worst part of all of this, he thought with vague desperation, is that there’s no reasoning with a man like this.

“What do you want from me?”

Jaden just smiled a shit eating grin.

“Just help him, and I’ll pay whatever your back alley chop shop costs. Just get him help!”

“Man, you are just full of surprises! Hold that thought, yeah?”

With that and not another word, Jaden left. The time passed marked by another man’s weak, shaking gasps for air, not seconds or minutes.

Forget his leg. Forget his pride and his arms. Dale shimmied along the cement like a lowly worm until he was within reach. If only his wrists weren’t still bound. And broken. Every ache of his body throbbed at once, no doubt mirrored thrice over in this young man’s body.

“Hey,” he whispered to him.

Both eyes were swollen and bruised, but the left one managed to open to a painful slit and, though dazedly, find his face.

“There we go,” Dale praised him. With these sorts of injuries, the smallest tasks became Herculean. “You’re gonna be just fine, buddy, okay? I won’t let anything else happen to you. Okay?”

The man sobbed. Rough and raspy, like he’d been crying not too long ago, but short and strangled, like he’d been beat for the sound before.

Dale’s heart ached.

“My name is Dale,” he said. His situation as it was, he couldn’t do much more than offer company, but there was visible tension draining from the man’s broken body, muscles going slack, tendons no longer popping or straining to be seen despite the swelling and blood. “I won’t let him touch you again.”

Another cry, this one quieter, gentled by exhaustion, but no less grateful..

The door slammed open yet again.

Now, Jaden stood in the doorway with a brunette woman in a soft pink lab coat to his right and a jug of water in his hands.

Dale set his jaw. He wanted so badly to place himself between them and the poor beaten man, but didn’t dare move. If he wasn’t fast enough, his efforts could just get them both hurt further. But now that he hadn’t moved, hadn’t even made the effort, and this poor man might not trust him. An unexpected surge of helplessness caught in his throat.

“Damn, you sure have a knack for finding the pretty ones and messing them all up,” the lab coat wearing woman said. She gave Dale an appraising look. “Sometimes.”

“I agreed to pay,” Dale reminded them both, rather than catch himself allowing them to wound his pride.

Jaden giggled, “That you did.”

Shivering, he stayed still rather than cowering as the other man approached him.

“By the end of this you’re gonna be drowning in debt.”

It clicked. It would be just like this freak to make a pun about imminent torture. Dale struggled not to allow his fear to show, but took deeper breaths, trying to prepare himself.

“So you see, I was debating on how best to do this,” Jaden explained as he finally removed the cuffs around Dale’s wrists. They burned and prickled with the new blood flow and he bit back a rough gasp of pain. The worst part was that his arms were free and now he couldn’t even consider trying to strangle this punk. “On your back, old man, unless you want me to leave some lasting damage.”

Dale hated that he was grateful not to have to bear his whole weight on his broken wrists. He hated that the woman had started treating the newcomer and that he was grateful for that too. Fighting his own pride, he obeyed Jaden’s order as well as he could despite his stiffness and broken bone. He hated that he held out hope that cooperation would mean good things, rewards.

“That’s a good boomer.”

Cooperation would hopefully include a distinct lack of baby talk. But he doubted it. Jaden threw his shirt off onto his face.

“Now keep it there.”

It reeked of sweat and sex and salt. The lid hit the floor. A body straddled his torso, legs pinning his arms to his sides.

He couldn’t move. Not easily.

“Keep it there, because, damn, healthcare’s a bitch.”

Then the water hit, cold and all encompassing. The cloth clung to his face, his nose and mouth. Only the slightest bit soaked through—

But no air came.

He opened his mouth wider, tried to break the seal of cloth on flesh, to breathe—

A heavier stream of water flowed. Cold, icy chill trickled over his closed eyes, down his throat. Burning built in his chest. Bubbling as air rotted and died and —

He couldn’t see. Couldn’t breathe. Oh God—

Jaden’s voice barely reached him over the roar of his body demanding oxygen.

“Just a... little more... boomer... good...”

The water stopped. The cloth gave way. For thin, thin gasps of air between rushes of cold droplets. Oxygen chased the heavy press of darkness darker than a blindfold could ever replicate.

Blinking his eyes open, he searched for Jaden despite water gluing his eyelashes together.

“Look at you!” He pat his cheek. “Why, I’m so impressed. Gonna pour one out for you, boomer, okay?”

He gasped for air, instead of spitting vitriol, before Jaden slapped the wet cloth over his mouth again. And poured.

And poured.

#tw injury #tw aftermath of injury #tw extortion #tw drowning #tw waterboarding

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caffeinatedtimdrake · 5 years

Note

Hello! I really love your writing! If it's not too much to ask could you write 46 for Tim please? Congratulations on 200!! 😊

sorry this is so late! hope you like it! 1.6k of high school!Tim x reader ft. Conner and Cass.

46. “I thought you forgot about me.” “Never.”

“I hate this.”

“No, you hate that Tim is being a flagrantly social butterfly and you’re stuck in this corner with social anxiety and Cass’s blindingly glittery purse.” Conner states, stabbing the slab of steak with a fork and a knowing look.

Your mouth twitches unhappily. “Yeah. I hate these shoes, too.”

“My purse isn’t all that bad, okay? There are so many little pockets. I have pepper spray, a mini sewing kit, a nail file, lip gloss – “

“Do you have duct tape, too?

Cass is silent for a moment. “I will end you.”

Conner leans back in his seat and groans. “Please. Before prom night ends me first.”

You resonate with Conner’s sentiment.

When the group of you had all expressed to your parental figures on separate occasions that you had absolutely no desire to spend several hours in uncomfortably formal clothes socializing with your peers, you’d received a scolding about only living once and enjoying your youth. Tim, ever the connoisseur of charming people, quietly told you, Cass, and Con that he wouldn’t mind going to prom. He supported the argument of your authority figures and specifically cornered you in a room with sweet kisses and even sweeter words until you melted like ice beneath the summer sun and agreed to be his prom date.

So that’s how you ended up here, at the corner table on the dance floor of some snazzy yacht right off the harbor, sulking and snacking on annoyingly appetizing crab cakes while Tim Drake waltzed around Gotham academy’s prom like the practiced diplomat he is.

“We could still always leave, you know.” Conner chirps, waving a breadstick around.

The option is tempting, but you know you can’t ditch Tim. He seems to genuinely enjoy chattering with other students and faculty of Gotham Academy. It doesn’t bother you much that he’s not over here talking to you – the environment has you anxious and grouchy, you can’t imagine you’d be pleasant company at the moment anyway. There’s a quiet smile on his face as he talks to his favorite teacher and this enough for you to feel content. He hadn’t had the most conventional youth and, during one special midnight patrol, Tim admitted that there were certain milestones he worried reaching, certain events he didn’t want to miss. He lived in a world of inescapable peril and unwavering courage: he wanted to go to his senior year prom because he didn’t know if he might spend the rest of his life regretting it if he didn’t. You look at him now, shining like the Earth had robbed a star from the very sky, and if he was enjoying himself, you could bear another hour or two on this damn boat.

It’s nearing midnight when you and Cass have to lug Conner to the edge of the yacht so he can puke up the expensive dinner over the railing.

“This is…less than ideal.” Cass mutters.

“This fucking sucks.” Conner moans as you offer him a napkin.

“You can’t shame the purse now because I shoved so many mints in here and you’re gonna be shoving so many into your mouth after you stop vomiting.”

While other students were vomiting because someone had inevitably spiked the punch, Conner had consumed one too many pieces of steak and notified you and Cass of his seasick tendencies when it was already too late.

“Didn’t think Superboy could get seasick.”

“Kryptonite isn’t my only kryptonite I guess – oh god, here we go again,”

You rub his back soothingly.

When Conner finally stabilizes and manages to keep a few sips of lemon lime pop in his stomach, Cass asks if she should take him home.

He looks around, clear blue eyes vigilant. “Honestly, I’m good to fly us all out of here.”

“You only stopped projectile vomiting a few minutes ago. I am not flying over a body of water or a busy city with you.”

Conner scowls. “You never wanna fly with me, period.”

Cass shrugs, pretty blonde tendrils framing her face. “That’s not completely inaccurate.”

“Maybe I can go find Tim and we can all leave. If I can leave you two alone without one ending up dangling over the railing.

Conner grins, white teeth glinting. “No promises, Y/N.”

You find Tim near the dessert table and away from the gaggle of people on the dance floor, studying a chocolate chip cookie intensely, brow knit pensively, and mouth puckered into a slight pout.

“What’d the cookie ever do to you?”

He startles, dropping the baked good and straightening his posture, blinking at your rapidly.

“O-oh. Um, it wasn’t made by Alfred. Which is an unacceptable travesty. Right?”

You raise your eyebrows at his flustered expression, a pink tint brushed across his cheeks and the tip of his nose. “Right.”

“Where are the other two?”

“One is recovering from a puke fest and the second is shoving mints into the first’s mouth probably.”

He blanches. “Oh dear.”

You nod. “Indeed.”

“What brings lucky number three up here?” He seems unable to fight the coquettish grin that tugs at his lips.

You shrug, inching closer and blushing. “Hoping to get lucky and find you.”

His smile is warm and boyish now, the one that makes you knees wobble and your heart race. Tim’s startlingly handsome, dark hair slicked back and moonlight caressing the elegant angles of his face. There’s always mirth and affection when he looks at you, whether you’re dressed to the nines or in mangy pajamas, and it makes your toes curl in your awfully uncomfortable shoes.

“Lucky you, you found me.” He murmured.

You lean closer to him, voice soft above the music. “You’ve been all over the place tonight. I was beginning to worry…”

Tim frowns, leaning into you, too, drawn like a magnet to the slight sulkiness in your features. “Worry about what?”

You wrinkle your nose and the gesture it’s so cute, he can’t help but smile affectionately and tap the tip. “It’s going to sound stupid.”

“Y/N,” He says firmly. “You know everything you say is gold to me. What’s up?”

You can’t help but pout a little. “I thought you forgot about me, you’ve been having so much fun socializing and all.”

Tim’s mouth parts, bewildered. It takes a few moments for him to recover. “Oh no. Oh, no, Y/N, never. Not in a million years. In fact, I’ve spent the whole evening think about you.”

It’s your turn for your jaw to drop now. “What? Really?”

“Y-yeah, I – oh, shit, this is a disaster. So much dis.” He rubs his face, blatantly troubled.

“What’s wrong, Tim?”

He shoves his hands in his pocket, looking at you with a shyness you rarely see painted across the handsome features of Tim Drake. “This is not how I wanted this to happen, but I’ve gotta start somewhere.”

“If you are going to break up with me or give me a dirty cookie, I would like to leave immediately.”

His eyes widen and he moves towards you, wrapping his fingers around your wrists and tugging you into his space – a space that smells like clean laundry and summer air and mint chocolate chip ice cream.

“Definitely not, Y/N. I have something for you.”

You watch him cautiously, expectantly, as he fishes around in his suit pocket and emerges with something silvery glinting in the low lighting.

A promise ring.

For the second time in a span of one minute, you ogle at him.

He’s bright red, uncharacteristically bashful but indisputable adorable. “Now, hear me out, okay?”

“Listening.” You say breathily, gaze flitting between his wide eyes and the elegant ring in his fingers.

“I know you don’t enjoy prom or football games or pep rallies – you think they’re all stupid, teenage things. And I mostly agree with that. I know you also probably think that a promise ring from your teenage boyfriend is also maybe kind of silly, but it’s not about the ring – it’s about the promise. Because I know we’re both just a pair of vigilante teenagers. But what we have? Nothing about it is childish or immature.” He squeezes his eyes shut, like this is the sharpest fall on a rollercoaster. “It’s not some stupid teenage thing. It’s more real than anything I’ve ever known, I promise that. And I hope that wearing this on your finger or on a chain around your neck is a reminder that we are so much more than some high school relationship; that the world is insane, but you make me crazy in the best way possible and I promise to care for you always, no matter where time and space may take us.”

He cracks open his eyes, a sliver of cornflower blue and hesitation, before you launch yourself at him, throwing your arms around his neck.

“You’re so sweet I’m going to get cavities, Timothy Drake.”

His laughter is uneven and nervous, but his arms tighten around your waist.

“I love you,” Tim mutters into your hair, kissing the side of your head.

You pull back to press your lips to the corner of his jaw. “I love you. This means the world to me. You mean the world to me.” You coo as he slides the ring onto your finger, leaving you tingling and warm.

He kisses you know fully, hands resting at the small of your back and the nape of your neck, mouth soft and saccharine against your own, threaded with unadulterated affection and unspoken promises.

(“That’s the reason why we haven’t left yet?”

Cass jabs Conner sharply in the ribs as they spy on you and Tim. “Oh, young love.”

“I think I’m going to throw up. Again.” Conner makes a gagging noise for emphasis.

Cass glowers at him and he can’t help but take a step back from her. “I think I’m going to throw you off the edge of this boat.”)

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sometimesiwrite · 4 years

Text

A Pinter Pause (1/2)

Summary: Terence and Katherine reconnect at the opening night reception for a collection of short plays by Harold Pinter. After talking for a long while, they realize there’s more than just an intellectual connection between them and things get deliciously tense.

Content Notes: Sexual tension, references to sex in public and arousal.

Word Count: ~3,000?

I didn’t intend this as a fanfic/imagine piece but if one just so happens to imagine one’s favourite actor crush playing the role of Terence, then who am I to tell you what to do with your imagination?

*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*~~~*

Terence Davis had been standing in the lobby of the Old Playhouse Theatre after the opening night of collected short plays by Harold Pinter. He was holding a martini and wearing a smart blue suit with a crisp white shirt and tastefully colourful tie. An excellent tie which Katherine remembered exactly — oblique stripes of electric blue, yellow, black, aqua, and a less occasional thicker white stripe for the sake of it. Katherine had seen him from the opposite corner of the room where she stuck to the wall in an attempt to avoid the ever-churning mass of theatre goers who were in the process of getting drunk, and were therefore more likely to bump into each other. Terence seemed sober, though, and as he looked up, smiling from the remains of a witty retort (probably one of his own), he saw Katherine Henderson over the top of his martini glass. He smiled at her, and waved. Katherine waved back and then made an oh-my-god-there-are-too-many-people-in-here face.

Terence laughed, and raised his glass to her in agreement; Katherine took a sip from her glass of Rosé. It was mostly full. As the minutes inched their way around the clock on the lintel above the front doors, Katherine watched the swarm as its consistent buzzing reverberated through the teal-carpeted room. Every once in a while, she glanced Mr. Tie on the other side of the world, still in his corner contentedly talking with the same two or three people. She could have sworn she met him before. Where, she could not imagine. Somewhere classy, probably. She stood silently sipping at her glass, listening to the ebb and flow of sounds. Laughter stood out the most, then pompous protests, scolding, one unruly child, and the traditional cocktail phrases could be heard above the hubbub: “Oh my God, look who’s here!”; “And then I said…”; “Nooo of course not!”; “Oh my goodness, how are you?” All of that was underscored with a general clatter of clinking class and clanging catering dishes.

Of all the people in the room, Katherine knew probably five or six, two of whom were certainly in bed by now (probably with each other). Another two were evidently more-than-tipsy, and the others were involved in ever-so-enthralling discussions with members of the school board, or Theatre Arts Association, or some other organization in search of people to whom they could give money. So, Katherine stayed in her corner, watching people come and go as groups morphed and merged into one another like water drops on a window. Drunk, noisy water drops.

Katherine always found it interesting how much unfocussed electricity could be produced after the intensely-focussed energy of a two-hour play. Not a film. Film could never do that, it was easy to get your bearings after a movie had ended — all you had in front of you was a black screen. The theatre was different; even when the house lights went up after the standing ovation, one was able to sense the bit of the world that was left behind on the flower-strewn stage. She could not help but compare it to the thin layer of mist that hung over hot pavement after a summer rain shower. She didn’t really understand her own simile at the time, but she was too claustrophobic to care.

About fifteen long minutes after their silent conversation across the room, Katherine looked back to Mr. Tie’s usual corner. He was gone. Katherine assumed he had left with his friends, and decided to eves-drop on the conversation to her left: “Well, I just didn’t get it. I mean, who writes plays like that? No one’s going to understand them anyway—”; “No, but—no shut up and listen. You never listen when I try to talk and it’s rude. It’s very, very rude. You’re rude. That’s what I’m trying to explain to you. Understanding them isn’t the point. There is no point.”; “Well then what the hell’s the point of trying to watch something you’re never going to understand. It’s just dumb. And I hated the pauses. So many pauses. You would have thought a good company like them would have known to pick up the pace…” Katherine’s wine was starting to release the cynic. Oh Christ, if a piano were to fall through the ceiling right now, I would want it to be them or me. Someone please drop a piano.

Katherine turned around in the hopes of finding a less drunk, more interesting group, though she suspected it was too late in the evening for either of those criteria to be relevant. Instead, she came face-to-collar with a brightly-striped tie. “Hello!” it said. Katherine looked up. “Oh, it’s you,” she replied, not sure what else to say. “I’m not sure what else to say. I didn’t expect to see you out of your corner.”

“I often find ‘hello’ is a good safe standard to go by,” he said, soberly.

“Should I try it?”

“By all means, do please try. After all, you may like it.” His smile was crooked without being roguish or gruff. Instead she found it rather warm and reassuring. Not as though Katherine needed any reassurance to say hello.

“Hello,” Katherine said.

“See, that didn’t hurt one bit, did it?”

“No, it didn’t. I might say it again sometime, just to be rebellious.”

“Alright, but you know what they say: greetings can lead to scandalous things like friends and lifelong companions, romantic or otherwise.”

“Is that what they say?”

“I believe so. Though nowadays, they say so many things one can’t help but suspect they make at least some of them up.”

Katherine realized that she could easily listen to this man talk all evening. His voice was smooth, calm, and wonderfully expressive. It reminded her of a radio voice from the 1960′s or—what was his name? The man who did The Twilight Zone..? His demeanour was straightforward and grounded, and had a softness to it hat she found soothing. She was glad for the company. He produced a sort of shield which relieved Katherine of her subtle crowd induced panic.

“Would you think it terribly rude of me if I asked what you were thinking of just now? Before I ambushed you?” He asked, just loud enough to cut through the buzz and no more.

What a strange question.

“It’s just, you had such an interesting expression on your face as I walked over, I couldn’t help but be curious.”

She paused, wondering whether she should tell the truth. “I was thinking about how nice it would be if a piano fell through the ceiling and killed either me or the two women behind me who are far too stupid to go to the theatre, and far too drunk to talk about it.”

Mr. Tie laughed. A rich, genuine laugh. Brushed his hair out of his eyes with a well-practiced gesture. “Were you really? That’s fantastic. Though, I suppose it’s all you really can do when they get to this stage, isn’t it? They’re already bumping into one another, next they’ll stop noticing other people standing right behind them—”

“Then they’ll start spilling things...”

“But nothing can beat the point immediately after when they begin profusely apologizing at a decibel level beyond human standards.”

Katherine laughed aloud for the first time all evening. His poise and manner were thought to be extinct. How wonderful to find they were only severely endangered. “The theatre really is an ugly place, isn’t it?”

“An ugly place filled to the brim with beautiful people.”

“Better than a beautiful place filled with ugly people. At least with your example the expectations are low.”

“Whereas your example is utterly devastating,” he quipped.

“Tsk!” Katherine playfully batted him on the arm. For a few moments, they fell silent. Not an awkward silence, but a settled one as they waited for something else to say.

“We’ve met once before, haven’t we?” Katherine said, still watching the crowd.

“Last Christmas. Jennifer Finney’s.”

“You had a pinstripe suit and a pink shirt. And a vest.”

“With suspenders,” he added, leaning towards her ear.

Katherine gasped. “Please, we’re in public!” she cautioned playfully.

“You were wearing an evergreen evening gown with blood red earrings.”

“Bravo!”

There was another pause. Shorter this time. It was Terence who broke it. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it seems I have forgotten your name in the six months since I met you.”

“Oh, thank God.”

Mr. Tie raised his eyebrows.

“No, no! It’s just that I can’t remember your name either, and I’ve felt so awful this whole time talking to you and not calling you by your name because I forgot it.”

He offered he hand: “Terence Davis.”

She accepted it: “Katherine Henderson.”

“I am pleased to re-make your acquaintance,” he peacocked, kissing her hand in mock chivalry. “Well, now that we officially know each other, may I ask what you have been doing in this corner all evening? Have you been punished for stealing peppermints or something ridiculous like that? Or was it some other dubious thing?”

“Well, the thing is, I kept running around kicking people in the shins and screaming at the top of my lungs, so my mother made me stand in the corner all night.”

“Really?”

“No, but that’s what should have happened to a boy who was in here earlier.”

“I saw him.”

“He was hard to miss.”

“I had rather short words with a young woman who I can only assume was his mother. She did not heed my advice. Eventually, Angela, that Goddess of a stage manager, asked her to leave.” Katherine flushed a little at his last comment, wondering whether he was confiding in her that we was attracted to the stage manager or just saying she was an all-powerful saviour of the world, which was true.

“At least you tried,” she replied, intentionally feigning over-comfort as she put a hand on his shoulder. Terence glanced at her hand, and then back to her. Katherine flushed a little more.

“I do what little I can for the betterment of humanity,” he sighed, his eyes locking onto hers a little more firmly and lingering a little longer than was necessary. Katherine was suddenly very aware of her heartbeat which had crept its way into her throat. She tried to swallow it back to where it belonged.

“Though,” she continued, her mouth slightly dry, “if you want an honest answer to why I was standing in my corner—”

“It’s noisy, crowded, hot, and you don’t like anyone here because they’re all inarticulate and annoying.”

“Well, I was going to try to put it a bit more diplomatically but, yes, in a nutshell.”

“Darling, over the years, I have found it’s often more diplomatic to speak your mind, and those who are offended can go join a support group.”

Katherine smiled. “I suppose I haven’t quite gotten to that point yet.”

“Rest assured, the day will come when you shake off that downy coat of concern over other people’s reactions, and realize that the only way to deal with the insanity of the world is to tell it the truth.”

“I feel a deep discussion coming on.”

“You know, I believe I do as well. Would you like to escape and venture elsewhere?”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” answered Katherine, breathless with anticipation, though she didn’t know why. There was no implication in his voice that suggested he wanted anything other than conversation. And yet…

“Ladies first.” The two of them maneuvered their way through the crowd toward the front doors of the theatre, eventually finding themselves in the open air, breathing freely and deeply. This must be how a fish feels when it’s released from its small plastic bag. They walked for about a minute without speaking, enjoying the warm, fragrant night air. It had rained while they were inside so that the street lamps cast shimmering amber rings on the black, empty pavement. No traffic on the residential side street. It was Katherine’s turn to break the silence.

“How did you enjoy the show?” She asked, trying to find new footing for their conversation after its drastic change in atmosphere.

“I thought it was quite good.” Katherine noticed some reservation in his voice.

“But…” She prompted.

“You don’t know any of the cast, do you?”

“Just one. The man with the funny hat.”

“An unfortunate casting choice, but obviously not his fault. He was very good. One of the best of the group, I would say.”

“Mmhmm, he’s very versatile, wasted on this production if you ask me. But then again, the production was wasted on the audience, so perhaps it’s all for the sake of balance.”

There was a brief pause.

“You’re a clever young woman, did you know that?”

“So my bathroom mirror has tried to convince me.”

“Maybe you should listen to it. It’s a very attractive trait.”

Katherine felt like giggling on the inside, but resisted. Instead, she directed the conversation into more comfortable territory, one where she would always have a response. “You’re just trying to change the subject. You still haven’t told me what you thought about An Evening of Pinter.”

“I would, but I was taught never to speak ill of the dead.”

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad, was it?”

“Parts of it were on the stage, but the rest was back in the rehearsal room somewhere looking for its socks.”

“How so?”

“Well, the taxi driver, for example. She wasn’t specific enough in her choices. She clearly had no idea what she was talking about.”

“Neither did we, though.”

“No, but the playwright did. Some people argue that absurdist theatre is a waste of time, and that may be in some cases, but the fact still stands that a published playwright went to the creative trouble to put some very specific words on paper for a very specific reason. Not to respect that in one’s performance is rude. I saw quite a bit of that in other scenes as well, and I found it very disappointing. Others were good. Surprisingly good. But I can’t help but feel I’ve missed a connection. It’s like a bad date”

Katherine felt herself blushing again, feeling playful and a bit bold in the late night air. “Well, maybe the director didn’t know you were expecting a date, maybe he thought you were just talking nonsense together for the evening.”

“Perhaps, but surely the fact that I had purchased a ticket suggested I was interested in more than just a bit of nonsense.”

“Or, maybe the director was trying to expose the language burier. Sometimes life makes sense, sometimes it doesn’t, and sometimes we think we’re talking about one thing when we’re really talking about another.”

“Hmmm subtext carrying our baser selves on the shoulders of nonsense…” They had stopped walking now and Terence had squared himself to her, looking her dead in the face, hands casually in his pockets, dark eyes intensely steady yet still warm.

“Subtext can be confusing,” said Katherine, breathlessly, not breaking eye contact but feeling her arms go cold as her palms moistened.

“Then let’s be direct.”

“…Okay”

“I’ll start: I’ve been watching you watch other people all evening and I find that utterly fascinating.”

“I couldn’t take my eyes off you.”

“…I noticed” He raised an eyebrow and that damn smile came back to his lips.

“I find you very attractive and charming,” Katherine blurted out.

“I would find that very flattering if you didn’t look as though you were about to get hit by a car,” he chuckled. Katherine buried her face in her hands, laughing in embarrassment, wishing her hands weren’t so cold all of a sudden.

“Nevertheless,” he said, gently pulling her hands from her face to find her eyes again, “I find you incredibly alluring.” His last words were spoken so quietly they were almost a whisper, but Katherine them rumble in his chest. He had closed the distance between them by placing one hand on her shoulder, leaving one side of her open so as not to trap her. He tilted his face closer to hers, but didn’t kiss her. His lips were three inches away from hers, an offer and a question. She could almost taste his breath in her mouth, sweet with gin and vermouth. He stayed there, one hand on her shoulder, one still in his pocket. Ordinarily Katherine would have felt threatened by his confidence but instead she felt secure and aroused in a way that she wasn’t accustomed to. She felt emboldened, even—dare she say—empowered? Ugh, she hated that word. And yet, she felt such a sense of… control. Not more than he had, but no less either. Whatever was about to happen was on both of their terms and she was so unused to that feeling, always having to either take the lead or navigate objecthood.

Still, he hovered there, waiting for Katherine to decide what she wanted to do. His eyes had started searching her face for signs of a wordless answer, clues for whether he should proceed or retreat. Finally, she spoke, bringing her lips just to the point of almost touching his as she spoke and adoration began to spread from his chest like hot wax dripping down a candle. “You see, the thing with pauses,” she said, her breath heavy on his face, “is that they build tension between the performers and the audience. So that by the time they find their next line...the audience is in agony with anticipation.”

“This is a very long pause, darling,” he said, just as breathless as she was. She could tell how much he was holding back.

“Shall I kiss you then?”

He pressed a little closer to her. “Yes, I think you better had. If you’d like that.”

She breathed and closed the molecular distance between their mouths. Terence freed his other hand from his pocket and cupped her cheek, his fingers combing her hair away from her face as he did. The kiss was tender, chaste, and brimming with desire all at the same time. She pressed her front against his, convincing herself that this was actually happening somehow. It had been so long since she felt this rush of exhilaration about anyone. She didn’t know it, but Terence was just thinking the same thing, feeling remarkably fortunate if a bit nonplussed.

With both of them feeling pleasantly surprised about the direction the evening had taken for them, things had heated up quickly, fuelled by alcohol and the empty street. Terrence gently pulled away from their hungry embrace his grin more primal than it had been in the theatre. “Easy, darling,” he cautioned. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We still need to walk to my flat. If you want to come with me…”

Katherine almost laughed out loud at how unnecessary his question was, but wanted to respect his efforts nonetheless. She looked him in the eye, tilted her head and said, “When you say come…” and then smiled a wide, cheeky smile that made Terrence raise his eyebrows in surprise. He shot her a playful warning glance and said, “Damnit, woman, you’re going to be my undoing. Let’s just hope I can do the same for you,” he added in her ear as they started walking, his arm around her waist.

She was just starting to hope he didn’t live far she heard keys in his pocket. They had arrived at the shiny black door of a red brick duplex, two mailboxes mounted above the doorbell. Terence lifted the lid of the bottom one and peered inside. It was stuffed full of flyers, letters, and a newspaper. “Good news,” he said, letting the lid fall closed again and unlocking the door. “The neighbours are out of the town.” He smiled at her as he opened the door behind him and held an arm out, ushering Katherine in: “After you.”

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johaerys-writes · 5 years

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Dorian Pavus x Trevelyan

A World With You, Chapter 6: Memory of A Dream

Trying to restore order in a world gone mad is never easy. An archdemon appearing out of nowhere and kicking you in the head can make things a bit more complicated. But nothing beats being appointed the official leader of an upstart rebellious organisation with vague religious undertones, and having people swearing fealty to you left and right. Thankfully, Dorian is there to provide some much needed company.

Read here or on AO3 !

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The sound of howling wind echoed as if from a distance when Tristan opened his eyes. Blinding, throbbing pain was the only thing his senses could perceive for what felt like hours before he managed to push himself on his feet.

His hand touched smooth stone. He was in a cave. All was dark except for a small, imperceptible light in the distance. With effort, he forced himself to move towards it, supporting himself on the cave walls.

Every step made him more and more aware of the pitiful condition his body was in. His arm socket and wrist were pulsing painfully where that… creature had grabbed him and lifted him off the ground, shaking him about like a puppet. A quick pat down his sides made it clear that he had broken at least two ribs during his fall. His feet were numb. He didn't even know what time it was, or if it was day or night. And to add pain to injury, his stomach growled like a disgruntled bear. Just bloody perfect.

Groaning and mumbling curses while staggering on in the dark, he soon found himself at the cave opening. The snow was falling so thickly, he could barely see a few feet ahead. Squinting, he searched for a landmark, anything familiar that might help him recognise where he was. It didn't take long to bitterly admit to himself that it was useless. He sat down at the mouth of cave to catch his breath, and the hopelessness of his situation crushed him like a boulder.

He was alone. He was completely alone, and he had no idea which way to go. Even if he died there, no one would ever find him.

His everite ring glinted in the half dark, and he gently brushed his thumb over it. The familiar movement jolted some sort of sullen determination within him. I can’t die here, he thought. Not like this. He hauled himself up, took one step out of the cave, and immediately sank up to his knees in the snow. Pulling it out was so painful, it almost knocked the air out of his lungs. He glanced at the upward slope ahead of him and shivered. It would be a long, excruciating night.

Silently, he cursed himself as he wobbled awkwardly ahead. What on earth had possessed him, going out there and facing that beast? The scene in the Chantry building was playing over and over in his head, with the people watching him and that stupid, righteous anger overtaking him. Everyone, even those that had openly opposed him, had turned to him as if he were a saviour. And he had willingly stepped in to play the part.

He couldn’t help a mirth. The disgraced son of the Trevelyan family, that had once been the primary source of gossip for Ostwick nobility, was now regarded as the only person capable of delivering the people from madness and destruction. And wasn’t he, in a way? With that blasted mark on his hand, he had managed to seal the scar in the heavens and banish demons. Why not beat archdemons and self-proclaimed Gods while he was at it?

Worst of all was that he had agreed, once again, to do it. Blight, he had even suggested it. He had placed his life on the line to save others. People that he liked, and people that he loathed, some that he had exchanged a couple words with, and many that he didn’t know at all. Even those damned Chantrics, that seemed to exist only to irritate him, like annoying, buzzing flies. He had stepped forward, and wagered his hide just so they could have a chance to escape. Was he going mad?

But then again, hadn’t he always been a little mad?

He chuckled softy to himself as he wobbled through waist-deep snow. If Tilly was watching him from somewhere, he would bet all his gold, and his fancy daggers too, that she was having the laugh of a lifetime.

He didn’t know how long he had been trudging through the storm before his knees finally gave way. Ice and snow on his face was the last thing he felt as darkness took him.

A pink and golden sun slowly dipped below the horizon. The grass was soft where Tristan lay. The light from the setting sun felt warm against his skin, and the wind blowing through the apple trees made the leaves stir.

Tilly was picking flowers a little way ahead. Her hands were full of lilies, and she was wearing that yellow dress that she loved. It billowed in the wind, its fabric rippling as she moved.

She turned to look at him and smiled. Her hair fell around her face like a halo, so pale blonde it almost looked white.

“Get up, sleepy head” she laughed. “We have to go back to town. We’ll miss the fireworks.”

Tristan had forgotten all about the Summer day celebrations. The town square must have been full of people already. He groaned as he sat up.

“We can see the fireworks from here.”

“Not as clearly” she said, hopping to his side. “Come, let’s go.” The everite ring that he had gifted her glistened on her finger when she extended her hand to him.

“Let’s stay a little bit longer” he pleaded.

She frowned, placing her hands on her hips. “We’re late already. Mother will be expecting us.”

With a sigh, he hauled himself to his feet. The last thing he wanted was to go back to Ostwick, but he hated to see her frown.

“Come on, it will be fun!” The mischievous glint that he knew so well flickered in her eyes when she looked at him. “I’ll race you to the horses.”

Her hair bounced as she ran, and her bubbly laugh echoed strangely in his ears. Don’t go, he wanted to say, but the words wouldn’t come out. His heart tightened as he watched her draw further away.

Please, stay with me.

The dream dissipated like smoke in the wind as Tristan landed slowly in a cold and painful wakefulness. For a long moment, while reality took form around him, he thought he was still gazing at a pair of blue eyes, so dark they looked like deep, whirling pools. A mirror of his own.

“What would you have me tell them? This isn’t what we asked them to do!”

“We cannot simply ignore this. We must find a way!”

“And who put you in charge? We need a consensus or we have nothing!”

The loud, bickering voices grated at his nerves. His body was heavy and stiff, and his head felt like it would split in two. He blinked a stray tear away as he tried to make sense of what was going on around him.

He was in a tent. There were several thick blankets on top of him, but he still felt frozen and numb. The voices outside… they sounded familiar. A man, and two women. He tried to push himself up to get a better look, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

“Shhh. You need rest” a soft voice told him.

A woman wearing a chantry bonnet, her robes red and white, was sitting next to him. Her face was dark and wrinkled, and her eyes regarded him kindly as she helped him back down on his pillow.

“Mother Giselle” he croaked, and was immediately taken over by a coughing fit that brought stabbing pains to his injured side.

The woman pressed a cup of water to his lips, and he drank thirstily, not paying mind to the liquid dripping down his cheeks. “Where am I?” he grunted after resting back on his pillow.

“You are safe” she replied. “You were found lying in the snow not two miles away from our camp. Commander Cullen and Seeker Cassandra had been leading search parties all night to no avail, until one of their scouts spotted you. Most did not believe you had survived the avalanche, but they persisted. And then, you appeared. As if by a miracle.” The sister was smiling at him warmly, patting his forehead with her handkerchief.

Tristan closed his eyes and breathed as shallowly as he could, every inhale only increasing his agony. His arm was bandaged, and the sweet and slightly astringent scent of elfroot ointment lingered on his clothes and blankets.

“You were terribly injured” Mother Giselle continued, seeing him wince. “You were all but frozen when they found you, and had a terrible fever. It hasn’t broken yet, but it’s getting better. You’re getting better.”

He was only half listening to her. The pain and whatever it was the healers had given him were making him hazy, hardly capable of coherent thought. He almost drifted back into a light sleep, when he cracked his eyes open and stared at Mother Giselle.

“What about the others?” he asked breathlessly. “Did they make it back to the Chantry? Cassandra, Varric… Dorian?”

The woman’s mouth twisted imperceptibly at the sound of Dorian’s name, but her voice was soothing when she spoke. “They are all well. They made it out safely.”

Tristan slumped back down on his pillow, relief washing over him. Cullen, Leliana and Cassandra were arguing amongst themselves outside the tent. Josephine chimed in occasionally, perhaps in an attempt to quieten their spirits, but was often met with backlash and more shouting. “It sounds like they have been at it for hours.”

“They have that luxury, thanks to you. The enemy could not follow, and with time to doubt, we turn to blame. Infighting may threaten us as much as this Corypheus.”

Corypheus… In his feverish haze, he had forgotten to ask about the most important thing. “What happened after the avalanche? Do we know where Corypheus and his forces are?”

“We… are not sure where we are” she said thoughtfully. “Which may be why, despite the numbers he commands, there is still no sign of him. That, or you are believed dead.”

So Corypheus was still out there, looking for him. “If they’re arguing about what we do next, I need to be there” Tristan said with determination.

“Another heated voice won’t help, even yours. Perhaps especially yours.” She paused to look outside the tent, where Cullen was pacing up and down, and Cassandra was shouting, gesturing wildly. “Our leaders struggle because of what we have witnessed. We saw our Defender stand, and fall. And now we have seen him return. The more the enemy is beyond us, the more miraculous your actions appear, and the more our trials seem ordained. That is difficult to accept, no? What we have been called to endure? What, perhaps, we must come to believe?”

Tristan groaned, half in pain, half in frustration. Could a Chantric ever go five minutes without talking about faith, or belief, or whatever other nonsense they fill their heads with in the Chantry? “I escaped the avalanche, perhaps barely. But I did not die. Anyone who thinks that is either denser than an oak trunk, or has listened to too many tales and songs for their own good” he spat, possibly with a bit more vehemence than was deserved.

The old woman listened to his outburst calmly, her expression never changing. “Of course” she said after he had finished. “The dead cannot return from beyond the veil. But the people know what they saw, or perhaps what they needed to see. The Maker works both in the moment, and how it is remembered. Can we truly know the heavens are not with us?”

“So, the people think that I have been sent straight from the Maker. Does believing something make it true?” Tristan said, grimacing with pain and annoyance. “What about Corypheus, then? He believes he has a claim to the heavens. Perhaps if he wishes it strongly enough, it will become true as well.”

Mother Giselle regarding him calmly for a moment, as if she had not picked up on his sarcasm. “If even a shred of what Corypheus says is true, all the more reason Andraste would choose someone to rise against him.”

Her sombre tone made him feel like an indignant child, lashing out at everyone around him for want of better judgement. Still, agreeing to the existence of a godly plan with him in the centre was more than he could concede to at that moment. “Mother Giselle” he started, putting on his most serious scowl, “I just don’t see how what I believe matters. Lies or not, Corypheus is a living, breathing threat. We can’t match that with faith alone.”

The woman looked away, beyond the opening of the tent. She did not try to refute his words, or argue with him, and that made him feel even more petulant. It was infuriating.

The argument from outside had quieted down. Perhaps they had finally reached a consensus, or simply agreed to disagree. In any case, he had to force himself out there despite his injuries. Steeling himself against the pain, he tried to push himself up onto his elbows. Hot, blinding agony filled him as the stitches at his side tore open, and once again he was fading in blackness.

Tristan examined the blade of his dagger, glimmering in the morning sun. Running his finger on its sharp edge, he was surprised to see it draw a tiny bit of blood, even though he only applied the pressure of a feather on it. Perhaps he had worked it too much on the whetstone the previous day. He sucked on the line of blood forming on the tip of his index finger, and placed the dagger back on his belt.

Languidly, he leaned back on his elbows on the large feather bed, and inspected his new quarters. The desk in the corner was dark mahogany, with a plush leather chair and a golden fountain pen. The library behind it was stocked full of books, all leather bound and most of them rare editions, he assumed. The chest of drawers next to his bed had been equipped with several different outfits, both casual and formal, in case of a noble arriving to visit. It was evident that Lady Josephine had spared no expense this time. He was the Inquisitor now, after all.

He rose from the bed and walked over to shut the ornate glass doors leading to the balcony. As fetching as the view of the Frostback Mountains was, he felt like he had had his fill of them for the day. Snow and rock was all that one could see in that place.

Sometimes he reminisced fondly of his own room back in his family home in Ostwick. The Trevelyan mansion was situated on the hill within the inner wall of the city, overlooking the Waking Sea. His own balcony had a lovely view of the mansion’s flower garden. That time of the year, the rare hundred-leafed embrium flowers would be in full bloom, and the apple trees would be heavy with fruit. He used to love nothing more than to walk the mansion grounds with Tilly on those quiet, lazy afternoons, admiring the flowers and the tall bushes, pruned by the gardeners to resemble all sorts of different animals and objects. Afterwards, they would sit underneath the cool shade of the gazebo, talking and laughing for hours, sipping on berry tea and nibbling on ginger biscuits.

Better times, those were. Comfortable. Safe. Tristan could not recall a time in his life since then that he had felt as safe. Or comfortable, for that matter.

He sighed heavily as he moved over to his desk. A stack of reports was waiting for him. Several reviews of the armoury and Skyhold’s defences in Cullen’s neat and stark handwriting, information from Leliana’s spies on possible locations of Corypheus’ army, as well as numerous invitations to nobles and letters of thanks in Josephine’s elegant penmanship. A new stick of crimson wax had been left next to his fountain pen, along with his personal signet. The Inquisitor’s signet.

“Inquisitor Trevelyan…” he mouthed silently as he signed the first paper. There were times he forgot his new title and signed with Herald of Andraste, or Lord Tristan of House Trevelyan -he did have so many fancy titles, after all-, and had to chuck the page away and start anew. Admittedly, his new title had a much better ring to it than his previous one.

Along with the new title, he still hadn’t gotten used to his new treatment. Several days after his appointment and he still found it difficult to walk around the castle grounds, amongst the people. The days of him wandering the streets of a city unnoticed were long gone, that he knew, but this was something else entirely. Back in Haven, folk would greet and nod at him when he passed, or whisper behind his back when he was out of earshot. Now, they all but fell on hands and knees upon catching sight of him, or asked him for his blessing with trembling voices.

Mother Giselle had been right about one thing, he ruefully admitted to himself. After the battle of Haven, he was no longer just a man with a strange mark on his hand and a refutable link to Andraste. He had become something of a demi-god.

It was odd. In fact, it was more than odd. He felt completely out of his depth. Like a mabari dressed in human clothes, that had somehow managed to fool everyone. Eventually, someone would find out that he was indeed a mabari, and he would be driven away, humiliated and disgraced. And this charade would just be another epic failure on the list of epic failures that was his life.

He stood abruptly, placing his pen down. Pondering on the past, and lamenting about his present situation would not help. He had to do something, anything, to take his mind away, otherwise he would soon drive himself mad. His gaze fell on a couple of thick and dusty tomes of Tevinter history he had asked from Hellisma in the library. Normally he would ask a servant to return them, but he was in desperate need of some fresh air.

Snuggling the books under his arm, he exited his quarters, taking a deep breath for good measure. He walked down the throne room hastily, nodding and forcing himself to smile at the visiting nobles and the Chantry sisters that greeted him, and made a left towards the stairs that led to the east tower. Hopping the steps two at a time, he reached the library door, and pushed it open gingerly, careful not to attract too much attention. The few scholars that were there were too engrossed in their own research to pay him any mind. With a sigh of relief, he followed the circular railing all the way to the other side, from where he had taken the books.

A warm scent of sandalwood and oakmoss greeted him as he turned the corner.

“Dorian.”

The dark-haired mage was placing a book about Dwarven artefacts on the shelf, when he turned abruptly, hand on his chest. “Inquisitor! You startled me” he said, his soft laughter reverberating across the circular tower.

“Forgive me” Tristan replied. “I only wanted to return some books.”

Dorian’s eyes flashed inquisitively over the book covers. “Let’s see, what do we have here? Tevinter history? How curious! If you’re interested, I can recommend a few editions that are much more engaging. Or” he said, his lips curling in a half smile, “you can ask me. I am a walking, talking encyclopaedia on the matter.”

“I might take you up on that offer one day” Tristan said as he placed the books on the shelf.

“I’ll hold you to that” Dorian joked. He leaned back on the library, arms crossed in front of his chest and one ankle on top of the other. “Word around here is that you’ve become something of a hermit. I have to admit that I almost forgot what you looked like.”

“Did you now?” He certainly hadn’t forgotten how Dorian looked. “I’ve been tending to my duties. Josephine and Leliana have been keeping me quite busy.”

“Ah, yes. Now that you’re the Inquisitor and all that. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I never really pegged you for the dutiful type.”

“Neither did I” Tristan replied thoughtfully. His glanced at his ring as he twisted it on his finger. “After the attack on Haven, there have been infinitely more things to do. Corypheus has made the Inquisition’s tasks a lot more complicated, as you can imagine.” He intended the last one as a mild jest, yet couldn’t keep a sombre tone from creeping in.

“What happened was a great shock to everyone involved” Dorian said quietly. “I can’t imagine what it must have been like for you.”

Tristan lifted his gaze to Dorian’s face. The affection and warmth in his sterling grey eyes startled him. He didn’t remember Dorian ever looking at him so fondly. For a long moment, they simply gazed at each other, neither of them daring to break the silence that stretched between them.

Tristan coughed softly to clear the lump that had lodged itself in his throat and looked away. He could only hope that his cheeks didn’t look as flushed as they felt. “It has been… challenging. To say the least.”

Dorian settled back on the library with a soft sigh. “Tell me about it” he said, shaking his head. “One moment you’re trying to restore order in a world gone mad. That should be enough for anyone to handle. Then, out of nowhere, an archdemon appears and kicks you in the head! Not to mention that “Elder One” riding on its back as if it were a pony.”

Tristan couldn’t help the barking laugh that bubbled from his lips. “It took me by surprise as well. I couldn’t decide who was uglier, the archdemon or Corypheus? Gives me headaches still.”

“Oh, yes. That Corypheus fellow was downright frightful to look at. And you were so close to him, poor thing! I would have nightmares also” Dorian said with a soft, throaty chuckle. “I have been thinking about him quite a lot, you know” he continued, his smile soon fading to be replaced by a sombre expression. “I always assumed this “Elder One” behind the Venatori was a magister, but this… This is something else entirely. In Tevinter, they say the Chantry tales of magisters starting the blight are just that: tales. Yet here we are. One of those magisters. A darkspawn.”

“We only know what Corypheus claims to be.”

“True. He might be a convincing liar. Or delusional. Or insane. But how many delusional maniacs could have the knowledge of breaking open the Fade? If Tevinter and those magisters are behind the Blights, then that means that what I’ve been taught all my life has been a lie. It was us all along. Tevinter destroyed the world.”

Dorian’s voice was low. He was still leaning casually against the library, but there was nothing relaxed in his demeanour now. He seemed… crushed.

His tone made Tristan’s heart tighten in his chest. He took a step closer, lowering his voice as he held his gaze levelly. “You didn’t do anything, Dorian. Those men did. A thousand years ago.”

Dorian shook his head glumly. “True, except that one of them is up and walking around right now. Not to mention my idiot countrymen that would happily follow him.” He fixed his grey eyes on Tristan. There was steely determination there, but something else as well. An awareness of defeat hung over him, like a dark and heavy cloud. It seemed like it had been there for a very long time. “No one will thank me, whatever happens. No one will thank you either. You know that, yes?”

Tristan crossed his arms in front of his chest, sniffing in annoyance. He never cared about people’s approval, and he wasn’t going to start now. “I couldn’t care less if they thank me. That’s not why I do what I do.”

Dorian regarded him thoughtfully for a moment. Then, a knowing smile spread on his lips. “I knew there was something clever about you.”

Well, there might be one person whose approval he cared about.

“Now” Dorian exclaimed, standing straight, “I think we’ve talked enough about evil magisters and darkspawn for a day. How about you join me for some brandy, Inquisitor? What with all those nobles you’ve been meeting lately, I’d be shocked and disappointed if you hadn’t come across any decent gossip. Come” he said with a wicked smile, extending his arm in front of him to let Tristan lead the way. “You must tell me all about it.”

A wide smile spread on Tristan’s face as he followed Dorian to the tavern. For the first time in weeks, he didn’t really mind that people were staring as he walked through Skyhold’s corridors. This time, at least, the mark on his hand shared the spotlight with something far more interesting; Dorian and his impossibly flashy outfit.

#dorian pavus #dorian pavus fic #dorian x trevelyan #dorian x inquisitor #dragon age #dragon age fanfiction #dragon age fanfic #dragon age inquisition #dorian x tristan #dorian x tristan trevelyan #a world with you #johaerys writes #johaeryslavellan

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wistfulcynic · 5 years

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Their Way By Moonlight: Emma (Chapter 4)

Notes: Thank you as always for your comments and feedback, though I confess I've been a bit taken aback by the vehement reaction to Emma and Walsh's cursed marriage. It seems that people hate Walsh in a much more visceral way than I anticipated.

I do truly appreciate all of you who are reading this, and especially those who have made supportive and encouraging comments. I’m really putting a lot into this one in terms of style, plot, and detail, and it’s hard not to get discouraged when I pour blood and sweat into something only to have everyone focus on one tiny thing. So to ease your minds, here is our first chapter from Emma’s POV. I think it will go a long way towards assuaging your fears about her circumstances under the curse. If you are considering bailing on this fic because of the Emma/Walsh situation, I would ask you please to read this chapter before you make a final decision.

As before, there are allusions to cursed relationships, and a potentially distressing scene of aggression within a cursed marriage.

Summary: A new curse has fallen on Storybrooke and this time the Saviour is trapped inside it, deliberately separated from her son and anyone else who might help her break it. But what no one knows –including her own cursed self– is that she and Hook are soulmates, working together within their shared dreams to find a way to break the curse and free everyone from the clutches of evil yet again. (Alternate 3B, set in the What Dreams May Come universe)

Rating: A hard M

Tagging: @teamhook @wellhellotragic @rouhn @kmomof4 @resident-of-storybrooke @darkcolinodonorgasm @jennjenn615@tiganasummertree @let-it-raines @bonbonpirate @thejollyroger-writer @lfh1962

Anyone wishing to be added to or dropped from this tag list, please let me know!

Read it on AO3

Emma:

Emma hesitated outside the door of the old cannery. She wasn’t quite certain of why she was there, or the reason behind the irresistible compulsion she felt to see its disconcertingly attractive new owner again. He had invited her to come by, though of course he’d meant later— the bookstore wasn’t even open yet. But Emma hadn’t been able to wait. Two days had passed since they’d met, since that brief but oddly intense conversation in Granny’s, and she had been unable to get Killian Jones and his son out of her head. Something about them, about him, pulled at her, and it wasn’t just his striking looks, not even the beautiful blue eyes with their expression of profound, compelling sadness. It was something deeper. She felt somehow as though she knew him, and more astoundingly that he knew her, better than anyone, better even than her own husband. Although, she thought with a small start, as though the idea had only just occurred to her, Walsh barely even took the trouble to speak to her these days, much less keep up with what was going on in her life. She’d been meaning to talk to him about that, she remembered suddenly. Yes. She’d been meaning to talk to him about a lot of things, but when the time came to do so she always seemed to forget. Tonight, she promised herself, making a mental note. Tonight they would finally talk. She wouldn’t forget this time.

Gathering her courage, Emma reached for the doorknob with her right hand, the palm of which still tingled from her brief handshake with Killian two days ago, and as she opened the door she remembered how the night before last her sleep had been troubled by disturbing dreams. She could recall only wisps of them, but she was certain he had been in them, he and his eyes, doing things to her that she couldn’t bear to think about in the light of day. Things she couldn’t bear to admit she had loved.

She really should stay far away from him. And yet here she was, in his shop.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside, gasping at the sight before her. The room was simply lovely, bright and airy, with sunlight pouring in through the wide windows, dancing across the exposed brick walls and the antique looking dark-wood shelves that stood tall in four distinct sections around the room. A heavy mahogany desk sat opposite the door, elegantly carved with nautical designs: ships and storms, mermaids and other sea creatures she couldn’t put a name to, all rendered in exquisite detail. Atop it was an antique metal cash register, as elegantly decorated as the desk, sitting alongside, Emma was amused to note, a decidedly modern portable card reader attached to an iPad. Someone had a taste for the ancient but enough sense to appreciate the modern, she thought.

She was so caught up in admiration of her surroundings that she didn’t notice Killian’s arrival until he spoke.

“Swan?” The sound of his voice seemed to wrap around her, as deep and sonorous as she remembered, almost caressing her name. She turned to see him standing at the foot of the stairs. “What are you doing here?”

“Um,” she said, feeling abruptly hot and itchy. How was it possible that he could be even better looking than she remembered? Admittedly she hadn’t really had a good look at Granny’s, though she had definitely noticed his face, but now as he stood by the black wrought-iron staircase that wound in a perfect helix up to a hole in the ceiling, his expression briefly unguarded and searingly intense, she had an opportunity to ogle.

He wore dark grey trousers in a soft woolen twill and an equally soft looking v-neck sweater in a shade of blue that made his eyes stand out even more. A tuft of dark hair peeked out just above the vee, and the itch in Emma’s palm flared to life again with the desire to touch it, to touch him. Everything about him seemed so eminently touchable. The sweater clung to his lean frame just tightly enough to show how fit he was, and his hair was tousled in a way that looked both deliberate and as though it could have been caused by fingers being run through it in the heat of passion.

What? Emma shook herself. Where the hell did that come from? Remember you’re married. And it’s not like you know anything about the heat of passion, anyway. At least, that’s what Walsh always told her, what he always gave as an excuse for why he didn’t want to touch her. She was cold, he said. Too hard. Not enough. She forced back those thoughts, promising herself once again that she would sit down with Walsh that evening and discuss the problems in their marriage. She dreaded it, but she had to try. They couldn’t go on much longer like this.

“Uh,” she tried again to respond to Killian’s question. “You said I should come by.”

“So I did, though I didn’t expect you quite so soon. I’m afraid we’re not open yet.”

“Yeah, sorry, it was stupid,” she said, turning away. “I was just passing and I thought— never mind, I’ll go—”

“No!” She looked back at him, startled at the vehemence in his voice. He flushed faintly pink and reached up to rub at a spot behind his right ear. “No, you don’t have to go. Please don’t, in fact. I’d be happy to, um, give you a tour? If you’d like.”

He looked hesitant but also eager, like he really, really wanted her to stay. She smiled. It felt like a long time since anyone had actually desired her company.

“Okay,” she said, a bit shyly. “I’d like that.”

A bright smile broke across his face, warm and soft and with just a hint of something wicked beneath it. For a moment Emma forgot to breathe. God, he’s gorgeous.

“Well, why don’t we start here?” he said, coming to stand beside her and indicating the near corner of the room with his left arm. His sleeve was pushed up slightly and she could see the seam where his prosthetic hand joined his arm. She realised with surprise that she hadn’t noticed the other day that he was missing his left hand. He’s missing his left hand. Why did that fact seem so significant to her? It tickled at the back of her mind, like something she needed to remember but couldn’t quite pull from her subconscious.

“So we’re still waiting on some inventory, but you can see the general layout of the shop,” he was saying. “Reference material is here at the front, with theory guides just here behind it. The practical manuals we have to be a bit more careful with, so they’re back in this corner, some of them will be locked in a special glass cupboard, available on request only. Then here in this corner we have the historical context.”

Emma frowned, looking more closely at the titles of the books that already graced the shelves. Rare volumes, he’d said the other day, but these were all—

“These are books of magic!” she cried.

“Oh, aye, did I not mention? That’s our specialty. Books of and about magic.”

She started to laugh, then trailed off when she noticed he didn’t join her. “But you’re not serious?”

“Very serious.”

“Books of magic.”

“And about magic, aye.”

“But— magic isn’t real.”

“There are quite a number of people who would disagree with that assessment, Sheriff.”

“And you’re one of them?” Her voice was rife with disbelief.

“Aye,” he replied, and the sincerity in his face and tone were unmistakable. “I am.”

She shook her head. “I would never have pegged you as someone with an interest in the occult. You seem so, I dont know, practical.”

“Oh, I’m very practical, love, but that doesn’t mean I can’t believe in magic.”

She wanted to deny his words, really it was so absurd, but she realised with another start of surprise that she was genuinely interested, almost despite herself, curious to the point of fascination. “Will you tell me about them?”

He exhaled deeply, almost as if he had been holding his breath waiting for her reaction, and gave her another dazzling smile. “It would be my pleasure.”

Nearly two hours later they were sitting on the floor surrounded by books, and Emma’s head was buzzing with stories of witches and wizards, covens and cults, fascinating details concerning the history and practice of magical arts. She felt like she had learned more in that short time than she had before in the whole of her life. Of course, her earlier education had been… it had been… what? She couldn’t recall. Frowning, she tried to remember where she had gone to school, the names of her teachers, fellow classmates, anything, but it was all a blank.

“Emma?” She turned to see Killian looking at her inquiringly. “Are you all right, love?”

She should really object to that ‘love’, she knew, but couldn’t bring herself to. She liked it. It made her feel warm inside.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just a bit distracted.”

He nodded, and reached out to close one of the books. “We’ve been talking for a long time,” he said. “Perhaps we could take a break?”

She watched carefully as he used the prosthetic hand to close the book. The hand moved, she noticed, clearly it had some sort of mechanism operating it, but he seemed to mange it awkwardly, as though not quite used to it. She wondered how long he’d had— “When did you lose your hand?” she blurted, then flushed. “Sorry, it’s none of my business.”

He looked startled, then smiled. “No, it’s fine. It’s been so long, I don’t mind speaking of it anymore.”

“How long?”

“Oh, years and years.”

“What happened? Er, if you don’t mind me asking.”

“Not at all. It was stupid, really. I was young, I got in a fight. Over a woman. Woke up the next day with no hand.”

“I’m so sorry.”

He shrugged. “Like I said it was years ago.”

“Mmmmm.”

“What is it, Swan?” He looked almost expectant, like he knew the gears were turning in her head and was excited to see what they would spit out. She felt again the odd, unfamiliar sensation of being the focus of genuine interest. He truly seemed to care about what she had to say, for no reason other than that she was saying it.

“It’s just— well, you don’t seem very comfortable with the artificial one. If it’s been so long, I guess I would have thought you’d be more used to it by now.”

“Ah, well that’s explained easily enough. I lost my hand so long ago that the prosthetics that were available to me at the time were, um, let’s say primitive. This one however is quite new. State of the art, they tell me. It works by interacting with the electrical impulses in my muscle fibres, apparently. So you see, until quite recently I had a much simpler one, and this one, while far better in many ways, is taking a bit of time to adjust to.”

Every word he spoke was the truth, she could detect no dishonesty in his face or manner, yet she sensed it wasn’t the whole story either. He was leaving out important details. And she wondered why.

As he spoke he adjusted the prosthetic with his right hand, drawing her attention to the thick, engraved silver band he wore on its ring finger. A wedding ring? she wondered. It must be. A man with no left hand would naturally wear his wedding band on his right, wouldn’t he? Especially if until recently he’d worn a simpler prosthesis, one with no fingers.

She wondered, and not for the first time, about Henry’s mother. Killian’s face when he’d spoken of her in Granny’s had worn for a brief moment such a devastated expression, her loss must still be fresh and painful for him. In a weird way that made her feel better about having sought him out and spent so long talking with him. She was married, he a grieving widower, what harm could there be in a friendship between them? She certainly wouldn’t have to worry about anything coming of the fierce attraction she felt for him. Even if he felt it too, he would never act on it. He was very obviously still in love with his wife, and Emma somehow knew beyond any doubt that he was not a man to betray those he loved.

“So, um, it’s ah, lunchtime,” he said, scratching behind his ear again. “And it seems we both could use a break. Would you care to join me? For some lunch?”

“Sure, I guess. Where were you going to go?”

“I—, uh, we live upstairs,” he gestured towards the staircase. “The third floor is a loft apartment, I was just going to go up and make a sandwich.”

Alone with him in his apartment. Emma’s heart thundered. “A sandwich sounds great,” she managed to say. “Can you do grilled cheese?”

His face twisted for a moment into the strangest expression, half blissful happiness, half like he wanted to cry. “I can,” he said, his voice hoarse. “It’s my son’s favourite.”

“In that case, I’d love to join you.”

The grilled cheese was perfect, exactly the way she liked it. She told him as much, and was rewarded with another half-delighted, half-sad expression. “I’m glad I haven’t lost my touch,” he said, almost to himself.

“What do you mean?”

“Grilled cheese is— Henry’s mother’s favourite as well,” he said quietly. “Since we lost her we don’t make it as often as we used to.”

Emma didn’t quite know how to respond to that, so she crunched her sandwich in slightly awkward silence as he busied himself at the stove, avoiding looking at him until he slid a cup in front of her. “What’s this?” she asked in surprise.

“Traditional Jones family accompaniment to grilled cheese,” he replied.

She picked up the mug and inhaled over it. “Hot chocolate with— is that cinnamon?”

“Aye. It’s a bit odd I’ll grant you, and if I’m honest I prefer it plain, but that’s how Henry likes it.”

“Seriously? You’re telling me your son likes cinnamon on his hot chocolate.”

“Aye.” He seemed to be watching her carefully.

“Grilled cheese and hot chocolate with cinnamon is my favourite lunch,” she said. “You’re basically telling me that I have the same tastes as your thirteen year old kid.”

“Would it help if I confessed to an affinity for it as well?” he asked, his face deadpan but with amusement twinkling in his eyes.

“It might.”

“Very well, I confess it, but you mustn’t ever tell Henry. I’d never get him to eat a vegetable again if he thought he could wheedle grilled cheese out of me every night.”

“It’s a deal.”

The earlier awkwardness was dispelled, and as Killian sat down to eat his sandwich Emma sipped her chocolate —it too was perfect— making it last as long as possible. There was no way she could justify staying any longer once lunch was over, and she didn’t want to go. She felt comfortable with Killian, and happy, things she couldn’t remember feeling in a long, long time. Later she knew she would need to analyse these feelings, but for now she simply wished to feel them.

When the last drop was finally drained she set the cup down on the counter, then realised it might be nice if she took it to the sink instead and went to pick it up again, at the same time as Killian reached for it himself. Her hand closed around it first followed a second later by his, his fingers linking with hers in a way that felt so natural that it didn’t even occur to her to question it, simply laughing lightly as they released the cup but not each other’s hands. His thumb caressed her bare ring finger. “You don’t wear a wedding ring,” he said softly.

She could barely breathe her heart was pounding so hard, the gentle movements of his thumb sending sparks coursing up her arm, reverberating through her whole body. “Um,” she said, trying to think. “No, I — I have one of course, but I don’t wear it.”

“Why not?”

“Er.” She tried to remember. There was a reason, surely? “I can’t with— with my job. It gets in the way.” Yes, that must be it.

“Ah.” Something in his tone suggested he didn’t quite believe her, but before she could reply he had released her hand and turned away, picking up the mug and putting it in the sink.

“I like yours though,” she said abruptly. Where did that come from?

“What?” He turned, giving her an odd look.

“Your wedding ring.” She reached out and took his hand again, this time caressing the silver band upon the third finger with her own thumb. “It is a wedding ring, isn’t it?”

He cleared his throat. “Aye.”

“Henry’s mother.” It wasn’t a question and so required no answer, but he gave one anyway. “Aye.” The sadness was back in his voice, this time untempered by any joy.

Emma smiled, feeling suddenly swamped by sadness herself. She felt such a connection to this man, unlike anything she’d ever felt before, and she hated to think of him hurting.

Briefly she allowed herself a rare, uncharacteristic moment of self-indulgence to wonder what it would be like to be loved as devotedly as Killian loved his wife. To be loved even after she was gone. To have such an emotion, from such a man. Swallowing back tears, she looked up at him. “She had good taste. This is exactly the sort of ring I would have chosen.”

“She’s an extraordinary woman,” he replied, his voice rough with emotion, his eyes blazing with it.

Emma nodded, wishing she knew why that remark left such a clutching, squeezing sensation around her heart.

“Well I should go,” she said, releasing his hand.

He swallowed hard then gave her a small smile, a tight, guarded thing that squeezed her heart again. He looked so sad. She wanted to see the bright, wicked grin from earlier.

“May I see you out?” he asked politely, his emotions under control again.

She shook her head, already moving towards the door. “No, it’s fine. But thanks.”

“Any time, love.”

Her hand was on the doorknob when he spoke again. “Emma.”

She looked back at him, gripped by the wild, irrational hope that he might ask her to stay. “What about your husband?” he asked.

“Who?” She frowned in confusion, then remembered. “Oh, Walsh.” Why had she forgotten him? “What about him?”

“Does he not wear a ring?”

“Of course he does.” Didn’t he? “Why do you ask?”

“It’s just that you said ‘would have chosen.’” Killian’s face was calm, but that intensity was back in his eyes.

“What?”

“Just now, when you looked at my ring you said it’s exactly what you would have chosen. Not what you did choose.”

There was that confusion again, swirling through her brain and blocking her thoughts. Why couldn’t she think? “I— I must have misspoken.” She rubbed her forehead, which had started to ache.

He was silent for a long moment before replying. “Of course, I’m sure that’s it. Goodbye, Sheriff.”

Emma smiled tightly and left.

When she arrived home that evening, Emma sought out Walsh in his study. He didn’t like her bothering him there but she was confused, her head spinning with questions that needed answers. She’d spent the afternoon in her office with the lights dimmed, nursing her headache and making a list of all the questions she needed to ask him, everything that was odd in their relationship and in her life. It was a long list. Why hadn’t she ever talked to him before? She’d been unhappy for so long…

“What is it, Emma?” Walsh’s voice was cold.

“I just— wanted to talk to you. About some things.”

He turned and fixed her with the icy, probing stare that never failed to make her tongue-tied and anxious. She wanted to flee, back to the relative safety of the living room, where Walsh rarely went. No! You need answers! Stay strong!

“Some things,” Walsh repeated.

“Y-yes.”

“Well go on,” he waved his hand at her and adopted an expression of exaggerated patience. “We haven’t got all night. What are these ‘things’ that are suddenly so important?”

Emma had spent an hour memorising her list of questions, but now she could only remember one.

“Why don’t you wear a wedding ring?” she burst out. “Why don’t I?”

“Of— of course I wear one!” Walsh looked genuinely surprised, his composure slipping enough to rejuvenate her resolve.

“Walsh I am looking at your hand right now and it is bare,” she said. “Neither of us wear rings. I’m certain I have one, I remember it, but where is it? Why did I stop wearing it?” He gaped at her and she seized her opportunity, letting months worth of questions flood out. “And why don’t we do anything together any more? What happened to our friends? I remember— I think I remember that we used to go out, do things as a couple, with other couples. But we have no friends now, and I stay in alone every night. I feel like I never see you these days, you’re hardly ever home, you never want to have sex—” she broke off as a look of revulsion crossed Walsh’s face, crushing her, stopping the words in her throat. Your own husband finds you repulsive, she thought bitterly, and a small voice at the very back of her consciousness piped up with a single word. “Why?”

What? thought Emma, and the voice elaborated. “Dont you want to know why?”

A memory flashed through her mind, although no, not a memory, it couldn’t be, but it felt like a memory. The blue, blue eyes of Killian Jones, warm with adoration, his deep voice, his hand in her hair. “You’re so beautiful, Emma,” he whispered. “So utterly, heartbreakingly beautiful.”

“Walsh, what’s going on?” she asked, suddenly angry, furious, incandescent with rage. “There’s something very wrong here, and I think you’re behind it. Tell me what it is. Tell me what you’ve done to me!”

Walsh’s face twisted into a terrifying snarl and he grabbed her arm, pulling her towards him until they were nose-to-nose, drowning her anger in fear. “Why are you asking these questions all of a sudden?” he hissed, “Does it by any chance have something to do with our new neighbourhood bookseller?”

“Wh— what?” Emma scrambled to lie, to protect Killian. “No! Of course not.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Emma.” Walsh sighed, his face falling back into its usual supercilious, condescending expression. Still holding her arm he turned and picked something up from his desk, a small box in silver filigree, beautiful in a cold and terrible way. “Fortunately it won’t matter. Come morning you’ll be yourself again. Or one of your selves, anyway.” He opened the box with a flick of his thumb and blew a harsh puff of air into it, sending a shower of glittering grey particles flying into Emma’s eyes. She gasped, then collapsed. Walsh held her up with his grip on her arm, then gave her a shove back into the sofa behind her. “That should take care of you for now,” he muttered, looking down at her unconscious form. “It appears that the pirate works faster than I had anticipated. Of course very little that we anticipated about him has turned out to be true. How he even managed to get here in the first place is something I would very much like to know. He is supposed to be stuck in Neverland.” He paused, smirking. “The power of true love, I suppose,” he said, sneering the words. “But he’ll soon be dealt with, him and your son. And now, ‘wife’, off to bed with you.” He waved his hand and Emma disappeared in a puff of green smoke.

When she awoke the next morning, alone in her bed as always, all her doubts and worries about her marriage along with all recollection of her confrontation with Walsh were gone.

Her memories of the time she’d spent with Killian Jones, however, were not.

Notes: I hope this makes you feel a bit better (but still interested enough to want more!).

#cs ff #cursed storybrooke #captain swan #captain cobra #cursed captain swan #mystery #angst #canon divergence #alternative 3b #their way by moonlight #profdanglaisstuff

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minsugasnerd · 5 years

Text

Nothing Else Matters - Epilogue

Pairing: Yoongi x You

Word Count: 2,352

Genre: Fluff?

A/N: This fic was my very first and will always be my baby! I’m surprised it got this far ^_^ thank you to my faves @softkim2 @softjeon and @bangtanjaemi for all of the encouragement and support! I love you!

chapters [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8]

Months following the incident at your former place of employment, you had to appear in court numerous times to describe in detail why took place that night. You testified against Lucky, thrilling everyone before you how he harassed you, further backing up your story about the countless of times he made you extremely uncomfortable. Your heart absolutely sank when a few more of your coworkers came forward to say the same happened to them, some told worse tales. Your stomach churned, that could have been you if it wasn’t for Yoongi. You tried fighting him off but were unsuccessful, you were so incredibly grateful for your boyfriend. After the fact he asked if you’d be willing to take self defense classes, you were all too happy to say yes, for the most part because you hated being the damsel in distress.

You had been looking for other jobs since the club was shut down, rightfully so. You spent most of your nights pulled close to Yoongi’s side, perusing help wanted ads online while he watched tv. Countless of times while you gnawed on your lip trying to figure out what to do for work, he would rub your arm or back calmly and softly telling you that you shouldn’t worry about it. Depression and anxiety hit you hard after the incident, he was extremely understanding of your ups and downs. Begrudgingly you sat down with him one night, it was close to the end of the month and you were out of funds, which meant you had to ask him for help.

"What did you want to talk about jagi?" He asked as you folded yourself into the smallest ball in the corner of your couch.

"I need help," you said in a voice barely above a whisper.

"What was that? I can’t hear you," he said with a grin.

You looked at him with a glare. "Never mind. I’ll figure it out." You got up from where you sat and before you could make it far, Yoongi grabbed a hold of you and pulled you into a back hug.

"I’m sorry," he sighed. "I’m just never used to you asking for help. Whatever you need, I got you."

You heaved a big sigh and calmed the nervous feeling, the self-hatred you felt deep down and asked if he could help you out with rent.

"Rent money?" He asked to confirm, his breath tickled your neck.

"I really didn’t want to ask," you trailed off. "But I’d rather risk my pride than risking living on the streets."

"That will never happen. As long as you’re with me, that will never happen. Do you understand?" His arms that we’re wrapped around your middle squeezed harder as if that would back up his words. Nodding your head, he released a breath he was holding in as if he was bracing himself for another argument. "First thing in the morning I’ll have a check written okay? I’m really proud of you asking for my help, I know it wasn’t easy."

"It really wasn’t easy." You said and maneuvered in his hold to face him. You looped your arms around his waist as he held you. Your nose buried into the fabric of his shirt, you could feel the muscles in his chest had become more defined, inhaling the scent of his cologne calmed you. It smelled like home, cause he was your home. "Thank you."

"I love you, there isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you," Yoongi traced delicate patterns into your back, staying like that for some time before retreating to your room to cuddle up to him and fall asleep peacefully.

In the morning he woke you up, letting you know he had some business to take care of. It was supposed to be his day off, you had planned on spending the day with him, going for a walk with him and Holly, who spent a bit of time with you as well. It was as if you had your own little family.

"Don’t worry, go back to sleep. I’ll only be gone for a few hours okay?" He kissed your forehead, watching you as you rolled over and curled around a sleeping Holly. If only you could have seen how big the smile on his face was.

Hours later you woke to Yoongi crawling onto the bed, planting several kisses on his dog lovingly before he looked up at you with a goofy grin. "Morning beautiful."

"Morning handsome." You grinned and sat up to give him a kiss on his pursed lips. "How’d businesses go?" You asked with a yawn.

"It went really well. Why don’t I tell you about it on our walk? Get up and get dressed, meet us downstairs." He got up and Holly followed him excitedly out of the room.

In almost no time at all, you got dressed and washed your face, pulling a hat over your messy hair. You walked down the flights of stairs to see your boyfriend squatting down talking to a leashed Holly in the cutest voice ever. "What a softy," you laughed.

Color rose to his cheeks in embarrassment. "Aishhh he’s my baby," Yoongi said without missing a beat. He stood up and held his hand out for you to hold.

You laced your fingers with his as you both started down the sidewalk, making small talk as you walked along. Getting lost in the conversation you hadn’t noticed where you were headed. As time passed you noticed that your surroundings became more and more familiar, you hadn’t been in this area since the studio shut down.

"So the business I wanted to tell you about," Yoongi abruptly said after a silence settled between you two.

"What is it babe?" You asked as you looked up at him.

Nearly coming to a full stop in front of your old job, Yoongi turned to look at you, an apprehensive look settled on his features.

"Well I know I should have asked before but I didn’t." He paused a moment to clear his throat. "I know how much you loved working at the dance studio. I had a long talk with an accountant and the company."

Your heart was racing at the implicated outcome of what your boyfriend was saying, breath caught in your throat and tears formed in your eyes.

"Min Yoongi. Tell me you didn’t!" You finally said when you were able to find your voice, although it came out barely above a whisper.

He stopped in the middle of his explanation and his lips set in a taut line. "I’m stupid I know. See I knew I should have.."

You didn’t let him finish before you embraced him in the tightest hug you could muster. Fresh tears soaking the fabric of his jacket. The love you felt for him at this very moment was unexplainable.

"I love you." Your confession came out muffled.

"Wait so you’re not mad?" He asked, voice thick with confusion.

"Mad? Why would I be mad?" You questioned and pulled away from him to wipe the last escaping tears from under your eyes.

"The last time I made a big decision without asking didn’t have a great ending. We argued." He stated matter-of-factly.

"It was something I wasn’t comfortable with at the time." You smiled at him. "Plus I’ve learned to just go along with your big gestures. You’re a softy and don’t can’t seem to remember that I’m good with the small things in life."

You noticed a slight pink flush overed the apples of his cheeks. Ever since you two had begun this relationship, you were constantly surprised with larger gifts and gestures to show he cared. Instead of a cute teddy bear and chocolates out of nowhere, you got lavish jewelry. On Valentine’s Day, you were expecting a dinner at a crammed restaurant with grumpy servers, instead he one upped everyone and reserved an entire swanky restaurant just for the two of you. For your birthday, a day which you usually just liked hanging out with your friends, he handed you an envelope which contained airplane tickets. He sent you and your closest friends, Kim and Jey to Paris for a shopping spree. You told him these gestures were over the top but he simply stated that he wanted nothing but the best for his baby.

"Well you know me..." he grinned that gummy smile of his.

"You are too good to me Yoongi." You cupped his cheeks and planted a kiss on his lips. "Did you really buy the studio back?"

"Mhmmm. The company invested in it. They know how talented you are with dancing, I mean they even had scouts checking you out. They almost immediately agreed to help buy back this studio." Butterflies filled your stomach. "They’re willing to help hire whomever you want back, they’re even working on promotions and advertising for this place."

"Oh Yoongi." A fresh wave of tears began to well in your eyes. "How can I ever thank you for this?"

"You don’t need to thank me, you just need to say yes to what I’m about to ask on behalf of the company." He said in a tone that kind of worried you.

"What is it?" You asked, obviously worried it was going to be something you weren’t going to like.

"After hearing from the choreographers, and Hobi, they want you to train with the rest of the back up dancers for the next tour." Your boyfriend spoke slowly but it felt as if it came out in a rush, your ears were ringing with excitement.

"What? No! Are you serious?!" You asked in a high pitched voice and excitedly bounced on the balls of your feet, which caused Holly to bark and prance around you two.

"Yes jagiya. They want you. We all want you on tour with us!" Yoongi’s excitement matched yours. "So will you do it?"

"Yes! Oh my god yes!" He pulled you close and buried his nose in your hair.

-Months Later-

"Break a leg girl!" Kim said as she hugged you.

Sydney, your old boss resumed the position of running the studio, had put together a going away party for you and the boys. The eight of you were genuinely shocked when you flipped the light switch in the dark studio and received streamers and shouts of ‘surprise’. You loved having your family back together at the dance studio, having your first real home back.

"You’re gonna kill it! I just know it," Jey said, linking her arm around your waist.

"Awww don’t make me cry!" You jokingly sniffled.

"Oh shut up you sap! Are you excited?" Kim asked.

"I’m nervous but so ready." You replied earnestly.

"I bet you are. Keep an eye on TaeTae for me?" Jey asked with a small smile. Their relationship had been nothing but flirts and not so sly hand holding for months.

"Of course." You looked at he knowingly. "Want me to keep an eye on Hoseok for you Kimmie?" You laughed.

For so long they had this unsettled definition with their friendship. One night they had openly admitted that they were attracted to each other and decided to give it a go. They were still in the beginning stages of things, whenever he was cocky about her liking him, she’d put him in his place by joking about how good Jin was looking these days.

"Please?" Kim had asked. The three of you burst out in a fit of laughter.

A loud whistle from Jungkook rang out which caught everyone’s attention.

"Thank you Kookie," Sydney laughed. "I wanted to make a toast to Y/n as well as you boys. Without you I wouldn’t have this studio, which is practically my baby back. I can’t thank you enough." She looked straight at a Yoongi who politely waved her statement off.

"Y/n, you are like a daughter to me and I can’t begin to tell you how proud I am of you. I remember asking you what you wanted in life and do you remember what you said to me? You said you wanted to make a difference in someone’s life and that you wanted to make it to the big time. Well honey, you did it, everyone in this room are so grateful to have you and look at you darling, you’re going on tour with one of the most successful groups known. I am so proud of you."

Her little speech brought you to tears and a circle of bodies formed around you for a group hug. You have never felt so accomplished in your entire life than you did at that moment. You had never felt so loved and worth something. That’s rest of the night was filled with many more laughs, dancing, and a few drinks after the kids had gone home.

Yoongi sauntered over to where you were perched atop a stack of mats that were used for the younger classes. "Why are you all alone over here hmm?" He stood in the space between your legs.

"Taking everything in before we leave I guess. It just feels so surreal." You were being completely honest, at times within the past few months, talking about plans for the tour and practicing like crazy, never felt as real as it did right then.

"Get used to it babe." He grinned and leaned in and placed a soft kiss on your lips.

"Thank you." You murmured as you leaned into his form.

"For what?" Yoongi asked with a slightly puzzled tone.

"For making me happy. For being there for me. For being the best boyfriend. But most importantly, for helping make my dreams come true. I love you so much." You wrapped your arms around his shoulders and intertwined your fingers behind his neck.

He leaned his forehead against yours and softly exhaled while looking into your eyes. "I’ve loved you from the beginning. You are my life. You and your dreams, and your happiness..." he struggled for a moment to find the right words. "Nothing else matters to me."

A/N: It took a while longer than expected to get this epilogue posted. My first ever series is finally complete! This is my baby *ugly cries* If you stayed long enough to finish reading this epilogue or even this series as a whole, thank you!

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venussinclair3 · 3 years

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Fun While It Lasted

Disclaimer? I haven’t written in a long time so I’m a little rusty but yeah this is just something short that I kind of liked. Would really appreciate constructive feedback (please be nice I’m sensitive)! Should I continue this? Should I put it on Wattpad? Anyway, enjoy!

"You live next door yet you somehow always take forever to get here." She was laying in bed in a pink oversized shirt when he snuck through her window.

"Sorry, I was looking for my crayons." His hands were empty, "Couldn't find them. Can I use yours?" He plastered a large smile on his face because who could say no to such a cute face?

"This was your idea you know. How are you going to propose we draw each other and have no supplies whatsoever?" She said as she walked to the bookcase that stood in the back of her room. The third shelf was riddled with paintbrushes, sharpies, and crayons. She had meant to clean it last week but never found the time. Maybe she'll get to it next week.

"Because I knew my good friend Oasis would have my back." He jumped on her bed and took off his green converses before grabbing Bimbo.

Bimbo was as old as their friendship. Oasis had received the teddy bear on her fifth birthday, the same day he knocked down her birthday cake because he was running recklessly. She clung on to Bimbo as she cried herself to sleep that night and swore to hate him for as long as she lived.

There was a cake on the table when she went downstairs the next morning, "Blue's mom made it as a way of saying sorry about what happened yesterday." Her mother cut her a slice and gave it to her. It was better than she could have ever imagined. The chocolate cake covered in pink fondant danced in her mouth as the richness of the chocolate chips exploded. She hugged Bimbo tight while devouring the cake, deciding that maybe the little boy wasn't as bad as she thought.

Oasis dumped the supplies on her bed and sat across from Blue, her legs crossed, sketchbook in hand, "My drawing is going to be better than yours."

"Doubt it. I'm a genius." And he was. Straight A student since fifth grade, Blue was the smartest boy in his class. He won the science fair three times in a row and lied his way out of trouble all the time. He lied Oasis out of trouble too because she could never do it herself.

They both got to work, each with a different method: Oasis lightly drew an outline; Blue began working on her left eye. The sounds of the TV downstairs leaked into her bedroom. The Property Brothers were debating over which color they should paint the kitchen of a Nashville home they were working on. "I think the kitchen should be white" mumbled Blue, having started the right eye.

"What?" asked Oasis as she looked up from her sketch.

"Nothing. Where are your speakers? I wanna play some music." She pointed to the bookcase, second shelf.

"Don't play anything stupid."

"Why are your parents home?"

"No, I just don't want to listen to anything stupid."

He chuckled. Bringing the speaker onto the bed and connecting it to his phone, I Wanna Be Yours by Artic Monkeys enveloped them. They both began bobbing their heads.

They played this song when they snuck out for the first time. Oasis jumped out her window and was pretty sure she had broken something, but the adrenaline of defying her parents rushed through her body to numb the pain. By the time she reached the park and met up with Blue, the only thing on her mind was how much fun they were going to have at Mielle's party. And they did have fun. They danced, ate, and drank. She successfully snuck back home with Blue's help and fell asleep the second her head hit her pillow. What she had failed to consider was that the party was on a Thursday night, that her parents would never let her miss a day of school and she was a shit actress. She went to school hungover and was grounded for a month. Blue was company during her punishment.

"You have a really sharp jawline" Oasis stated. She had finally finished with the outline of his face. He looked at her and grinned, taking it as a compliment rather than an observation.

"Thank you, princess." Nothing got under her skin more than that nickname. They fell silent again, a silence she was comfortable with, but he wasn't. As he drew her nose, he begged for her to say something. Anything to convince him that she wasn't mad at him, that they were still friends, that she wasn't just tolerating him.

"Have you seen the new house yet?" Thank god. His prayers were answered when she raised the question so he spoke without thinking, "Yeah the new house is great! My room is way bigger and we even have a dishwasher, although I doubt my mom will even want to use it. She'll probably still make me wash them by hand because that woman hates me. Oh and the neighborhood is super nice and I met the girl next door. She's really cool. We've been texting and stuff.” His enthusiasm stung. Blue was moving to Chicago. He was moving 11 hours and 54 minutes away. And he was excited about it. And maybe she shouldn't take it so personally, but when her best friend was rambling about how cool his neighbor is and how he's been talking to her for a while, she couldn't help but feel as if she was about to be replaced. She faked a smile and said, "That sounds exciting. Can't wait to visit you in the summer." Oasis was a shit actress. None of what he said sounded exciting to her, "I'll miss you."

She added another hair stroke to his thick, straight eyebrows and refused to look up because she couldn't promise herself she won't cry. Blue didn't take her eyes off of her for a while. He stared at the way the corners of her round lips curved downward, making it look like she was always sad about something. "I just think it's stupid to move the summer before your senior year." He sighed, "Oasis." The tip of her ears got red as her name escaped from his lips.

The last time he had called her “Oasis” was two weeks ago. She had snuck into his room after he blew up her phone, crying that it was urgent. Each time he had told her that it was urgent, it never was. She hopped through his window to find him at his desk, two Surfer Cooler Capri Sun in front of him. "Oasis, I'm moving in two months." She stopped mid sip. Her brown eyes ran across his face, scanning it for any sign that could give away this sick joke. There was no sign. He was serious. Blue was leaving New York.

It wasn't fair to be mad at him for moving. It's not like he could say no. But she had to be mad at someone. She decided the universe was to blame. "Have you made your college list yet?" he asked in a weak attempt to change the subject. She looked at the way his red lips were slightly open as he anticipated her answer, " Not really. Community college or NYU or Howard. I don't know. You?"

"No idea either. Maybe an Ivy?" He knew he was Dartmouth material but he still sought her approval. He always had.

He went shopping with her right before the eighth-grade dance. They both didn't have dates so they decided to go together as friends. They walked into the Old Navy with "Sale" signs plastered in the front. She thought the signs were useless at this point because when were they not having a sale of some kind? He walked into the dressing room with several shirts out of his $20 budget, and once he had tried them all on, Blue marched to where she was sitting, impatiently waiting for him.

"You are not wearing that purple button up."

"Why?" He cried.

"It's going to clash with my dress and it's literally hideous." She walked back to the rack of button-ups and picked out a green dress shirt for him. "You look so much better in green." Green was his favorite color ever since. They dominated the dance floor at the event and she won a raffle for a Bosse speaker. They spent the next weeks dismantling rumors that they were dating.

"I already picture you thriving at MIT." They both chuckled. He reached for the black to start coloring in the curls of her afro; she reached for the orange to recreate his buzzcut. They fell silent again. "I'll miss you too." She offered him a small smile but that couldn't mask the sadness of her eyes. "We can still facetime and text every day," Blue offered.

"You know it won't be the same." He did know that but his hope lied in the fact that if he never said it out loud, it would be less true. "I take that back. You're more of a Cornell type." Another weak attempt at changing the subject but he went along with it, " I think NYU might be good for you. You'll get to stay close to your sister."

Moya was a prodigy. She began piano lessons at three, and seven years later she played at their aunt's wedding during the bridal entrance. "I think Moya will be fine without me. She'll get even more attention from my parents if I'm gone." The red of his lips was hard to replicate. It lay somewhere between crimson and cherry. "I'll miss that little devil. She promised she was going to compose me a song but never did."

"Pretty sure she had a crush on you." Blue burst into laughter so loud, Oasis barely realized that the album had started all over again and I Wanna Be Yours was playing. "Seriously?" He was in disbelief.

"Yeah, she would always ask when you were coming over and would try to hang out with us all the time."

He wiped the tear from the corner of his eye, "That's adorable." He added the finishing touches to her face: the scar on her chin that she got after he pushed her a little too hard and she fell, the beauty mark right above her lip, the curl at the top of her hair which she complained never behaved like the rest. "Finished." She said. She ripped the page from her sketchbook and walked to the bookcase once more. She grabbed two sheet protectors that were tucked between stacks of books and slipped the drawing inside. He did the same. She stared at the image of Blue, afraid that if she didn't memorize the details of his visage, he would walk out of her room and she would forget him. Forget the memories they created together. The secrets they shared together. She was afraid to forget how much she loved him.

He handed her his drawing and as she saw how he had captured her beauty with nothing but her color pencils, she said, "I'm coming to terms with the fact that we weren't meant to be in each other's lives forever. But it was fun while it lasted...right?"

#storytelling #fiction #writing dialogue #teenagers #love #painting #music #neighbours #ran out of tags

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high5nerd · 4 years

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Alone Together---Chap. One

Initially this was a reader insert but Fanfic.net has a stupid rule about it.

Anyway. Pitch Black x OC.

I have had many thoughts over my lifetime as a spirit, but never have I thought, 'What I wouldn't give to be a mortal once more.' I relished being a kindred spirit, even if I had a lack of faith and was considered the 'bad apple', as many would call it. As a more-than-a-thousand-year old spirit, and please do me the favor of not asking me how old, I adapt easier with new eras than newer spirits do. For example, that despicable Jack Frost.

That rude teenager still wears his trousers from when he died, which is quite disgusting. Not only that, but he's stuck with unbalanced hormones, not understanding technology, and not understanding why mortal children do this and that rather than play outside all day every day.

But he's not part of this story. Definitely not. Nope, he's just a complaint. So brush that aside, if you will.

This is by far more important. I mean, really, when is it that a person is ever so lucky to hear the story of when a supposedly quote-on-quote evil person gets redeemed by two misfits of society? They're not who you think, if that's what crossed your mind.

To be quite honest, I have no idea how to start this. The whole scenario just unraveled right when I crossed into this little girl's room. She was no younger than nine years old, and I could tell by her bedroom decorations and toys before I even saw her happily curled up in her bed. To me, she was just another victim to give a nightmare. Golden sand curled and danced above her head, in the shape of two adults-male and female-happily dancing with her around in circles, swinging her arms back and forth to make her fly.

I couldn't help but grimace at that. The poor girl had a false view on parents. From my time, parents were just teachers, of a sort. They raised us like parents should, but would not be afraid to give us a beating if one of us even dared cross a line. Nowadays, parents let their kids get away with anything. Hell, even murder in some cases.

I silently crept up to the girl's side of the bed, thinking she was dead asleep and not noticing the dreamsand disappearing quickly, and froze on the spot seeing that her eyes were open, and she looked up at me.

I didn't know which was more shocking, the fact that I didn't knock her out with my nightmare sand or the fact that she just sat up and smiled at me.

"Hi Boogieman!" she excitedly whispered, clutching at her worn out teddy bear. The pink skirt on it was nearly torn to bits, and some of the plastic stars on the fabric barely hung on by the strings.

"Er...why aren't you asleep?" I whispered, afraid to wake up anyone else in the tiny house.

"I waited for you, but I kinda dozed off. But now you're here, and we can play!" the little girl excitedly bounced on her butt, making the twin sized bed jump with her.

I furiously shook my head, "No. I don't play with petty children. Go. To. Bed." I commanded, pointing to her pillow.

She gave a rather adorable lower lip of a pout, but it did nothing to change my mind. I couldn't help but roll my eyes. Children were all the same...at least I thought that until now. This child was probably the first child I've met in centuries that didn't flinch at the sight of me. This girl looked at me as if I was an old friend, someone who she used to have playdates with. I've never even met this girl!

"But…" she choked out, "But I can't! I wanted to play with you. Sandy said-!"

"...Sandy?" I hissed out, eyes glaring at her crudely. Oh, hell no. There is no way in Hell I'm going to be affiliated with someone who knows an enemy of mine.

"Yeah, Sandy. He told me about you and everything that you did. But he said it happened twenty years ago. I guess you're forgiven? Just don't do it again, since he knows you don't like hurting children." the girl said, kicking off the light blue, knitted quilt.

I was speechless. Most by the fact that Sandy had the audacity to even tell this girl everything of the past and that I was nothing but a mere memory without my knowledge of it. I certainly haven't forgiven them, even after that period of time. I guess that's what happens after a feud from the past, things just slowly disappear. Sure, I still hate the Guardians, but it's not like I died from that ending of the war.

I got a massive headache from that constant thinking. Forgiveness...that word is so foreign from me, along with many other things...like toothbrushes. I finally squinted my eyes, not realizing that this little girl turned on her bedside lamp, wanting to see me better.

"Gee, you wear a lot of black. Is that your favorite color?" she asked.

I blinked at her, unamused. "No."

"Oh. My favorite color is white." the nine year old smiled brightly, "Wanna know why?"

"No, I really don't-"

"Because it's the color of vanilla ice cream and snow and polar bears and frosting and wedding dresses! Oh, and daisies. They're my favorite flower." the girl blurted, throwing her arms up in the air excitedly.

I stared at her, wishing I had a stone wall to bash my head in. God, this girl is going to be the end of me. Here I am, no longer remembered for the Nightmare War, it's been twenty years of silence, and now I'm finding myself stuck with a nine year old that just won't shut up and go to bed.

I guess I can't be too grumpy about it. After all, she's one of the few kids who believes in me. Plus, she isn't afraid. It gets boring having so many children hate and fear the sight of you.

"Wanna see my dolls? I don't have much, but my sister makes a lot of them for me." the little girl held up a yellow yarn doll, with blue button eyes and flaming red yarn hair, wearing a pink shirt and corduroy overalls.

Now that's definitely new. Not everyone nowadays hand makes toys, just big bustling companies. For a handmade craft, her sister did a good job. She must be older judging by the amount of detail in the doll the girl was showing me.

"Her name is Jenna. She likes raisin bread and is best friends with Princess Ruby," and the girl held up another doll, but it was antique looking and wore a dark red princess dress and had raven black hair. That one looked pleasing, only because it looked like some demon would possess. That would definitely scare this child.

"What is your name, child?" I asked, sitting down next to her. Surely I had to know, since this was the first child in centuries that wasn't terrified of me.

"Sadie Angela Xaviers." she proudly said, "Are you really named Boogieman?"

"Yes and no. My real name is Pitch Black." I chuckled at her curiosity.

She raised a brow, "Isn't that a color?"

I gave her a disapproving look, and she giggled at the face I made. She then planted one of her other yarn dolls into my hands and said, "This is Paul! He's really into surfing. He has a crush on Princess Ruby, too. Let's play together!"

For a second, I thought of just throwing the doll down and walking back into the darkness of her closet and never returning. I would never want to actually associate with children besides meddling with their dreams and morphing them into nightmares. That's it! I mean, in the past, I would have just walked away from this ridiculous and foolish child. But now? I guess I must have slowly started developing a nesting syndrome or wanting some sort of attention, because the next thing I knew I was making this yarn doll named Paul walk over to a small, plastic blue surf board on Sadie's bed, and she made Princess Ruby twirl around and cheer Paul for winning some sort of surfing competition.

The next thing I knew, the door to Sadie's room flew open, causing my blood to freeze. Sadie looked up, and blushed a bright pink at the woman that stood with her hands on her hips, impatiently waiting for an excuse.

"Sadie, who are you talking to?" this woman asked, her dark eyes locked on Sadie. I swear, if those eyes were locked on me I would probably be rendered speechless, for they were sharp and bright, like nighttime stars. Then again, I was already. And she didn't even notice my presence.

"Pitch Black!" Sadie grinned and pulled at my robe, "he's the Boogieman. We were playing with dolls."

The older girl pressed her lips together, holding back a burst of laughter. I narrowed my eyes at this woman. That was quite rude. She finally took in a breath and said through controlled giggles, "Really? I thought the Boogieman was a big terrifying ghoul."

"HEY!" I shouted, standing up. I was severely offended! Who wouldn't be when they were insulted like that? Does this woman even realize the power I possess to scare the living daylights out of her? How dare she mock me!

Sadie looked at me, terrified. The older girl in the doorway raised a brow, unsure why Sadie looked so frightened. I was so angry I was sure my nostrils were flaring.

"Alice, take it back!" Sadie exclaimed, jumping off the bed and trying to wrap her arms around my legs. I grew stiff and uncomfortable at the touch. I never liked physical touch. I liked my own personal space, the personal bubble I successfully built. And this immature child is breaking the boundary.

"What? What did I say?" she said, and I could tell she was starting to get nervous.

"He's really mad! You said something mean." Sadie begged, running over to this woman named Alice and shaking her hand, "Please! Say you're sorry to him!"

Alice looked in the direction of where Sadie pointed, right at me, but I could tell she saw nothing but the wall behind me, where Sadie's toy chest was.

"I'm...I'm sorry, Mr. Boogieman?" it came out more as a question than a true apology.

"You're rude. What I wouldn't give to wipe off that look on your face with a nightmare." I grouched, folding my arms.

Sadie grimaced, and Alice asked her what was wrong. "Pitch said you're not being honest with your apology. Come on, say you're sorry for real!" Sadie begged once more, pulling at her hand.

"How can I when I can't see him?" she asked, touching Sadie's head gently.

Sadie noticed how my shoulders slumped in defeat, and she panicked. She pulled Alice into her room and held her hand out, "Pitch, touch her hand!"

I shook my head, "It doesn't matter, child. I'll just-"

Indeed, when Sadie grabbed my hand and brought our hands together, my hand just phased through her skin, blue mist swirling from the contact. Sadie watched in pure awe at the magic. This surely was something she didn't see every day, but it was something I was so used to. The pain of being ignored just felt numb to me nowadays. I was about to turn away and disappear into the darkness of the room when I heard the older girl say, "Wait. I felt something."

"You...you did?" Sadie asked, looking up at her.

Now that I looked at this woman, she must have been no older than twenty one. Her auburn hair perfectly framed her face, and she almost reached my shoulders in height. Her eyes were so bright...I couldn't help but just...stare in wonder. They say the eyes were the doors to the soul, and for a while I didn't believe that. I considered that just a stupid romantic line used by wannabe poets. But...by God, were they right.

"I felt...something cold." Alice nodded, and then turned to Sadie again, "Is he still here?"

"Yeah. He's standing right in front of you." Sadie pointed to me, and I couldn't help but look away.

"Will...will you tell me anything he says to me?" Alice asked, and Sadie obediently nodded.

It was silent for a while, with Alice staring at my collar bone, not really knowing how tall I was or even if I was in front of her. I guess she assumed I was eye to eye with her. Why couldn't she see me if she was sure she felt something when our hands touched? Whenever someone would walk right through me or phase through my body, I felt cold and like a hollow shell. It's the worst feeling to ever come to a being. In the worst of times, to me, death was a better option than enduring the coldness and emptiness that overwhelmed my body when something like this occurred.

But knowing that she felt it too, made the agony of such contact endurable.

"Are you her sister?" I asked, not looking away from Alice.

Sadie delivered my question, and the girl smiled. I could tell she was starting to think Sadie was making it up, "Yes, I'm Sadie's older sister."

"Where are your parents?" I asked again, and I noticed how Sadie hesitated.

"I can't ask her that, Pitch. She doesn't like talking about it." Sadie sadly said, looking at Alice apologetically.

"What? What did he say?" her older sister looked nervous.

"He...he's wondering where Mommy and Daddy are. Why they aren't here with us." Sadie nervously fiddled with her fingers nervously.

I noticed how stiff and quiet she got, and she didn't respond. She stared at her own feet, snugly inside two blue slippers. She must have been woken up by Sadie's play before she came in here.

"Tell him I don't feel like talking about it. It's a sensitive topic." Alice murmured, before turning to Sadie, "I think it's time for you to go back to bed. It's four in the morning. You have school today, so you need your sleep."

"Aww, but can't I stay up? I fell asleep at seven anyways! That's…" Sadie counted on her fingers, "nine hours of sleep! I have enough." she finished with a huffy fold of her arms.

I laughed, and Sadie smiled up at me. "You tell your sister that I think you're highly amusing, little one."

"Pitch says I'm funny." Sadie beamed happily.

"Well, you tell Pitch that I think so too, but you still need your sleep." Alice smiled brightly, ruffling Sadie's light brown hair, still slightly messed up from sleep.

"That I agree with." I nodded, and Sadie whined.

"I take it the Boogieman agrees with me by that little tantrum?" Alice grinned, and Sadie grouchily nodded, her arms still folded on her chest.

Even after Sadie was tucked back into bed with her teddy bear and two yarn dolls snuggled into her arms, Alice lingered at the doorway, her eyes surveying everything in the room before shutting the lights back off.

With that, she was gone.

I should have realized then and there, visiting these two would become something close to a drug.

#rotg fandom #rotg fanfiction #rotg fanfic #fanfiction #fanfics #pitch black

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mockwrites · 7 years

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amuse me; break me; drink me [ Rosalie x Addison ]

i. amuse me – my muse trying to cheer yours up

“Addison,” Rosalie called, curling up her toes as she stood on the cold hardwood floor of their flat, wrapping her silk robe tighter around herself in a futile attempt to keep warm; she was still unaccustomed to the harsh Vancouver winters, missing the 50 degree Californian winters of her hometown desperately now.

Addison had her back turned towards her, facing the clock in their kitchen that read an accusatory 1:08 am, no visible response to her name being spoken. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes and padding over to where she was seated at the granite island, Rosalie ran her hands up her back and over Addison’s tensed shoulders, pressing a kiss to the base of her neck. Addison all but shrugged her off and she sighed in response, dropping her hands and twining herself around her figure before taking a seat next to her.

Addison had her head in her hands, an opened bottle of cabernet sauvignon and a dangerously full cup of wine just in reach, morbid carmine in the morning darkness, a far cry from the sweeter rosé she personally favored.

“Did you just get home?” She asked gently, leaning forward in concern, a low simmer of frustration starting low in her stomach when she only received a slight nod from her girlfriend.

She sighed, reaching for Addison’s hand and pulling it away from where it shielded her face from view, intertwining their fingers and bringing them to her lips. “Did they back out of the merger?”

A long pull from the wine glass was her only answer; it was the only one she needed to confirm her suspicions.

“Hey,” she said softly. “Look at me,” she implored, squeezing Addison’s hand.

Addison took another lengthy sip of her wine. She set the glass down carefully, as if to purposefully draw out the moment, her luxurious red lipstick staining the rim, before finally straightening in her seat and turning to face her.

A fledgling of a smile fluttered to life upon her lips for the first time tonight and Rosalie hopped off her seat, inching closer to Addison, surveying her expression (which gave away nothing, as per usual) for any indication she didn’t want her near. She saw no such tells, and pressing her luck, she gave her a brief peck, pulling away but still remaining in her space, all but straddling her. “Hi,” she whispered, pressing a series of butterfly kisses, dropping Addison’s hand to run her hands through her hair, reaching up and loosening the tight bun she wore it in, gently working her fingers through her dark hair.

“You work too hard,” she accused gently, quiet and tender in these early hours in a way she wasn’t during the day, pressing in to kiss a junction between her shoulder and neck, resting her head against Addison’s, just letting her breathing fill the silence. She let the moment sit and swell before she pulled away, tugging at Addison insistently.

“Come to bed,” she offered, pouting when she didn’t stand immediately. “Come on,” she continued relentlessly. “I have a surprise for you in the bedroom,” she said, a hint of mischief upon her lips.

“Oh god. Not like that,” she said, pinking. “It’s flowers. The surprise is flowers.”

ii. break me

Her mother didn’t approve of her current living situation, that much she made clear – come home, Rosey, you’re not a city girl; you can’t bear the winters there – every week. And she hated how true it rang, when the sun was hidden away behind foreboding clouds during lond winter days, when she missed color when everything was so white around her, when she missed having the familiarity of friends and family around her. She felt like a flower transplanted into a strange and foreign place; she only really knew Addison here – and she loved her, she did, but Addison worked long and strange hours and she was alone more often than not.

Rosalie hung up the phone when she heard Addison’s key turn in the lock, cutting her mother off mid sentence, checking the time - half past nine. It was a whole two hours after Addison had originally promised to get home; dinner sat abandoned and cold on the dining table. Her mother called again, her cellphone ringing loudly to herald Addison’s entrance into their apartment, and she turned to face her, declining the call, white knuckling over her phone.

“You’re late,” she said evenly, quietly – it threw Addison off momentarily; she must’ve been expecting a larger reaction.

“I’m sorry, Rosey,” Addison replied, genuine remorse in her tone as she slipped her heels off. “I didn’t think the meeting would run that late.”

She exhaled shakily. “You could’ve called ahead.”

Addison surveyed her warily, brow furrowing momentarily before smoothing back out. “I should’ve,” she acquiesced carefully. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry doesn’t cut it, Addison!” She yelled, frustrated, but unsure what sort of comfort she wanted to hear from her. “You shouldn’t have been fucking late! Thursday nights, we said. Thursday nights will be our night, you said – weekly standing date nights – no work!” She burst out petulantly. “This is the fifth time.”

“Rosey,” Addison said coolly, placatingly. “I’m aware of what I promised, and I am truly sorry that work got in the way of our night, but I have a company to run. I can’t just leave when I want.”

Rosalie scoffed, turning her back to the door and stalking over to the dinner table. “Rosey,” she mocked. “Some people have actual jobs to do – that’s what you’re trying to say, yeah?”

“You’re blowing this out of proportion.”

“Am I? Am I really, Addy?”

“Yes, Rosalie, you are.”

“You know what?” She spat back acerbically, hating that Addison always retained all sense and control over every situation. “I don’t think so. I don’t think I’m blowing it out of proportion at all, because you know what? I moved here for you. I uprooted my whole life for this relationship – my mother calls every week to remind me of what a mistake I’ve made, leaving everything I have back in California to move to this miserable fucking city for a woman who won’t leave a meeting early for me!”

“Rose-”

“No! I don’t want to hear it! I hate this city, and I hate the snow, and I hate the stupid fucking ice it turns into,” she spat, throwing her phone on the couch viciously as she stormed away into their room, wiping angry tears from her eyes, tearing her clothes from the hangers and throwing it errantly on a duffel bag in the corner of their closet. “My mother was right, and I hate that you’re proving her right– god, I–” she choked, finally running of steam and succumbing to tears, curling up at the foot of their bed, willing herself to sink down into herself. Sobs ripped their way up from her throat harshly; she heard Addison pad into the room but ignored her, flinching from the gentle touch on her shoulder.

“I can’t do this anymore,” she gasped in between sobs, tears running down her face, soaking into the arms of her sweater. “I have to go,” she said frantically, not noticing the way Addison pulled her hand back like she had been burned. “I can’t do this anymore,” Rosalie muttered, more to herself than anything, getting up and wildly shoving things into the bag.

“Where will you go?” Addison asked tersely after what felt like years of silent packing, neck straining with effort of iron clad control.

“Home,” she said, and for the first time in a year, it didn’t mean their apartment, it meant away from Addison, and she ignored the visceral hurt in Addison’s eyes. “California. Away from here. God, anywhere but here.”

She snatched her phone, fled the room, fled the apartment, ran to the street and hailed a taxi to the airport; she didn’t look back until she was up in the air, looking down on Vancouver as it shrank with each passing second.

iii. drink me

“What are you doing here?” Rosalie drawled lazily, peering over her shoulder, letting anger color her tone despite how her heart beat painfully in response to the smell of her perfume. “Aren’t you in… the wrong fucking country?” She sighed, rolling her eyes and knocking back the rest of her drink. “How did you even know I would be here?”

“As unpredictable as you think you are, you always come back to the same destructive habits, Rosalie,” Addison sighed, beckoning the bartender over and asking for shots of the bar’s top shelf whiskey.

“The same ones?” She asked, too drunk and too sad to muster up any whole-hearted vitriol.

“Are you dating Aries again?”

Rosalie gestured for a refill blackly.

“So, the same destructive habits,” Addison returned sharply, a smug hint in her tone; she hated that she still found it absurdly attractive.

“Did you fly to the states just to make fun of me?” Rosalie shot back bluntly.

“I flew here to convince you to come back,” Addison said smartly, a hint of vulnerability hiding in the corners of her eyes.

“I’ll drink to that,” she sighed, knocking her glass into the fresh shot lined next to Addison. “Now, convince me fast enough that my pride can blame the alcohol for crawling back to you.”

#( ch: rosalie amber )#( no place like home no place like her; addison )#adsperitas

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theolddarkmachine · 7 years

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MUST LOVE CATS- CHAPTER FOUR

Levy hadn’t planned on being a pet sitter when she’d moved into the city. She also hadn’t planned on pet sitting for a sex god either, but here she was.

AKA the one where Levy is a pet sitter, Gajeel is her client, and Lily is the glue that binds them together.

I swear, this is the last boring chapter before things really start get goin. Now we have laid the foundations, things are happening. We’re gucci now. So bear with me for one more chapter, mmk? The ball will be rolling after this!

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

Sitting around the dining table were the four usual suspects. To her left was Lucy, her blonde hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun and the edges of her eye makeup smudged slightly from a long day of dealing with customers at her boutique. To her right was Juvia, who was still in her lifeguard bathing suit with a pair of denim shorts pulled on over it. At the other end of the table sat Erza, who had a smudge of dirt from the last hike she’d led that day across the apple of her cheek. And of course, Levy, who had called her roommates together for their little game.

The game in question had come about a few months after they’d set up the chore wheel on their fridge when Lucy had come home and exclaimed that no one would believe the day she’d had at work, and that because of it she shouldn’t have to do the dishes after dinner. This, of course, had devolved into a competition to see who had had the crazier story to tell for the day, and the winner got to sit out of their chores for that night. The rules themselves were quite simple. Every roommate got one chance to call a game a week-- something they’d decided on after Erza had gotten out of chores nearly every night for two weeks straight-- and they would all sit down together at dinner and go around telling their crazy story for the day with the game caller going last. They would then all vote on who had the best story, and the other three would share the chore that the winner got to sit out on. Erza, as a hiking guide at the state park, almost always won with tales of defeating some sort of horrifying nature on that day’s hike. Lucy held the second place spot though Levy sometimes wondered if it was fair she won as often as she did given she worked with boyfriend-- not boyfriend if you were Lucy-- Natsu and almost all her stories were thanks to him, but a crazy story was a crazy story so they let it slide. Juvia, who actually happened to lifeguard at the beach near Gajeel’s apartment, probably could have won more often if she didn’t have a habit of telling stories about some menial thing Gray did. Once in a while she would bring home a story about sharks being at the beach, or someone nearly drowning and her heroically saving them, but more often than not she’d launch into a story about Gray making some weird ice cream flavor that the hipster tourists went gaga over but any sensible person would question quite heavily. (Levy still didn’t understand how pink peppercorn ice cream had become a thing.)

As for the bluenette? She held down the last place spot, hardly ever having anything wild to talk about. Not that that was a bad thing. Normally when things were crazy for her at work, it meant something bad had happened, and she was more than willing to do her chores if it meant nothing getting out of hand.

Excitement thrummed through her veins as she eyed her roommates, who sat in silence after she’d concluded her tale about nearly having her arm ripped off by a dog and Gajeel saving her from certain amputation. (This is paraphrased, of course.)

“So are you gonna jump his bones?” Lucy was the first one to talk, and of course that’s what she’d say. Erza shook her head and their blonde roommate’s bluntness and Juvia let out an excited squeal, clapping her hands together.

“A little less bluntly,” Erza interjected, “It does sound as if he may be interested.” At least Levy could count on the redhead to be calm about things.

“I’m sure he was just being nice,” Levy said, looking down at her wrapped wrist and feeling the ghost touch of his hand on hers.

“Give yourself some credit, Lev,” Lucy said, bumping her shoulder into Levy’s as she winked at her. “Kitty Cat Sex God can’t possibly have stood a chance when faced against those big hazel eyes of yours.”

Levy rolled her eyes. She was certain that wasn’t the case. She was just his catsitter.

“Does this mean I win?” She asked, ignoring Lucy and Juvia as they leaned behind her to whisper something amongst themselves. Erza looked between their other two roommates, who just nodded at the head of the table.

“You win this round, Levy,” the redhead said with a smile.

“Now, in more important matters,” she continued, a devilish smile spreading across her face. “All in favor of Levy getting it on with Kitty Cat Sex God, say aye.” Never in her whole life did she ever feel as betrayed by anyone as she did Erza in that moment. So much for her being the cool and collected on she could count on. Levy moaned as she was met with a resounding round of ayes from her roommates. She suddenly regretted calling this stupid game.

***

Levy was in her pajamas and had her fluffy yellow towel wrapped around her hair when she exited her shared bathroom with Lucy. The hot water worked out the tension in her muscles and had even worked a bit of magic on the angry purple bruise on her wrist. The pain of it was just a subtle ache now, but the color was pretty bad and it did hurt to move it without the athletic tape wrapped around it. Which, now that she thought about it, she had no clue how to put back on. Sighing loudly, she plopped onto her bed and folded her legs beneath her as she got to work trying to wrap it back up. (Try being the key word here.)

“Do you need help with that?” Lucy asked, entering their room quietly and making the bluenette jump.

“If you don’t mind,” she replied, holding her arm out to the blonde as she sat down on the bed next to her. Lucy started to wrap the athletic tape around it.

“Ya know, I tease you out of love, right?” Lucy’s eyes never left the wrap she was working on.

“That’s random, Luce, but yeah, I know.” Levy made sure to let her confusion color her voice. They were the kind of friends who knew they loved each other but never felt like it explicitly needed to be said.

“I really do think you should think about pursuing something with this Gajeel. You should have seen your face talking about him earlier.” Ah, there was the reason.

“He’s one of my client’s,” was all Levy could think to say. If she was being honest, it probably wouldn’t cause too much of an issues since she was just a pet sitter and didn’t actually run the company or anything. That didn’t mean it didn’t feel a little weird. Lucy used the pin to hold down the edge of the bandage down. It didn’t feel as sturdy as when Gajeel had done it, but it felt better than it most likely would have if she’d been the one to do it. The blonde pat the bandage gently before letting go of Levy’s hand.

“I’m just saying, Lev. Don’t let yourself be lonely because you’re hardheaded,” Lucy smiled at her as she pushed herself off the bed. Reaching for her purse that was on her own bed, she turned back to their door. “I’m going to Natsu’s tonight, so I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Your not boyfriend Natsu?” The bluenette asked, raising an eyebrow at her best friend.

“Yes, my not boyfriend Natsu,” Lucy stuck her tongue out at Levy.

“And I’m the hardheaded one?” Levy knew she was over compensating with her joking tone but she couldn’t help it. It wasn’t that what Lucy had said had been out of line or anything, but it did stir something in her chest. Her other roommates had all asked if she’d want them to set her up so she wouldn’t be the 7th wheel anymore, but she kept denying them, telling them that it was easier for her to focus on herself if she didn’t have someone else. While technically true, she’d be lying if she said she didn’t feel a pang of jealousy whenever any of them announced they were off with their respective boyfriends. “Not boyfriend” in Lucy’s case since for some reason she hated putting a label on their relationship.

“Think about it, Lev!” The blonde said cheerily as she stepped out of the room and closed the door behind her, leaving Levy alone with her thoughts

***

Gajeel was stretched across his couch, Lily asleep on his chest as he stared absentmindedly at the TV, not really taking in what was happening. Though, to be honest he didn’t really need to pay too much attention since he had the movie memorized. Hell, he could probably recreate the entire thing by himself. He started to stroke Lily as his mind started to wander towards the blue haired girl that had sat at his bar earlier that evening. It was stupid to give her his number the way he had, he knew that. Obviously he knew he’d done it as a way to just give it to her, but for all he knew she probably thought he was some pushy weirdo that thought she owed him a text just because he did a decent thing and wrapped her wrist up. His fingers continued to run through his cat’s fur as he growled in frustration and turned from the TV to stare up at the ceiling. Gajeel didn’t necessarily expect to hear from Levy that night, but that didn’t mean that he wasn’t growing more and more anxious while he waited. But as the night continued to go on, and his phone continued to remain dark and textless, he felt just a bit more idiotic for the entire thing.

Buzz.

Poor Lily didn’t stand a chance. Gajeel sat up as quickly as if someone had shocked him, and the Bombay went tumbling off his chest and onto his legs with an angry hiss. He’d probably pay for that later but that didn’t matter right now. Snatching the phone off his coffee table, his eyes saw it was from an unfamiliar number, and he couldn’t help but feel a smile stretch across his face as he saw the picture of Levy’s wrapped wrist balanced on her legs.

I took a shower and took off the wrap without thinking about how I’d have to put it back on D’: is this okay?

It didn’t look too bad to him, and neither did the legs that it rested on. Ignoring the angry glare he could feel from Lily, he tapped out a quick message.

looks about right u shouldnt have to worry bout ur wrist fallin off with that

He reread the message a couple times before typing up another.

looks like u didnt need my help after all :p

Admittedly it had been awhile since Gajeel had not only flirted with anyone, but actually wanted to flirt with anyone, so he couldn’t help but feel stupid as he stared at the messages he’d sent. Did they sound flirtatious? Was he even allowed to flirt with her? All he was certain of was that he couldn’t stop thinking about those hazel eyes and that blue hair. His phone vibrated in his hand a few moments later.

You’re right, I just wanted an excuse to use you shamelessly for some athletic tape and an ice pack ;)

He didn’t even get the chance to try and think of a response when he got another message.

So what has you up so late this fine Thursday evening?

Turning to look at his TV, then at Lily and then back at his phone, he couldn’t help but feel like a loser for being up for the sole fact he had been sulking and was watching a movie with his cat. Of course, given that cat was how they’d met, maybe she’d find it endearing.

just watchin a movie with lil before bed

Wow, that actually did sound as lame as he’d feared.

That sounds like an amazing night :) What movie?

His heart did a little flip as he read Levy’s reply before he had to remind himself she probably meant that watching a movie with Lily sounded amazing, not watching a movie with him.

almost famous its my favorite

It really was his favorite movie. If it wasn’t for that movie, actually, he probably wouldn’t have pursued music journalism. There was just something so beautiful about capturing the rock-n-roll lifestyle and putting it into words. He was always in awe of the musicians he followed on tour, and honestly, he could wax poetic about it forever.

Ya know, I’ve never actually seen that one

He had known there had to have been something wrong with her.

u just cut me real deep shrimp

Haha, sorry about that. I’ll have to check it out sometime if it’s your favorite though!

His heart stuttered again as he stared down at the words on the phone screen. Another message came in.

I’m going to go to bed now though. Just wanted to make sure we did the wrap right. Goodnight Gajeel!

Typing up a quick goodnight, he pressed on the number at the top of the thread to save it in his contacts. Sighing loudly, he rubbed a hand over his eyes. He definitely wasn’t going to get Levy off his mind now.

#Levy McGarden #Gajeel Redfox #gajevy #fairy tail #fairy tail fanfiction #Gajeel X Levy #alternate universe #must love cats #im kinda proud of myself for getting this done #i'd totally forgotten it was wednesday #and im sick #so the fact this got made within like an hour and a half is preeeeeeetty impressive.#*hair flip emoji here*

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mikeshanlon · 7 years

Text

our love was made for movie screens;

pairing: riley matthews and lucas friar word count: 1.5k prompt: “day one: canon verse - something that takes place in the canon universe as we know it” written for: rucas fanfic week 2017 summary: lucas friar loves the movies, but he love seeing them with riley even more. a/n: so, this is my first rucas oneshot, and it’s probably not that great, have mercy. the fic is set in the summer between 7th and 8th grade. there’s been a lot of references to rucas movie dates in the show (gm texas pt. 3 and gm the new year) but we never saw any of it, so i imagined what one of them was like. the movies mentioned are avengers age of ultron (cursed) and inside out (which i haven’t seen dfgjdfg) and the title is from all i want by kodaline.

There was something special about going to the movies. Maybe it was splurging on overpriced buttery popcorn and sugary sweet chocolate, or finding the perfect seat to settle into. Perhaps it was escaping screams and the crushing weight of expectations, the feeling of knuckles and the taste of blood-- the distraction of being transported into another world and focusing on someone else’s problems. But the best thing, to Lucas, was the company. He wasn’t always the best at talking to others, unsure of his words, but he didn’t have to talk when he was at the movies. Lucas was allowed to bask in presence of his friends, listen to their laughs and watch them cry, just be. The movies revealed the little things that made his newfound friends tick or burst out into grins. It helped him understand the crazy people who were Farkle, Maya, and Riley; while he seemed to fit in well with the three, he still had a lot to learn about the native New Yorkers.

Lucas Friar loved the movies, plain and simple.

Yes, he even enjoyed going with Farkle, who spoiled the whole thing twenty minutes in using his genius powers. Once he got over being annoyed, it was honestly sort of adorable how excited Farkle got when he figured everything out, although Farkle would probably resent that comment.

Maya always had snarky side comments about the movie that made Lucas chuckle, although when Riley was with them he’d have to hide his laughter from her judging stare. The two of them often saw horror movies together because Riley and Farkle were too scared to go. She’d laugh at the gore and torture, which was slightly worrisome to Lucas, but she’d just say it was ‘so obviously fake Huckleberry’ when they left the theater. Whenever the characters did something stupid she’d yell at the screen, clenching her fists in anger-- it was safe to say her constant talking had gotten them kicked out on more than one occasion.

His favorite person to go to the movies with by far though was Riley Matthews. Maybe that was due to his major crush for the brunette who loved purple cats and cotton candy, but she was the most fun to go with. She didn’t talk throughout the movie, being as enraptured as he was, but the two would passionately discuss every miniscule detail for hours over hot chocolate from Svorski's afterwards.

Lucas loved the way she’d laugh too loud at every single joke, and make sure nobody heard her with an embarrassed blush across her cheeks. To him, her laugh was more beautiful than all of the soundtracks combined.

Tonight, the two of them were seeing the newest superhero blockbuster together. Usually, the whole group saw those movies together, but Maya and Farkle had betrayed them and gone and seen it early.

Okay, maybe ‘betrayed’ was a little strong, but Lucas was very passionate about films and seeing Captain America kick some ass.

They stood in line for the tickets, just close enough for their hands to brush. Riley’s hair was in it’s usual waves, with some small braids making a crown around her head. She looked gorgeous against the summer sunset with hues of pink, purple, and orange. Part of him wished the jean jacket she had over her red dress with white flowers was his own, and he made a mental note to find the denim jacket in his closet when he got home. After he inevitably spent an hour thinking about the evening of course.

“I’m so excited,” Riley grinned, rocking back and forth on her heels, “Avoiding spoilers from Maya and Farkle was one of the hardest things of my life though.”

Lucas nodded in agreement, “At least Maya doesn’t do it intentionally like a certain friend of ours.”

“Mm, it’s sort of endearing though” Riley fiddled with her wallet.

Even though Lucas agreed he decided to tease her a little, “You think everything’s endearing when it comes to your friends.”

“True, but that’s because you guys are amazing,” Riley beamed, “Like, for instance, you are one of the strongest people I’ve ever met.”

Oh. This definitely backfired. Lucas looked away to hide the blush spreading across his tanned cheeks.

“Uh, thanks Riley.”

Riley nodded in satisfaction, a glimmer in her eye making him think she meant to get him all flustered.

The line inched forward and they bought their respective tickets. Even though he knew it wasn’t really a date he still hated seeing her pay for her own things, so, being the true southern gentleman he is, Lucas bought all the snacks.

“Lucas, I’m an independent woman who can pay with her own money” the brunette protested.

“I’m pretty sure you got that money from Topanga” Lucas countered.

Riley sheepishly admitted this was true, “But I’m going to set aside some gummy bears for you okay? What color do you like the best?”

Lucas shrugged as they picked up their food and located their theater, “I don’t really care, whichever ones you don’t want.”

“That won’t do,” Riley shook her head, “you aren’t getting my scraps. What about blue?”

He looked at her quizzically, not understanding her reasoning.

“Isn’t that your favorite color?”

“Uh, y-yeah, it is. Thanks.”

God, he was a mess.

They found a nice spot in the middle towards the back to settle in and enjoy the action. There were only a few trailers left before the movie started, and one for the upcoming Disney movie appeared on the large screen. Riley began digging into her extra large popcorn that she always finished way too early and had to get more. He hated when she was gone for too long though, so he made sure to get more than he usually did so they could share later.

“I can’t wait to see that one,” Riley leaned into his side and whispered, “The main character has the same name as me-- isn’t that cool?”

Lucas chuckled, “Well, we’ll see it when it comes out then.”

Soon the movie started, and the audience were thrown in the middle of a chaotic fight scene, with loud explosions and guns. The music swelled up and matched the fast paced nature of the scene. Riley jumped beside him as a body fell to the floor, and reached out to grab his bicep for reassurance. Her hand stayed there until the action died down and she took a deep breath before digging into her food. The loss of warmth and touch disappointed Lucas, but it was adorable how she didn’t even realize what she did.

He glanced over, seeing her pick out a red gummy bear and savagely tear off it’s head, her chocolate eyes transfixed on the screen. Even though Lucas loved the movies, Riley was a much more beautiful sight.

However, Steve Rogers just showed up on screen, and Captain America was sort of his favorite superhero ever (although he’s been told he has more similarities to Hulk) so he focused on the movie instead.

The movie was about halfway over, and Lucas was pretty livid-- Natasha and Bruce?! Now he understood why Maya and Farkle had been yelling all week. He had expected more from the movie, so his interest plummeted, he honestly just wanted to leave and send a letter of complaint to Joss Whedon.

But he was with Riley, and any moment with her was one well spent, and he wanted to make the most of it; especially with the absence of Maya and Farkle.

Now, because of his love for the silver screen, Lucas considered himself a bit of a movie aficionado. And with that knowledge came and endless list of tropes and references from rom-coms, horror movies, and action films.

Just about everyone knew it. Person A pretends to yawn and puts an arm around Person B. Cliche as all hell, but Lucas was getting frustrated with the lack of progression of their relationship, and if it all went wrong, he could just move back to Texas and live in solitude until death. Completely rational.

Thankfully, the scene was pretty boring, so yawning wasn’t super unrealistic. Lucas shifted in his seat and feigned his best yawn (he nailed the lead role of Romeo for a reason) before stretching out and hooking his arm around the back of Riley’s seat.

Riley burst out into giggles and quickly covered her mouth in an attempt to stifle the laughter.

“Are you laughing at me?!” Lucas whispered in what was somehow both genuine and faux mortifying embarrassment and disbelief.

“No!” Riley squeaked, but the laughter continued to tumble out of her pink lips, “...Maybe.”

Lucas began to move his arm away but Riley scooted in closer, resting her head on his shoulder.

“Gummy bear?” she offered him some in her palm, and graciously took them.

A smile to bright it rivaled the sun spread across his face, and he munched on gummy bears and popcorn for the rest of the movie, rubbing small circles into Riley’s arm.

There was something special about going to the movies, but there was also something extremely special about Riley Matthews and feeling of comfort and joy she gave him.

Lucas Friar loved the movies, plain and simple. And it was too soon to call whatever the two of them shared ‘love’, but he was sure he could learn to feel the same way about her.

#rucasficweek2017 #rucas fic #rucas fanfic #rucas #lmaoooooooooo idk how i feel about this but here yall go #my fic

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