#Scrapping the frames where he prints it out so i can get more out :-) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

chasingpj · 4 years ago

Text

𝐰𝐡𝐲 𝐦𝐞?

"My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers?"

pairing: leo valdez x gn reader

words: 2,994

warnings: cursing, mentions of genitalia

category: one-shot, soulmate!au

You don’t know who your soulmate is, but when you find out, you know the first thing you’ll do is punch him in his face. You don’t understand why he does this. Why can’t he be romantic like everyone else? You have a few friends who have the same connection you share with your soulmate, through your skin. Your friends rise from their slumbers with beautiful sketches on their arms; Or throughout the day, lines will appear as they’re being drawn, creating the most beautiful artwork you’ve ever seen. However, of course, you don’t get that; instead, you get this.

You stare at yourself in the mirror with pure disbelief, and you can’t decide whether to cry or scream. You’re used to these kinds of drawings in places like your arms, stomach, and legs, so they were easy to hide. But this has never happened before; it's never been in a place so… so visible.

You fill with rage as you observe the sloppily drawn dick on your forehead and your fist clenches as it lays on top of your bathroom sink. You fucking ass. How the hell am I going to hide this? You have to be at work in fifteen minutes, and you have this vulgar drawing on your forehead. You’re sure if you tell your boss your situation, he’d probably dismiss you because this is obviously not appropriate for the workplace. Still, you can’t even imagine trying to explain this to him. It was way too embarrassing.

"What am I going to do?” You whine as you rub your hands on your face. The drawing won’t be removed from your skin unless your soulmate removes it on his, so you had to think of a solution right away.

“Where could he possibly be where this is acceptable?” You try to refrain from sobbing hopelessly as your frantic mind searches for a solution. You think maybe a hat will work, but you discard the idea knowing your boss will tell you to take it off once you’re indoors. Suddenly, like a sign from the heavens, your solution hits you right in the face when you catch sight of your makeup bag lying on the toilet seat. You reach over, grabbing the pouch and unzipping it. Your quivering hands move too fast, causing the products to fall out and scatter into the sink. Your eyes skim over them in search of your thickest foundation and concealer. When you find them, along with your primer, you sigh, saying a silent prayer before getting to work.

***

Leo gasps sharply as the sight of his face in the mirror shocks him out of his fatigue. He touches his forehead, trying to recall the memory of last night while ignoring the pounding headache surging through his skull. He remembers getting to the club with a group of friends and how they took one shot after another until their vision was blurry. He has a faint memory of dancing with some girl, and the chaos of his 4 am Macdonald’s run with his friends. However, he doesn't recall the moment when this picture was drawn on his face. When did this happen? More importantly, who did this? He pauses, gawking at his reflection. His jaw clenches as the culprit comes to mind. He felt foolish for questioning who did this because he lives with, and he went home with one person last night, and that's Percy.

“Percy!” He yells angrily, and in the next room, he hears Percy’s manic laughter getting louder as he runs down the hall and into the bathroom with him. Percy can’t help but laugh even harder at the sight of a distressed Leo, and he silently congratulates himself for pulling such a successful prank. Leo’s expression hardens, and his gaze snaps over to him, “It's not funny!”

Percy snorts and nudges his shoulder, "Come on, loosen up!" Leo laughs sarcastically,

"Come on, loosen up!" He mocks with clear annoyance, making Percy’s laughter ceases. Leo usually takes things like this so well; he's never been angry at him because of a childish prank. The two of them have been pulling pranks on each other since they moved in together, and they would always laugh it out while deviously planning their revenge. Percy tilts his head, now growing annoyed that Leo’s annoyed.

"Why are you so uptight today?" He almost snaps, not understanding his fury. Leo's eyes narrow at him,

"My soulmate is linked to my skin." He speaks slowly and carefully, accentuating his words to make sure Percy understands how bad this is. Percy's mouth drops open, and he stares at the vulgar art on his forehead.

"Oh… shit," is the only thing he can think of saying. “Fuck, I forgot. I’m sorry,” Percy apologizes even though he knows it doesn’t help anything. He didn’t share the same connection with his soulmate, so he had forgotten entirely about Leo’s bond with his. He’s now left with regret knowing that there's someone out there going along their day trying to hide this lewd image.

Leo groans as he throws his head back. "I-It'll wash off? Right?"

Leo flips up the sink’s nozzle, dipping his head in the cold tap water to wet his face. He scrubs with his fingers, blindly grasping the soap next to him. He runs it over, spreading the suds and lightly scratching his forehead. He rinses everything off and returns to his original position to check his face now. He yells in panic when he sees the drawing didn't budge at all; it didn't even fade. Percy audibly gasps,

"I used permanent marker."

"BRO!"

"I'm sorry!"

Percy shifts on his feet as the memory of last night comes back to him. Leo fell asleep in the cab ride home, and Percy, somehow without much balance, carried him over his shoulder into their apartment complex. He squints his eyes, and with a vague remembrance, he recalls plopping him down on the couch. Leo was unconscious, and Percy’s drunk mind saw this as a perfect opportunity to prank him. He picked the first marker he saw, and in the middle of a giggling fit, he sloppily drew the phallic item and took a picture.

Leo frantically puts his head back in the sink to scrub again, and Percy stands by the door, watching panic wash over him. Leo continues scrubbing his skin, and though his skin becomes red under the friction of his nails, he persists. Percy shakes his head, walking over to him quickly, and he pats his shoulder.

"Come on, man. It's not working; you’re gonna hurt yourself." If Percy let him, Leo would scrub his skin raw. He disregards his advice and continues to scrub, bringing the soap over the drawing once again before scratching harshly. Percy, not wanting his friend to hurt himself, turns off the tap, and Leo groans, standing straight. He stares at himself in the mirror, his face dripping wet, and his skin is red with irritation. I'm so sorry.

***

Your day hasn't gotten any better since this morning. First, you wake with a dick on your forehead; second, you miss your bus because you took so much time layering makeup on your face. Then, you get to work about 15 minutes late because your commute, which usually took about 5 minutes, was delayed due to traffic. You assumed that your day couldn’t get any worse, but you discovered you spoke too soon when the system your job uses to put in orders crashed, making your job even harder than it had to be. Also, you spilled hot coffee on yourself during the morning rush, and that almost sent you straight into tears, but somehow, you prevailed.

By the afternoon, you wanted to rip your hair out when you realized you forgot your wallet, leaving you unfed and cranky. Your boss was no help to your mood either. He picked at everything you did today and held a grudge about you being late this morning. You've never had such a shitty day at work, and there is a sense of relief when you witnessed the clock turn to 4:30 pm. You immediately stood up from your chair, collecting your things before walking straight to the computer to clock out.

The last challenge you're facing is to get home in the slippery aftermath of the pouring rain earlier today. It was colder than usual; the sun’s hidden behind stormy gray clouds, and the smell of wet soil is in the air. You shiver, your arms wrapped around your frame in a poor attempt to keep you warm. You don't have an umbrella, and you hope it doesn’t start raining again. You were sure that if your makeup washes away in the rain for everyone to see the mystery under it, you will lose your mind.

You stand in the corner of the waiting shed, resting your head on the side. You take a deep breath, noticing your hands are anxiously chipping away the week-old nail polish. From the corner of your eye, you see someone join you under the shed, and out of usual curiosity, you look over. A tall, slender guy stands in the opposite corner; he wears distressed blue jeans, a black hoodie with a print you can’t see from your view, and a black winter hat. In his hands, he fiddles with a piece of scrap metal. His skin was tan, and his brown curly hair peeks from under his hat. Oblivious to your staring, he looks away from his fiddling and happens to glance over at you. There's a moment of awkward eye contact before you snap your vision away and out to the street.

You cringe at yourself for staring too long, shifting on your feet. You casually lean over the side of the curve, and you swear the light of the heavens was shining on your bus as it drove toward you. You couldn’t help but smile, a sense of relief washing over you. It’s here; you were one step closer to getting home and relaxing.

The excitement was taken away as quickly as it arrived, your bus passing your stop making a mini tsunami in the process. A wave of water splashes directly on you, and it takes you a moment to process what just happened. You stand there, cold and wet staring blankly at the curve. You felt overwhelmed, not being able to hold back the cries that you’ve been suppressing all day.

"are you-" a sob releases from your lips, stunning the unknown guy next to you. You miserably walk over to the bench, plopping down and resting your elbows on your thighs to lay your head in your hands. You sob freely, not caring about the boy's presence, and he stands in his spot, not sure what to do. He had an innate urge to make you feel better, and he doesn't know why but it pains him to see you like this. He clears his throat and decides to settle in the seat next to you. "Bad day?"

You sniffle, trying to find your breath, "The worst."

You don't look up, your hands doing their part to cover your face and your forehead. "I don't understand why everything is going so wrong.” You didn’t even care that you were pitying yourself, but you felt like you had the right considering how shit your day has been.

"I woke up with an awful drawing from my soulmate. I was late for my bus, which made me late to work; I haven't had lunch either. I'm hungry, cold, and now, soaking wet in street water." You sniffle once more. "My soulmate is so mean. He’s done nothing good with these stupid drawings. You know, all I want is something cute, like a picture of, maybe, flowers? I'd even take a tacky picture of two stick figures falling in love... shit; I’d be satisfied with a grocery list. But of course, with my luck, that doesn't happen. I get stupid drawings of... genitalia."

Leo’s body tenses next to you, and his teeth bite the inside of his lip. Drawings of genitalia? Sounds like him. Now he needed to see this drawing you were talking about, and he feels himself getting anxious at the possibility that you could be his soulmate. You continue to cry, refusing to move from your position.

"Well... it can't be that bad?"

"Oh, it's bad,” you managed to respond in your ragged breathing. Leo hesitantly reaches over, affectionately rubbing his hand across your upper back. Your breath hitches softly at the back of your throat, and there is a surge of warmth that radiates from his hand. You feel your tense shoulders begin to relax, and you furrow your eyebrows as your breath miraculously finds its regular pace. You even have this strange desire to cuddle into his frame to acquire more of his touch.

"Come on, show me. It's probably not as bad as you think." He speaks from his experience this morning. If you aren't his soulmate, he's sure that whatever you have isn't as traumatic as what he and his soulmate have.

"No! You'll laugh," you whine, your head laying firmly on your hands.

"I won't! I promise." You can tell from his voice that he was genuine, and for some reason, you can trust him. You slowly remove your hands from your face, but your head is still in an embarrassed bow. His heart pounds in his chest at the anticipation and leans forward to get a look at your face. You close your eyes, not wanting to see his initial reaction.

There it was. Right under your concealer, there is the familiar drawing faintly present. Leo's mouth drops, and his eyes widen; how is he going to tell you that he has the same picture on his forehead? You sigh shakily,

"It's bad, isn't it?" Your face burns in pure humiliation, and you now regret showing him. Leo is silent for a bit, trying to find words to explain himself.

"I'm sorry," he blurts out. Your eyebrows furrow and your eyes flutter open to look at his guilty expression.

"Why are you sorry?" He doesn't even attempt to explain himself in words. He simply slides off his winter hat, showing you the original drawing on his skin. You inhale sharply, your mind trying to process what is happening in front of you.

He's your soulmate, the person that you ideally would spend your life with. You didn't think you'd find him anytime soon or even at all. Your stomach flutters at the sight of him, and your cheeks get warm. You both gaze into each other’s eyes, and there was an immediate connection. You take in the tousled curls on his head, a bit frizzy from his hat and his big brown eyes. Your heart pumps hard in your chest, just as fast as the boy’s heart in front of you.

A few people told you that you’d feel like the world will slow down when you meet your soulmate. You’ll feel complete, and all at once, you’ll fall in love. You thought it was a load of over-romanticized bull, but you found that it was true even with your strange circumstance.

You finally found him…

But he's done this.

Your anger somehow counteracts this "in love" feeling, and you momentarily hate him for starting your day off on a sour note.

"You!" Your arms lift to strike him in the chest, but before you could attack, he grasps your tight fists.

"I'm sorry! I can explain!" He says quickly. Your arms loosen up, and you narrow your eyes at him,

"Explain yourself then." Sheepishly Leo cowers and his hands remain around your fist, just in case.

"Well," he sighs, "I partied a little too hard last night, and um, my roommate, Percy, thought it would be funny to draw this on my forehead."

"Your roommate is an ass."

"Well, yeah. Sometimes. But he was just as drunk as I was, and he didn't realize that the marker was permanent. When I saw it, I immediately thought of you, and how you’d have to walk around with this." He chews on the inside of his cheek, "I tried getting it off, but it won’t go away." You sigh, willing to forgive him since it wasn't his fault.

"So, we're gonna have this for a while?"

"Probably a couple of days or so." You groan and don’t say anything in return. You look down at your lap, still hiding your face from anyone around. "Oh, here, take my sweatshirt. The hoodie can keep it hidden.” He puts his hat back on and pulls his sweatshirt over his body, passing it to you. You smile softly as you take it from him. You pull it over your still soaked and cold frame, slipping your arms in and bringing the hood up. You mutter a small thank you, shoving your hands in the front pocket. He replies with a hum, allowing the sounds of the passing cars to fill your comfortable silence.

"Again, I'm sorry,” he apologizes sincerely, and you turn your head. You smile reassuringly,

"It's okay. I'll forgive you this time,” you say teasingly, and he chuckles. "I'm y/n, by the way."

"Leo." You reach over, taking his hand, and you guys share a handshake.

"Nice to meet you, soulmate.”

masterlists

#leo valdez x you #leo valdez x reader #leo valdez #leo valdez fanfic #leo valdez imagine #leo valdez one shot #heroes of olympus fanfic #heroes of olympus #my writing

705 notes · View notes

superfreakerz · 3 years ago

Text

TDDUP 31

AN: Idk who’s still active considering I haven’t uploaded this story in almost 2 years but hopefully someone will enjoy it! :)

Chapter 31

Under the Mistletoe

Natsu grinned to himself as he tacked the decoration just underneath the door frame to the bedroom. With its white berries, beautiful green leaves, and the red ribbon tied around the stems, he was sure it was going to bring a smile to Lucy’s face when she saw it. And if she somehow missed it, then he was more than happy to point it out to her since it meant stealing a kiss from her.

“Natsu? What’s that?” Lucy’s voice called out.

Turning around to face the girl, he gave her a grin. Grabbing her hand, he quickly pulled her close to him.

“Look up,” he said, planting his hands on her hips.

Lucy glanced up, her eyes landing on the mistletoe that hung over them. Her lips curled into a small smile, her cheeks tinted pink having been caught off-guard.

“Mistletoe? Where’d you get that?” she asked with a laugh.

“Borrowed it from Cana,” he answered, peering down at her with a toothy grin. “In her words, it was going to ‘get me laid.’ Figured I would test her theory out. So? Whatcha think?”

Lucy playfully rolled her eyes. “I think that we still have a lot more decorating to do before the others get here. But…” Leaning towards him, she pressed her lips against his in a chaste kiss. Pulling away, she smiled up at him. “It’d be breaking tradition if we didn’t kiss.”

Natsu watched as Lucy headed back to the living room to continue decorating for the Christmas party they were throwing. Lucy, wanting to be festive for the holiday, wore a skimpy Santa suit that Natsu couldn’t tear his eyes away from. Not only did it show a nice amount of cleavage, the dress was so short that it barely covered her bum. Another nice touch that spurred his desire was the white fluff that hemmed the edges, giving it a real Christmas vibe. She also wore white knee-high socks, which always brought his attention to her creamy legs. To top it all off, she wore a Santa hat.

Natsu’s pants felt tight just looking at her.

Following her out into the living room, he wrapped his arms around her from behind. He could tell that she felt him hard against her from the way she jumped.

“Can’t we just take a lil’ break and do something else?” Natsu asked. He brushed Lucy’s hair out of the way and softly nuzzled the shell of her ear. Her body melted into his as he ran his hands up her sides and over her breasts. He was about to slip his hands underneath the cloth when she jumped away from him.

“No, Natsu,” she said, narrowing her eyes at him. Her face was flushed with heat as she continued, “We can do that later but for now, we have to finish decorating. They’ll be here soon.”

Natsu huffed, crossing his arms with a pout. “Why are we celebrating over here anyways? It’d be easier to just meet them there. They already have a bunch of decorations up.”

“I don’t want to intrude during the holidays.”

“What do you mean? You aren’t intruding. You’ve been there tons of times by now!”

“I’ve only been there a few times, for your information. And I just don’t want to make anyone feel uncomfortable.”

“Who would feel uncomfortable with you coming?” Natsu asked, arching a brow.

“Well, Mira for one,” Lucy answered, her lips tugged into a small frown.

Natsu immediately understood, rubbing the back of his head. “Look, don’t take it personally. Mira’s just… different. It doesn’t have to do with you. She can’t really handle bein’ around mortals much. That’s why she’s the only one who turns down her chances of going to the outside world.”

“I know it’s nothing personal,” Lucy replied. “But it doesn’t matter. I’m not offended or anything by it. It’s just that she deserves to feel comfortable in her own home on Christmas. I’m okay with just having you guys over. And I’m okay with you going over there to celebrate too.”

Natsu frowned, uncomfortable with the thought of leaving Lucy alone for even a minute on Christmas. He promised her months ago that he would spend the day with her, how could he just leave?

“You know I don’t hafta go,” he said. “The others can go back without me. I’ll stay here with you.”

Lucy smiled and shook her head. “Thank you, Natsu. I appreciate that you’d do that for me, but you should go back later with them. I’m not the only person who wants to spend Christmas with you, and I’m not going to be that girlfriend who keeps her boyfriend away from his friends. It’ll just be for a couple of hours, so you’re going. And when you get back, we can exchange presents.”

Before he could argue, she grabbed some more decorations from the box, gave him a quick peck on the cheek, and went to hang them up.

About ten minutes later, there was a knock at the door.

“Merry Christmas, Lucy!” the rest of the gang shouted the moment she opened the door.

Lucy beamed at them. “Merry Christmas, you guys! Thanks for coming over!”

As everyone headed inside, Lucy noticed that she wasn’t the only one dressed for the holidays. Juvia adorned a beautiful blue dress covered in snowflakes and sparkles, a little tiara resting on her head.

“Juvia is an ice princess,” the girl said when she noticed Lucy staring.

“You look beautiful, Juvia!” she replied. And it was true. The blue complimented her hair and fair skin perfectly. Her eyes moved over to Gray. He wore a top hat and some black jeans. As usual, he was without a shirt. “What’s up with the hat?”

“The guild always makes me dress as Frosty the Snowman on Christmas,” he replied, crossing his arms over his chest.

“So you wore a hat? Or was there more of the costume that you stripped away?”

“There was more, but they’re long gone by now.”

Lucy nodded, moving her gaze over to Erza and Jellal. While they weren’t fully dressed up like Juvia and herself, they wore cute reindeer headbands.

Levy, on the other hand, wore an adorable elf costume. It was red and green, which although contrasted her hair greatly, still managed to look amazing on her. Her leggings were striped in the same green and red, and her hat had a bell at the tip.

“You look so cute, Levy-chan!” Lucy gushed, wrapping the petite girl in a hug.

“You too, Lu-chan!” the girl replied.

Gajeel pushed past the two girls, allowing Lucy to see his costume. He was dressed in a Santa costume, his hair spray-dyed white. A scowl was plastered to his face as he grumbled, “Damn Shrimp, makin’ me dress up like this.”

As soon as he was out of earshot, Levy cupped her hand around her mouth and whispered to Lucy, “I didn’t make him dress up like that. He woke up hours before everyone else so that he could get ready.”

Lucy covered her mouth with her hands, trying to stifle her laughter. Just the thought of Gajeel happily getting ready to dress up as Santa Claus had her nearly hunched over in laughter.

“Your apartment is so festive, Lucy,” Erza’s voice called out to her.

“Thanks!” she replied, her smile as bright as the lit-up Christmas tree she had Natsu put in the corner of the living room. Lights were strewn across the ceiling, decorations were tacked to the wall, and she even woke up early in the morning to bake Christmas cupcakes. To say she loved Christmas was an understatement. She hadn’t been able to really celebrate the holiday in a long time, so now she was going all out.

“Can we open presents already!?” Natsu asked, bouncing excitedly in his seat.

“We just got here, idiot,” Gray said, rolling his eyes.

Erza chimed in, “I agree with Natsu. We should open presents now.” Even though she kept a straight face and was still in her seat unlike Natsu, the twinkle in her eye made it obvious she was looking forward to presents just as much as he was.

“Presents it is then,” Lucy said with a laugh. Everyone sat in the living room, presents sitting in their laps. With how big their group was, they decided to do a secret Santa exchange to save money. “Who goes first?”

“I will!” Erza exclaimed, a bright grin settling over her face. “Whoever got me, step forward!”

Lucy stood from the couch. “That would be me!” Handing Erza the gift, she watched as the redhead tore away the wrapping paper in an instant, revealing a rectangular box. Lucy watched anxiously as Erza removed the tape from the box’s sides. She may not have known Erza long, but she thought she knew her well enough. Though the redhead tried to hide it, there was a girly side to her.

Erza opened the box, pulling out a violet dress. It was made of silk and was long enough to reach the floor. The sides were slit to reveal her legs, giving it a sexier feel.

“This dress is gorgeous, Lucy!” Erza said in awe. She grabbed the tag, her eyes bugging out of her head as she read the label. “HK!? This must’ve cost a fortune!”

“It wasn’t too bad,” Lucy replied, waving her off. Though in truth, that dress alone cost most of her allowance. Still, it was worth it to see her friend smile.

Erza stood from the couch, holding her arms out in front of her for a hug. Lucy winced, knowing how rough the redhead could be. Knowing it was rude to turn it down, Lucy went in for a hug, praying that she wouldn’t bruise from it. Sure enough, Erza smashed her head down on her chest in what only she would call a hug.

“Thank you, Lucy!” Erza said.

“D-Don’t mention it,” she replied. She sat back down on the couch, her head dizzy.

“Her hugs hurt, huh?” Natsu whispered in her ear.

“So badly,” Lucy replied with a nod. She then watched as Erza handed Juvia a small box. The wrapping paper was crinkled, and looking closely, Lucy could see that there were some extra scraps taped on, probably because she ripped the bottom layer.

Gently tearing the wrapping paper away, Juvia opened the box to find four slips of paper. Confused, she picked them up and read the words printed on them. Immediately, a bright smile graced her face.

“Oh, thank you, Erza!” she exclaimed.

“Wait, what is it?” Levy asked, unable to see what they were from where she sat.

Juvia held up the slips of paper. “They’re two train tickets to Crocus and to the Crocus Garden!”

“No way!” Lucy shouted. “I heard that they have a rainbow sakura tree over there! I’ve always wanted to go!”

“Well, the extra ticket was meant for Gray, but I suppose you could bring Lucy instead,” Erza said with a shrug.

Lucy laughed at the panic that washed over Juvia’s face. “Don’t worry, Juvia. You don’t have to bring me. It sounds like a fun date for you and Gray!”

The blue-headed girl heaved a sigh of relief.

Natsu nudged her lightly.

“I didn’t know you wanted to go there,” he said.

Lucy smiled at him. “Yeah. I’ve never been to Crocus before. I would love to see the rainbow sakura tree someday.”

“Then I’ll take ya there!”

“The train ride is over six hours long. I don’t think you’d last, Natsu.”

The boy glared at her, crossing his arms with a huff. “If you wanna go there, then I don’t care how long the train ride is. We’re going!”

Lucy giggled at his pouty face, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Natsu. I’m looking forward to it.”

Turning her attention back on Juvia, she watched the girl hand Gajeel his gift. It was kept in a tiny gift bag, small enough to make Lucy wonder what could possibly fit in it. Reaching inside, Gajeel pulled out what looked like a receipt. His eyes scanned the printed words before his eyes grew wide.

“No fucking way,” he said, whipping his head towards Juvia.

The girl nodded quickly, her smile wide. “Yep! Juvia bought you an electric guitar! Juvia left it back home though because it was too hard to wrap.”

Lucy’s jaw dropped on its hinges. An electric guitar? That blew the cost of the designer dress she bought Erza out of the water! How Juvia could afford to even buy it, she didn’t know.

She watched as Gajeel- the boy who was usually a snarky hardass- turned into a weeping mess as he thanked Juvia and showed Levy the receipt.

Lucy was surprised that Juvia would spend so much money for someone that wasn’t Gray, but after hearing from Natsu that the two were best friends since before even joining Fairy Tail, she couldn’t say she was too surprised. They must’ve known each other for decades- hell, depending on how old they were, maybe even centuries. He always stood up for her when people made fun of her for speaking in third person, and she was the one that dragged him from heading down a dark path and into Fairy Tail. Their friendship was strong, and Lucy admired that.

Lucy was brought from her thoughts when she heard Gajeel and Natsu arguing. Apparently Natsu was teasing Gajeel for crying. Before a fight could break out, Lucy and Levy forced their boyfriends to sit down by pulling on their ears.

Gajeel grumbled to himself before handing Jellal his present.

Jellal’s brows rose. “You didn’t have to buy me a Christmas present. You just bought me a birthday present a few weeks ago.”

“Yeah, yeah. You say that every year. You should know by now that people are still gonna get you a Christmas present,” Gajeel replied, rolling his eyes.

Jellal smiled before ripping away the wrapping paper. Inside was a leatherback journal along with a calligraphy set.

“I know Erza retrieved your old research journal from a museum or whatever, but I figured you could use a new one. And Shrimp here told me that you like to do calligraphy too.”

“I do. Thank you, Gajeel. It’s very thoughtful.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

Lucy chuckled. “What a tsundere.”

Gajeel turned red in the face. “Shut up!”

Jellal grabbed a perfectly wrapped gift- much different than the gift his wife had wrapped- and handed it to Natsu. The pink-haired boy lit up like the Christmas tree, snatching it with a quick word of thanks before ripping into it like his life had depended on it. He uncovered a box full of different snacks, hot sauces from all over the world, and gift cards to fast food chains.

“I truly did not know what else to get you besides food,” Jellal admitted. “After you caught the basement on fire with the pyrotechnics kit I bought you, I was prohibited from making that mistake again.”

Natsu grinned, grabbing a bag of chips and tearing into it. “Hey, this works for me!” Grabbing the wrapped gift at his ankle, he tossed it to Levy. “Oi, catch!”

Levy squealed, fumbling as she just barely caught the present. “I’m assuming this isn’t fragile.”

“Nope. But it did cost an arm and a leg to get it, so you better be glad!”

Levy perked a brow before opening the present. Inside the box was a stack of papers, stapled at the top. Her eyes scanned the words, confused as to what it could’ve been.

“What is it?” she asked. It appeared to be a story, though there was no covering to it.

“It’s a Heartfilia original!”

Levy’s eyes nearly burst out of their sockets. She whipped her head between Natsu and Lucy, the latter blushing.

“Lu-chan wrote this?”

The blonde nodded. “It’s the very first story I’ve written. I started that way back during my first lifetime and I recently finished it. When I told Natsu about it, he said that he wanted to give it to you for Christmas. You’ll officially be my first reader, just like I promised!”

Levy burst into a fit of tears before tackling Natsu and Lucy to the ground. “I’ve been waiting for this day for forever! Thanks, you guys!”

Natsu laughed. “Don’t mention it!”

“And don’t show it to people either! It’s embarrassing!” Lucy added.

Levy nodded, eager to read the story when Gajeel reminded her they were still in the process of Secret Santa.

“Oh, right. Here you go, Gray!”

The boy thanked her as he accepted the gift. It was in a small gift bag. Reaching his hand in, he pulled out two slips of paper.

“H-Holy shit!” he shouted. “These are concert tickets to see Lyra! They’re my favorite band!”

Natsu stood up, grabbing a ticket to see it himself. “No way! You gotta give me the extra ticket!”

“Why the hell would I wanna see a concert with you!?”

“Not like I wanna see one with you either, but I love Lyra too!”

“You can give the extra ticket to whoever you want,” Levy said with a shrug. Truthfully she wanted Secret Santa to end as quickly as possible so she could hurry up and read Lucy’s story. “Anyways, you’re next, Gray!”

Gray handed Juvia the tickets for safekeeping- mainly to make sure Natsu didn’t steal one. He stood up and headed towards Lucy, the last person left in Secret Santa.

“I got you, Lucy,” he said, his lips curled into a small smile.

She mirrored his expression, accepting the gift. She assumed he wasn’t good at wrapping since it was in a bag. When she reached inside the bag, she realized that he didn’t even use tissue paper to hide the present.

Her fingers brushed against something smooth. Grabbing the object carefully, she pulled it out of the bag. It was a beautiful wooden box, its edges intricately carved. The top was painted a stunning starry landscape. She went to open the box, only to find a heart-shaped lock keeping it shut.

“The key is in the bag too,” Gray said, noticing her confusion.

She fished inside the gift bag for the key, inserting it into the lock and opening the box. The inside was lined with velvet, and the top had a small mirror glued to it. Lined pads were in the box, clueing Lucy into what the box was.

“It’s a jewelry box,” Gray said, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I made it myself.” Smiling over at his girlfriend, he added, “Juvia painted the top though.”

“Thank you, Gray!” Lucy exclaimed, jumping up from the couch and hugging the boy. “It’s beautiful! I can’t believe you made it yourself!”

“Don’t mention it. I figured it’d be better than leaving your locket in a tampon box. That’s what the lock is for. Now you can keep it somewhere clean and safe.”

Tears pricked Lucy’s eyes. He made it so that she can hide her locket? Throwing her arms around the boy, she thanked him again, all the while wondering how she managed to find such great friends. She also made sure to thank Juvia for the beautiful painting she did on the box.

As the group split up into pairs to gush over their presents, Lucy excused herself to go to the restroom. When she was finished, she was surprised to find Natsu waiting outside the door.

“What are you doing?” the girl asked. She had known him long enough to recognize that mischievous glint in his eyes.

Instead of replying, the boy simply pointed up. Following his finger, Lucy found mistletoe taped in the doorway of the bathroom, hanging above them. Natsu’s hand slid up her thigh below her skirt.

“Are you crazy?” Lucy whispered, peering over his shoulder to make sure nobody was coming. “Everyone is here right now! We could get caught!”

“Good luck being quiet then,” Natsu replied with an evil grin. He slid his hand up to her rear, giving it a squeeze. Pushing her hair out of the way, he sank his lips over her neck.

Lucy gnawed on her lower lip in hopes of staying quiet. “You know, a mistletoe is just for a quick kiss on the lips, not this.”

Natsu shrugged, continuing his exploration of her neck. His hands slowly grazed her curves until brushing against the side of her breasts. Before he could grab them, Lucy reluctantly pulled away from him with a glare.

“Not while our friends are here!” she said, smoothing out her dress. She lightly smacked his hand away when he tried to reach out to her again. Sticking her tongue out at him playfully, she scurried off to join the rest of their friends back in the living room. Natsu chuckled before following after her.

Eventually, the group cleaned up the apartment as it was time to head back to Fairy Tail for the next Christmas party.

“Are you sure you don’t wanna join us, Lucy?” Gray asked.

Lucy nodded, faking a yawn. “Yeah, I’m a bit tired now. But I’ll see you guys tomorrow!” The only person she told about the real reason she didn’t want to go to Fairy Tail was Natsu. She didn’t want the others to worry and try to reassure her. She was fine with them going to celebrate with the rest of the immortals. She was happy enough with the time she got to spend with them.

The group nodded, saying their last goodbyes before heading out the door. Natsu stayed behind.

“Are you really sure about this?” he asked. He still hated the thought of leaving her by herself on Christmas.

Lucy smiled. “Yes, Natsu. I’m fine, I promise.”

“We can just stay in my room the whole time if you’re that worried about Mira!”

“No. I want you to be able to celebrate with everyone. And I’m sure they’re looking forward to celebrating with you too. I’m fine, Natsu. Now shoo.”

Natsu sighed in defeat. “Alright, but I’m coming right back here later tonight, okay? And if you change your mind, let me know and I’ll come walk you to Fairy Tail. Or if you get lonely I can come here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I understand. Now go. You’re already late enough as it is.”

Natsu gave her a quick kiss. “I’ll see you later.”

Before he could change his mind, Lucy waved and quickly shut the door, locking it so he knew she was serious about wanting him to have fun with everyone else. Staring at her empty apartment, admittedly the girl did feel a pinch of loneliness. Regardless, this was the best Christmas she’d had since her first life, she could deal with a couple of hours on her own. Grabbing a cup of hot chocolate, she curled up in a thick blanket and turned on a Christmas movie. The loneliness she felt quickly faded away.

Natsu cheered with the rest of the immortals, clinking his glass of spiked eggnog with everyone else. They had just finished the annual Fairy Tail Secret Santa. For this Secret Santa, he was assigned Cana, who was by far one of the easiest people to shop for. Give the girl a bottle of booze and she’s indebted to you for life.

He had also gotten a gift from Juvia, who was his Secret Santa. It was a hoodie from his favorite band, along with their newest CD. He still had to give Lucy her gifts later, and was eager to see what she got him as well. This year was shaping up to be the best Christmas ever.

When the party died down and people started heading to their rooms, Natsu decided that it was time to head back to Lucy’s. He went to his room to grab the gift he kept stashed away so that she wouldn’t find it.

“You heading over to Lucy’s now?” Gray asked after entering their room.

“Yep. Just had to get her present first.”

“So, what’s the real reason she didn’t want to come over here? She wasn’t really tired, right? Is she still feeling nervous around everyone?”

“Kinda,” Natsu answered, rubbing the back of his head. “Truthfully it’s just Mira.”

Gray winced. “Oh. Yeah, that makes sense.”

Mira was a nice girl, one of the nicest he had ever known. Unfortunately, her past with the mortals was the most traumatizing story he had ever heard. It was one that everyone knew not to ever bring up, for they knew the girl was haunted by it everyday. Nobody could blame her for keeping her guard up around Lucy, nor could they blame her for being the only immortal to turn down a chance at seeing the outside world.

“Yeah. I told Lucy that it wasn’t personal and that Mira was a bit different than the rest of us, but she still decided to stay home. She didn’t want Mira feeling uncomfortable on Christmas.”

Gray smiled. “Lucy’s a really nice girl, huh.”

“Yep,” Natsu replied with a grin of his own. “Anyways, I’m out of here.”

With hurried steps, the boy rushed up the stairs of the basement and out the door. He made sure to lock the doors to the pub behind him since the immortals were free to roam the top floor on Christmas.

Excited to see Lucy and still feeling guilty for leaving her, Natsu wasted no time in unlocking the door and closing it behind him. What he saw when he turned around made his jaw drop to the floor.

There in the living room stood Lucy, practically naked. She still adorned the Santa hat she wore earlier, but she had discarded the dress. Instead, she had a Christmas bow taped to the middle of her collarbone, the ends flowing and covering her nipples. She also wore red underwear with white trimming on the edges.

“Welcome back,” Lucy said, her hands behind her back.

“How long were you waiting there like that?” Natsu asked, nearly choking on his tongue while he ogled her.

“Not too long.” Lucy lifted her arm above her head, revealing a mistletoe in her hand. “Well? Are you going to join me?”

Natsu nodded his head so fast it felt like it was going to fall off. He ripped off his pants and rushed towards her, nearly tripping in his haste. Grabbing her by the hips, he crashed his lips upon hers.

“I take it this is my Christmas present?” he asked with a grin, lightly tugging the end of the bow that was taped to her.

“Yep. Wanna unwrap me?”

Natsu’s hands eagerly ripped the bow off of her before carrying her to the bed. Dropping her on the bed, he quickly tore off his shirt. Lucy squirmed below him, anticipation filling her fingertips as she tugged on his boxers. Without wasting another second, he took them off along with hers.

“You are so hot, Lucy,” Natsu said as he pressed his face between her breasts. He always enjoyed the feeling of being between them.

“Oh yeah?” Lucy replied with a smile. His praise always managed to turn her on.

“Mhmm. I mean, you were practically naked when I got here.”

“Because I’ve been looking forward to this all day. Now, are you going to get me off or am I going to have to do it myself?”

Natsu grinned before grabbing her breast in one hand while nuzzling the other. He could feel Lucy moving below him, trying to guide his cock to her folds. In his haze, he remembered the last time they had sex.

“That’s right, I have to repay you for last time,” Natsu said.

“Hmm?” Lucy absentmindedly hummed out, too focused on the work he was doing on her breasts.

Instead of using his words to explain, Natsu trailed kisses from her breasts down to her navel, then to her thighs. He left feather-light kisses over right thigh, hovering over her folds before moving to her left. He stifled a laugh as he could feel Lucy getting impatient every time he neared her folds. Unable to hold himself back for too long, he pressed his lips against her flesh, slowly sucking on her skin.

Lucy nearly screamed at the sudden pleasure that raked her body the moment Natsu’s lips touched her sensitive skin. Her breaths grew louder as his lips worked over her. When his tongue suddenly grazed her clitoris, she let out a harsh breath.

“Fuck,” she said, covering her mouth with one hand while the other gripped the sheets.

Natsu glanced up at her with a proud grin. Grabbing her wrist, he pinned it to her side.

“I wanna hear you,” he said before returning his lips to her flesh. His tongue circled around her entrance before delving into her. Since he stopped her from covering her mouth, she opted for grabbing his hair instead, finding that she had to do something with her hands. His mouth was driving her crazy.

“N-Natsu,” she breathed out. “I’m not going to last long at this rate.”

“That’s fine,” he replied, his breath warm against her flesh. It sent a shiver down her spine. “I want to make you cum like this anyways.”

Not bothering to wait for her reply, he dragged his tongue over her clitoris before giving it a hard kiss. Lucy screamed out in pleasure, thrusting her hips and grinding his face. Switching from kissing and licking, he knew that Lucy was about to break, judging from her quick breaths and the way her legs shook around his neck. In seconds, she shuddered against him, her grip tightening on his hair as she moaned out his name.

When it was clear she was done, Natsu laid beside her with a grin.

“Well? How was it?” he asked. Though, he could tell from her flushed cheeks that it was more than good.

Lucy tried to regain her breath as she replied, “We’re definitely doing that again sometime.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Well, it’s your turn now!” Lucy exclaimed, sitting up. She positioned herself between his legs, stroking his hot shaft.

Taking a quick peek at him, she found his eyes squeezed shut as he enjoyed himself. Not wanting to keep him waiting, Lucy dragged her tongue against his cock before shoving it in her mouth. She started slow, still not used to this yet. When she started to feel more comfortable, she pushed herself further, allowing his whole shaft into her mouth.

“Fuck, Lucy,” Natsu ground out.

Knowing that he enjoyed it, Lucy picked up the pace while still going as far as she could. Tears pricked her eyes, but she ignored it in favor of pleasuring him the way he did for her.

Natsu tried to control his breathing, but the way Lucy’s hot mouth tugged on his cock had him nearing sweet release.

“L-Lucy, I’m about to cum,” he warned.

The blonde only nodded. That only made the fire in Natsu burn hotter.

Lucy, feeling adventurous, decided she wanted to try something new. Something that she had read about in a mature book once.

Instead of shoving his cock as far as she could in her mouth, she went halfway down his shaft. Using her hand, she pumped the lower half while sucking the top.

In seconds, Lucy felt something hot shoot into her mouth as Natsu shook beneath her with a groan. She allowed him to ride out his orgasm before eventually withdrawing. Not knowing what to do with the liquid in her mouth, she quickly gulped it down.

Natsu winced. “Sorry, was it gross?”

Lucy shook her head. “Not at all, no need to apologize. I wanted to do it.”

Natsu smiled. The two laid there in a content silence, their bodies tired. When they finally regained their energy, Lucy stood up from the bed and grabbed something from the closet. Turning around, she smiled while holding a neatly wrapped gift.

“You got me a gift?” Natsu asked, his voice laced with childlike excitement.

“Duh! You didn’t really think sex was your only gift, right?” Handing him the gift, she watched as he tore off the wrapping paper and quickly opened the box to reveal a painting of him and Igneel.

Natsu looked up at Lucy with watery eyes. “W-What… How did you do this?”

“I commissioned an artist to paint it for me,” she answered. “I noticed that the picture you have of you and Igneel was old and a little torn, probably because of how much time had passed since it was printed. I didn’t want it to get ruined since it’s your only picture with Igneel, so I had someone recreate it. A canvas is more durable than a picture, so hopefully it’ll-!”

Lucy’s words were cut short as Natsu pulled her in for a tight hug. She could feel the light tremors of his body. Smiling, she wrapped her arms around him and allowed him to cry onto her shoulder.

“Do you like it?” she asked.

Natsu pulled away, wiping his eyes before smiling at her. “I love it. Thanks, Lucy. Oh, I got you a gift too.” Grabbing his previously discarded sweater, he pulled out a long, velvet box from the pocket. “Sorry, I didn’t have time to wrap it. And it’s not as good as the gift you gave me…”

Lucy lifted his chin to meet his gaze. “I’ll love it. Don’t worry. Can I see what it is?”

Natsu nodded, handing her the box and watching as she opened it. Upon doing so, Lucy gasped, one of her hands flying up to her mouth. Inside the box was a beautiful necklace with dangling diamond charms of constellations.

“Natsu, it’s beautiful!” she exclaimed. She gave him a worried look. “This must have cost a fortune!”

The boy shrugged with a laugh. “Don’t worry about that. My housing and tuition is free, so I have a good amount of money saved up. You like it?”

Lucy nodded, wiping a tear from her eye. She had never received a Christmas gift from a boyfriend before, and his knocked it out of the park.

“Of course I do! It’s beautiful! Thank you so much, Natsu!”

“I’m sorry mine isn’t as sentimental as yours. I probably should’ve put more thought into it. I just know you really like stars, so I wanted to get you something related to that.”

Lucy grabbed his hand with a smile. “Do you know why I love the stars?” After he shook his head, she continued, “It’s because of my first mother. We used to stargaze every night, and she taught me about a bunch of constellations, all of them being on this necklace. This necklace is plenty sentimental. Thank you, Natsu. I love it so much.”

They hugged again.

“Merry Christmas, Lucy.”

“Merry Christmas, Natsu.”

#fairy tail #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #nalu #tddup #super writes #nalu fanfic #ft fanfic

39 notes · View notes

nightingaelic · 4 years ago

Note

POODLES IN THE WASTELAND

i jest I jest

But 👀

What about pets? Either ones companions would have or a very uncommon one that someone wouldn’t think was a good pet, BUT IS. Deathclaws you can ride like a pony, mole rats that want belly rubs, cazadore’s as cattier pigeons! What are your thoughts?

Or like, Danse or Piper or Fawkes with something hilarious Idek ignore me

Oooookay, here’s my comprehensive list of companions - ALL companions, across Fallouts 3, 4, New Vegas and 76 - and their (headcanon) choices in wasteland pets. I’ll give a little explanation for each - particularly as many of these companions are transients and don’t have the luxury of owning a home to keep pets at. Also, I feel like most of the companions, while they might not necessarily like pets, would be somewhat fond or at least respectful of the pets of the Lone Wanderer/Courier/Sole Survivor/Vault Dweller, like Dogmeat and Rex.

Bighorners

Lily Bowen: Everyone’s favorite super mutant grandma is already an experienced shepherdess in Jacobstown, and she’s more than willing to tear some night stalkers apart to keep her herd safe. If that’s not love beyond the norm for wasteland livestock, I don’t know what is. She’s probably given all of her bighorners names after the characters in the television reruns she used to watch on holotape in Vault 17, like Grace and Audrey and Lucille.

Brahmin

Raul Tejada: Actually spent a decent part of his pre-war life living on a ranch, so he knows that most brahmin don’t deserve being labeled “irritable” just because people don’t know how to read their body language. I think he’d follow wild brahmin herds around a bit on a whim and keep them from coming to any harm, especially the little ones. He gives them names like the cattle he grew up with, Corazon and Gordo and Blanca.

Rose of Sharon Cassidy: Doesn’t truck with the wild herds, but she knows that part of the success of a caravan lies with how well they treat their pack animals. All of her caravan’s brahmin have names - Penny, Magic and Sprinkles - and she’s careful to pair them up with drivers who are patient and work well with their various personalities.

Cats

Butch DeLoria: While Butch ultimately decided to leave Vault 101 behind, I don’t think he would ever truly lose his fear of radroaches after what they did to his mom. Having a little friend to warm his bunk in Rivet City and pounce on intruders would probably set his mind at ease, maybe a black tomcat with one ear named Pepper. He might even gift his mom a kitten when he next comes to visit.

Star Paladin Cross: I don’t think Cross much sees the use of an animal that doesn’t contribute to the community it lives in, like most of the Brotherhood of Steel. Cats, however, are excellent at pest control, even if the rats are bigger nowadays. I think she’d give the resident cats at the Citadel some pets in passing, and she’d smile when she has to extract playful kittens from inside her power armor frame. She’s especially fond of the cat colony’s matriarch, a scarred old tabby named Gemma.

Curie: Upon her transition into a synth body, Curie is overjoyed with most animals and their new willingness to approach her for attention. She especially loves cats because she can pick them up and better feel their fur and purring. Her favorite cat is an orange stray in Diamond City that she calls Claude.

Piper Wright: A companion for Nat when she’s out adventuring, an unbiased friend to bounce the latest opinion piece off of before going to print, and a lap-warmer for when you’re typing up the latest article about the exploits of the Minutemen - what’s not to like? The Wright family cat is a slippery, elegant calico named Sugar Bomb.

Preston Garvey: While the Minutemen forts and settlements definitely lean more toward keeping dogs around for security purposes, I think Preston likes his pets quieter and less likely to bowl you over in excitement. The one most likely to sleep with him in his bunk at Sanctuary is a grumpy gray gentleman named Anchovy.

Deathclaws

Veronica Santangelo: If anyone is crazy enough to swipe a deathclaw egg from a nest and try to hatch, rear and train a personal killing machine named Izzy, it’s Veronica. This will probably just alienate her from her Brotherhood chapter even more, but I’m sure she would take special care to make sure that her usual Mojave Wasteland haunts take a peek through a scope to see if the approaching deathclaw has a human on its back before taking a shot.

Dogs

Clover: I don’t think Clover gets out beyond Paradise Falls much, so the only animals she’s used to are the dogs the raiders bring around when passing through. She probably has favorites among the usual visitors and enjoys tossing them bits of meat when she’s allowed to get away from Eulogy and Crimson. If liberated, she’d probably get at least three of her own dogs to watch over her while she sleeps: One small dog to carry with her, a Pekingese or Pomeranian descendant named Coco, and two large dogs to follow through on intimidation and protection, a mastiff named Rock and a Doberman descendant named Roll.

Jericho: Jericho doesn’t deserve a dog but he’d probably have one around anyway to sniff out caps caches and hidden loot after he’s shot everyone in the vicinity. Some slinky beagle mix named Dewey, probably.

Fawkes: I don’t think Fawkes would be picky at all about what kind of dog he’d have. He strikes me as the type who would adopt any half-friendly mutt he ran across. I do think he would have a bit of a soft spot for friendlier mutant hounds, though, and maybe view their mutated circumstances as similar to his own. He’d also be absolutely amazing at playing fetch. Just imagine how far he could lob a stick or ball. All of his dogs would have literary names too, like Byron and Agatha and Edgar.

Craig Boone: Though he’s a bit of a prodigy at sniping, Boone knows his limitations when it comes to spotting hidden enemies on the horizon. I can see him having a hound dog at his side to find the more elusive ones and help him get rid of them faster. Maybe a bloodhound mutt named Bravo.

Cait: Doesn’t like people, but she adores dogs. Having had the life where she’s been abused, exploited and forced into slavery, she’s keenly aware that those like the ones who took advantage of her treat dogs much the same. She’s very protective of any dog she encounters and is very likely to punch you in the face if you so much as look at one wrong. She’d probably name any pup she adopted Lucky.

Hancock: Honestly, he’s just a fan of any animal that is happy to hang out with you whether you’re drunk, high, fighting raiders or patrolling downtown Boston. The Goodneighbor strays know him as the guy who always has mirelurk jerky in his pockets. His favorite is a rough-and-tumble, black-and-white spotted cattle dog descendant that he cheekily calls King George.

Robert MacCready: He’s not quick to trust dogs, but once he’s sure they’re not a threat, they’re one of the few critters around which he’ll relax completely. He’s still a little wary of them around Duncan, but any dog that’s a part of his family is more or less his son’s permanent babysitter.

Nick Valentine: Dogmeat is also basically his dog. The two have a history of working cases together, with Dogmeat just turning up whenever a trail goes cold and leading Nick to the evidence he needs to reopen his investigation. Nick doesn’t know how or why Dogmeat does it, but he’s not about to ruin a good thing.

Strong: I don’t think he would turn down a ferocious mutant hound as a friend. He’d probably feed it mole rats and call it something like Killer.

Foxes

Beckett: This former raider has a love-hate relationship with a fox that keeps going through his trash. He affectionately calls him Lil’ Bastard.

Sofia Daguerre: Having crashed back to an earth she doesn’t recognize, I think Sofia would be tickled that the foxes of Appalachia have basically stayed the same despite the bombs. I can see her leaving dinner scraps out on her porch for one that she sometimes spots in the foliage, and slowly coaxing the critter to come into the light. She names her Scarlett once she finally convinces her to eat out of her hand.

Mega sloths

Settler forager: I would not be at all surprised if this man ran into a mega sloth in the Mire and decided to try befriending it. The creature, probably surprised at this old guy’s nerve, decided to accept the handful of leaves he offered and grew slowly more fond of the guy’s persistence. It doesn’t know its name is Fergus but it does know that if a human is wearing overalls, it’s probably not a threat.

Mole rats

Deacon: Alright, hear me out. Deacon has a fondness for underdogs, and mole rats are about as underdog as they come. I think Deacon thinks these little guys are cute despite their wrinkles and buck teeth, and I think he sees the value in having a tunneling pet that likes to collect shiny things. One of his deep cover hideouts is in an old tunnel system in the northern Commonwealth, where he hangs out with a young mole rat named Henry.

Owls

Raider punk: This radio operator got wind of an abandoned nest of owlets in Appalachia early on in his career and, being the nearest to the report, decided to rescue the little guys. Now he has three owls that occasionally drop in at his camp to hoot and accept handouts: Nona, Decima and Morta. While he’s still fond of them, he’s usually disappointed that they aren’t the Mothman coming to visit.

Rad chickens

Yasmin Chowdhury: Ever the opportunistic cook, she picked up the practice of raising chickens from the settlers at Foundation and has four hens of her own: Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Thyme. The “ladies,” as she refers to them, give her a constant stream of eggs for omelets.

Ravens

Settler wanderer: This gal has an affinity with birds, who are always on the move like her. She admires their ability to be untethered and let the wind take them far and wide. Nevertheless, she likes to scatter corn when they come close to her on the road, and formed a sort of friendship with a particularly handsome specimen that she calls Tornado.

Wolves

Old Longfellow: This guy is the epitome of the meme about dads not wanting pets and then instantly falling in love with whatever animal enters their life. He probably found an injured wolf pup in his travels around the island and took pity on it, nursing it back to health in his cabin. It’s still got a bit of a twisted paw, but follows him around and listens like any other dog and answers to the name Lamoine.

Yao guai

Porter Gage: I bet this guy adopted an orphaned bear cub and raised it by hand. Now it’s so big that even if Gage thinks he’s an easy target for other raiders due to his age, he’s much less likely to get singled out than he thinks because he has a yao guai following him around like a puppy. The bear’s name is Fuzzy Wuzzy. It has no hair.

No pets, thanks

Charon: Too likely to accidentally wind up in the line of fire.

Sergeant RL-3: Too easily corrupted by Communist influences.

Arcade Gannon: Too much time spent getting in your way.

Codsworth: Too likely to make messes.

Paladin Danse: Too many wasted resources.

X6-88: Too much of a liability.

Ada: Too easy to lose when on the move.

Solomon Hardy: Too unsanitary.

94 notes · View notes

honestlyfrance · 3 years ago

Text

find me in san francisco

ship: sam/bucky

warning: violence, cursing, apocalypse

summary:

Bucky looked over to Sam for a moment before speaking, "Las Vegas may have currency but it doesn't have you."

Sam Wilson and Bucky Barnes stumble upon each other once more at the aftermath of war.

—■—■—

Run. That’s what you do best anyway, isn’t it?

The view of a beachside stretches, the sand a murky grey with glasses and scraps of metal lining the boardwalk as if washed up against the rough and harsh soil, leaning against the ugly and crumbling brick wall where the actual boardwalk started up above at a level, and at a low tide the pitch-black ocean water lapped against the side at an increasingly frightening pace, as if it was always unsteady, always unnatural. Here on this sand, he ran, clad in a black ensemble, a matching WWII remnant design gas mask on his face, tubes attached to an oxygen tank he had in a backpack. He almost left no boot prints on the shore due to the dense debris that littered there. It was frightening what the last decade had given the earth — so terrible.

The man was running as fast as he could, biting down his tongue as he breathed at an interval of every three minutes – he had managed to breathe every five or six minutes when he was idle, and he has yet to learn to save his breath as he runs. He reaches the staircase that led to the boardwalk, hopping up the marble steps that cracked at every step he made, turning and twisting until he made his way out of the abandoned boardwalk, and was it just him when the stores and barest frames of buildings moaned in agony as the only life that passed through its once lively soul had left as soon as it arrived, or was it just the hunger that nipped at his guts?

He ended up by the road, and it was abandoned by cars and people, buildings just as decayed and bare as the ones in the boardwalk. He looked around for a moment, frantically—he has perfected the art of saving his breath, he’s been breathing for an interval of four minutes now, based on his watch. He took a right and ran as fast as his legs could go, which was a fast jog that could carry him for three hours at most without wasting his breath.

As the road ended up uphill, with him leaning forward against the heavy pull of gravity from below, there was a view of a clinic before the T-intersection. Our man didn’t falter in step and breath as he reached the clinic, breaking the glass door in one swing with his right elbow. The glass door cracked and shattered in a million diamonds, bouncing on the floor and sticking to his sleeves. He patted them off and entered through the door, invading the empty veterinarian’s clinic.

He went into a room, where the surgeries occur and found some more oxygen gas tanks. Out of all twenty of them only six had not been wasted. He took them all. His tank was still full, but he took them. No more for the strays who would try to salvage for oxygen, the only thing left for them is the decaying flesh and bones of animals in cages in the next room. He took them, placed them in his retractable wagon, and pulled north.

He hears the faintest sound, but he hasn't faltered. He walked slowly now, his breathing smooth as water as his ears tried to pick up the source of the sound. It rolled on the ground. Heavy. Faraway. It didn't change pace.

Our man, who used to go by Sam Wilson, had continued on his way, squaring his shoulders as his jaw clenched beneath the mask, and for once, he had let his guard down. He trusted his heart over his gut — he let his eyes wander towards the ground because it felt right to do so. God, when was the last time Sam had relaxed? Swinging his arms as he hummed a tune— When was the last time he could touch the sky and feel free?

It was a car. Some Mercedes. A dark shade of green. It had a pop of silver on the hood, what used to be a logo now scratched off, but there was definitely a wing in there.

The passenger window rolled down when the car had matched Sam's pace. Sam didn't want to look, didn't want to disappoint himself and get shot again. He didn't want to let his hopes wander towards the heavens just so it can fall so fast like what happened to Lucifer. He didn't want to die, to have that sliver of mercy turn into a knife.

The man in the car was covered top to bottom in a black ensemble, what they used to call the Winter Soldier armor due to the uniqueness and durability. Sam didn't want his hopes to get too high, so he assumed that the stranger wanted to steal his wagon of oxygen tanks. The atmosphere is thinning so fast, it's incomprehensible; everybody would do anything to live.

Sam whiplashed, pulled out his knife from his thigh holster, twirling it in his fingers before pulling his elbow back — it all happened too fast, next thing Sam knew, the stranger had leaned back into the driver's seat as soon as the knife had lodged itself into the driver seat window, barely an inch away from the man.

The man laughed for a moment as if it was the most adorable thing he had witnessed. His breath hitched and his arms were crossed over his chest as if he actually believed that was where Sam was aiming for.

"Nice car." Sam spoke, his words deeply muffled by his mask, it almost sounded like another language, "I'm taking it."

The man had no time to react because, by the time he had regained his stature, Sam had reached in and unlocked the passenger door, swinging it open. Holding onto the side and door of the car, Sam lifted himself and swung both his feet towards the man's chest, successfully knocking the air out of him.

As the man had choked, Sam swung himself inside and closed the door shut, leaving his wagon outside. He sat on the passenger's seat, looking over at the wheezing man. Grabbing the man's right arm and locking it under his arm, Sam elbowed the man to the chest, throat, and nose, feeling the satisfying ringing pain shooting through his skin. Sam had worn elbow pads, decorated it with silver spikes even — poor man.

Sam had twisted the man's right arm — the man grunted like a trapped animal — and forced him to duck, and with a spare hand, he grabbed the man by the collar, slamming his face into the wheel, earning several short honks, not loud and long enough for anyone in the radius to hear.

The man heaved as Sam pulled him back, even caressing the back of the man's neck, letting the stranger have a few breaths of air for a moment. What a saint Sam was. Sam abruptly squeezed the man's neck, earning a satisfying whine. As Sam was reaching over for the knife lodged in the window, the man had uppercut him in the stomach, earning an alarming wheeze from our man. With a final tug from Sam and a punch by the man, they found themselves overcome with adrenaline.

Sam pulled the knife out of the window with a grunt, pushing the knife through the man's thigh with a terrifying shringggg, eliciting a muffled scream from him.

Sam pushed the man away from him and slid against the passenger door, heaving heavily, already afraid of how much oxygen he lost in the fight. His head felt light, and there's a ringing pain in his abdomen, one that urged him to caress it with a gentleness which his gloves contrasted.

The driver's seat door suddenly swung open and an arm had stuck in and dragged the stranger out of the car, rolling on the ground with a gurgled grunt. The stranger tried standing up despite his injured leg but the man had pulled the knife out of his shin, eliciting a garbled line of a shriek as he collapsed on the asphalt road.

Sam rolled his eyes as he opened up his own door, pulling in the oxygen tanks one by one as the new man continued to clean up the scene, wiping the knife and pocketed it in his holster. Sam had retracted back his wagon and pocketed it as he closed the door, the new man taking the last man's seat in the car, his eyes blanketed by his dark goggles.

The new driver shifted gear and removed the handbrake, stepping on the gas quite slowly to avoid the roar of the engine or the screeching of tires. This man spoke, his words muffled deeply, signing as he said, "Run over?"

Sam waved a hand, shaking his head, and there's a glint in his eyes as he glanced over to the man wearing a black ensemble just like his, but there's a filter mask instead, more sleek and functional, something the Winter Soldier armor couldn't have, the actual original one that belonged to Bucky Barnes.

Bucky's eyes had joy in them as he looked over to Sam. The car moved for a few feet away from the grunting stranger, then Bucky shifted the gear to reverse, looking over at the rearview mirror until he deeply injured the man's legs. Bucky took his time in shifting back to drive, the car jumping a bit as they continued on with stealing the car.

"I didn't think you'd come," Sam signed with one hand, leaning his head against the closed window, his chest rising and falling heavily. "You were on the way to Las Vegas."

Bucky looked over to Sam for a moment before speaking, "Las Vegas may have currency but it doesn't have you."

Sam had to take a moment before figuring out what the man was saying, and when he did, he smiled under his mask, closing his eyes as it reached them. Groaning, Sam shook his head at that, Bucky laughing at the side as he maneuvered the car through the throes of wrecked cars and metal of the San Francisco streets.

The wreckage of the road, of course, only stretched the more the car rolled down the disaster of a scene. The afternoon sky was dull and settling as the winds whistled a low tune, but even then it was merely a delusion, merely a fictitious ensemble, something more of a mirage, a ploy to the senses. Decorating the asphalt road were small fires that were either already burning or had suddenly combusted out of nowhere, and other than this, the afternoon harsh sun rays were bouncing off of the reflective surfaces of dismantled cars, almost disfiguring the two men’s sight from the windshield.

It's almost like an ode to the old world, a painting dedicated to the world before downfall played into fate, something of a music piece played for the masses disguised as the Trojan horse. Our two men had sat in silence as this scenery passed by them, but all they felt was tension and war in their veins, their gazes as strong as liquor and they despised that — despised how much they could've gotten if nothing ever happened in the first place.

Bucky reached over to Sam quiet hesitantly, grabbing his attention with a slight tap. Sam's eyes glanced at Bucky's hand, watching the way Bucky signed, slowly, as if wanting Sam to take it all in, I'm sorry.

Sam spoke, but his words were chopped and deeply muffled, barely comprehensible, but Bucky knew what he was trying to say with the way Sam's eyebrows hardened, the quick tick of his jaw, and the softness in his ocher eyes. Sam's nervous, forgiving, I was okay without you.

Bucky's eyebrows relaxed, and he wanted so badly to remove his goggles but he knew he shouldn't, so he nodded, cleared his throat, and said: "You were always okay without me."

Sam nodded. They both knew. Sam was always fine on his own, but he felt that need for a companion and he adored Bucky's like Apollo's Icarus — like a scar down one's spine, one made out of love, ambition, and yearning.

"I wanted to be human. I wanted someone," Sam spoke, only signing it when he had gathered himself. He had set his head against the window, his breath shuddering as he added one last bit, "I wanted it to be you."

There's heat rising in Bucky's chest and all he could think of was how much Sam was attracted to it, but he's afraid he'd burn the angel because people like Bucky only ever did was hurt the most beautiful things in the world, but damnit, Sam wasn't beautiful.

People like Sam were ugly to the bone because they don't truly believe in peace and beauty. They've fought tooth and nail to accept fate with stardust in their eyes and that journey alone was frightening, murderous intent for all.

It's scary to think someone like Sam wasn't able to love because he was just so full of it.

"I want to love you," Bucky speaks, and they were soon going down a steep road. He moves methodically to drive them quietly. "I want to be with you too."

Sam signs, furiously, his eyebrows knitted together as his eyes had a sadness in them Bucky couldn't pinpoint. "Then why did you leave?"

Bucky's hand flew to the clasps of his goggles, but then he stopped, realized what he was doing, and slowly set his hand back down on the steering wheel. Sam was watching the man with wide eyes, silent and nervous as if they were going to suddenly combust at any moment, and maybe they were with the way flames lick their skin as if hungry peasants — maybe they were those hungry peasants.

"To survive. Didn't realize that's an empty wish if I didn't find companionship — you, when I was already so far away." Bucky replied, and his voice was clear, a little murky, but Sam heard it all, even the man's heartbeat laced around the words. "I didn't want to live greedily, I wanted to live loved and to love."

Sam turned back to face the road, his arms crossed over his chest as his eyes caught sight of the hood of the car. There were a million thoughts that ran through his head at the speed of light, but he wasn't baffled when these thoughts turned to plans, survival plans, plans with Bucky Barnes. His lip squirmed under the mask and it hurts to even smirk, but Sam's heart is so full of emotions he never thought he could feel again and it's euphoric.

Sunlight dances on grass and Sam could feel himself breathe freely again as if he was alive before the war. He could feel Bucky's flesh hand in his and there are the softness and toughness of skin he craved after the war. There were too many feelings in Sam's chest that made him weep, but he stayed stoic, stared out the windshield, his jaw hurting as he tried his best to stop his smile.

They were on flat ground and Sam made a sound Bucky thinks was laughter. Bucky's chest fluttered just like the first time he heard that laugh — before the war.

Sam's gloved fingers find their way grazing Bucky's jaw, only a fleeting feeling none of them could feel, but there's warmth in their chests as Sam cupped another hand around the man's cheek, their hearts singing in octaves as Apollo fell instead of Icarus; all backward love, they'll make it worth it.

Sam leaned into Bucky's face and their masks made a clicking sound when they met. This was the closest they could get to kissing, but it's not truly a love story if lips had to prove it. Don't you hear the world still just for them?

Sam stared at the goggles, thinking he could see Bucky's eyes flutter close, fighting to keep them open. Sighing, Sam closed his eyes to take at the moment, the new normal they can have.

Letting go, Sam leaned back into his seat, saying, signing, "We just stole S.H.I.E.L.D. property."

There's a trace of a grin on Bucky's words when he said, "What bastards. You thinking what I'm thinking?"

Sam turned to Bucky, and they share a sound similar to a laugh.

"As always."

#sambucky #sam wilson #bucky barnes #winterfalcon #sam wilson sundays #france: writing #france: works

49 notes · View notes

something-fanfiction-ie · 5 years ago

Text

Page Numbers

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Reader

Warnings: Detailed descriptions of crime scenes, mentions of rape and sexual assault, murder. Just getting into the angst guys...

A/N: So I decided after like two people responded (thank you guys) to split the second part into two because it was so ridiculously long. You guys don’t even want to know how much I had to cut off this to end this at a place I felt comfortable. Rest assured, you’ll probably get the next part tomorrow. Remember to like, comment, reblog, message me, send me asks, and just do anything to feed my constant need for praise and attention from strangers. As always, thank you so much! I love you all and I hope you enjoy!

___

[Part One]

“I can never figure out if I like local cases more because I get to sleep in my own bed every night we work the case, or if they make me more uncomfortable because they’re so close to home.”

Rossi glanced at Morgan, who cast his eyes to the review mirror as he spoke. Reid sat in the back, a little smile playing at the corners of his lips as he read something on his phone.

The youngest member of the BAU team had been uncharacteristically chipper over the last three weeks, constantly taking calls or responding to texts. Even when he started to ramble about something no one was really interested in listening to, the topics were about things that were of a happier nature. Things like a single grain of rice having five times more DNA than an entire human being has in their whole body, or that the term ‘nerd’ first showed up in print in the book, If I Ran the Zoo, by Dr. Seuss published in 1951.

He shoved the cell back into his pocket, looking up into Morgan’s eyes in the mirror. He knew that they knew that something was up, but he didn’t want to say anything until it got a little more serious. And it was rapidly going that way. Spencer had spent nearly every second of his free time with you, doing things like getting coffee or going back to the bookstore that just so happened to be forty minutes out of his way.

In fact, just last week you had come over to his house to have dinner and watch a movie. You begged him to watch The Princess Bride instead of some very obscure French movie that no normal person would actually own.

“I love all the new and intelligent things you show me, Spencer, but I want to show you a new and slightly less intelligent thing. Let me rub off on you for a change.”

You quoted the entire thing, your lips silently moving with every word spoken during the movie. Afterward, you confessed that you had read the book even more than you’d seen the movie and could probably quote it just as easily. He picked up a copy from the library this morning before coming into work. While he hadn’t had the chance to read it yet, or either of your own published works, he was determined to finish it before he saw you again.

It was only 493 pages, so it shouldn’t take him that long.

“What?” He blinked, his brows dipping dangerously close to those impossibly long lashes of his. Morgan looked back to the road, his own amusement twitching at his cheeks.

The car bumped over a dip in the road just before they pulled into the already packed driveway of the crime scene. Rossi shut the car off and Morgan pulled his sunglasses on before getting out of the car, but not without a teasing comment.

“Get your head in the game long enough to solve this case and you can go back to whatever has had your attention these last couple of weeks. Okay, kid?” The blush that colored his cheeks was the same shade as when he realized you were staring at him in awe that first time you met.

Inside, the mood of teasing and distractedness changed. Everyone focused while crime scene techs circled the room taking pictures and gathering every bit of tangible evidence they could possibly find.

The first victim, or by the looks of things, the last victim, was a male in his early to mid-forties. His salt and pepper hair was combed back and styled, his beard perfectly trimmed. Even in death his clothes were unrumpled, only the pool of blood-soaked into his khaki pants and maroon shirt ruined the look of an otherwise very put-together man.

He was slouched in a wooden chair pulled into the living room from the dining room table, his hands bound behind his back with three blue zip ties, his ankles bound to the legs of the chair exactly the same way.

“The victim is forty-four year old, Joseph Kyle. He’s a lawyer with Kyle & Anderson. Cause of death appears to be two gunshot wounds to the chest.”

The next victim was a woman. She wasn’t as put together as her husband, laying in a pool of her own blood on the kitchen floor. Bruises and cuts littered her arms and legs, massive handprints still marred the skin around her biceps. It went without asking that she had been sexually assaulted, her underwear hanging on the knob of a drawer and her skirt bunched around the top of her thighs.

“Synthia Kyle, forty. Stay at home mom. She was stabbed sixty-one times in the abdomen, chest, and thighs.”

The last three victims were children. Each in their own rooms, each tucked into bed and shot in the head execution-style. One look around the room and anyone would know that they were happy kids, smart and well-rounded, and loved.

“James, Massey, and Devan Kyle. Seventeen, fifteen, and ten. All shot in the head.”

For all the evidence that could be seen with their eyes; the brutal attack against the mother, the cold killing of the father, and the remorseful executions of the children, it shouldn’t have been so hard to form a profile.

“And where is the number?” Reid turned his whole body away from the little boy's room, the image of him lying in bed with his eyes closed and a bullet hole in his head was enough to turn the pits of his stomach against him.

The lead detective, a slight man with inky black curls and piercing blue eyes, led them into the dining room. The number ‘302’ was smeared across a painting hanging on the wall, the blood so thickly layered over the Botecelli copy that is dripped down and over the golden frame.

“At first glance, it would appear to be a family annihilator. His primary goal being the rape and torture of Synthia Kyle, and the rest of the family simply casualties of his rage, but just like the last three crimes, there is nothing even remotely similar in victimology or the killings.” Reid’s lips skewed to the side, crossing his arms and combing over every detail.

“Alison Crane was sexually assaulted as well.” Morgan offered the information up with skepticism, aware that, besides the numbers at every crime scene, it was the only thing that could be pulled from the two. Rossi shook his head, his eyes scanning the air as he thought.

“Alison Crane was kidnapped and beaten before she was found three days later on the Chesapeake Bay. Her wrists slashed. She was staged with remorse, a-a cloth laid over her eyes and her arms crossed over her chest. That couldn’t have been done by the same unsub.” Rossi looked over at Morgan because even still, they knew that it was the same guy because cut into the top of Alison’s arm had been the number nineteen.

It had taken Reid all of two seconds to realize they were page numbers when he’d seen the piece of paper that had been pinned to the second victim’s chest. Obviously torn from a book, the triangle scrap of paper had only had the number 85 printed on it.

And just as difficult as it had been to pin down a book during the Fisher King case, it felt as if it was ten thousand times harder to find the book being used now. All they had were page numbers and murders. They’d narrowed the list to crime novels, but there were still so many books on the list that even with Reid, it would take years to sift through them all.

Garcia has been sad to watch the young doctor leave her office in disappointment when she revealed her ability to narrow down books was still no good. Not that it was her fault since the lack of a central database for every book known to man, made it very frustrating for anyone that tried to narrow down a book based only on crime scenes. And this was still given the assumption that this book was actually published and not a story the unsub had written himself.

This would be the third homicide in this case, the first one done since the FBI had been asked to assist the DCPD. The crossing of victimology and the numbers on the victims had been enough for unit chief, Hugh Lowe to pick up his phone and request for the BAU to stop this man.

Other than the book revelation, and the geographical profile that Reid had come up with, there wasn’t much progress. It had only been two weeks since the death of the first victim and now their unsub’s body count had gone from two to seven.

A young woman kidnapped outside her dorm in Georgetown, held hostage, beaten, and raped for three days, then staged at the Chesapeake Bay with her wrists slashed and clean clothes on.

An older man was beaten in his home while his wife is away on business overseas, killed with a tire iron to the back of his head, stripped of his clothes, which sat folded beside his splayed out body, his ring finger cut off. His wedding ring had been on the clothes beside him but they couldn’t find the finger.

And now a family of five.

It was frustrating, to say the least, each agent so annoyed by the case that none of them spoke on the ride back to the BAU.

“So I don’t have the book, mon ami, but I do have a possible connection in victimology and a shortlist of possible suspects, or at the very least persons of interest,” Garcia said excitedly when all three glowering men came through the clear doors of the BAU. They each lifted their heads and eyebrows with piqued curiosity.

“My link is Georgetown. Alison was going there for a major in political science, Mr. Walters had been a chemistry teacher there before the death of his first wife ten years ago, and I just found out that our newest victims, Synthia and Joseph, met there in the spring of ‘88 as a senior and a freshman.” Garcia had to admit that their minds were quick to gather the information, turning it over in the cogs that constantly spin inside their brains, but her mind was faster.

“Did you-“

“Cross-reference Georgetown alumni with a list of crime novelists? And then cross-reference that list with people who lived in Spence’s comfort zone? ‘How did you know to do that Garcia?’ you may ask. Because I’m a genius. Quick, boys, follow me.” Her heels click in rapid succession as she leads the men into her office of computers, colorful do-dads, and pictures. When she takes a seat, Morgan leans directly over her shoulder, Reid standing just behind her, and Rossi stands just to the side of him.

The list that pops up is only four names, the tension that has been in all of their shoulders relaxes a little at the first stride in the case that they’ve made sense they started working it. Reid’s shoulders tense up again when he notices a familiar name that sits at the bottom of the list.

“This one, click on it.” He points to the line at the end and watches as Garcia moves her mouse over to the area he was pointing to and clicks to reveal a face he knows too well.

You smile back at him in your freshman year Georgetown photo, a set of bangs cut that you don’t have anymore. In the picture you seem impossibly young, your eyes full of excitement, although he knows that you aren’t that much younger than he is. Even still, for some reason, he half expects your smile to be missing teeth you seem so young.

“(Y/N) (Y/L/N), graduated from Georgetown in 2000 with a master's in criminology. She’s published two crime novels in the last two years. She doesn’t have too much of an eventful life; she isn’t married, has no children, pays all of her bills on time, has no detectable significant other. Mom is a detective with the Atlanta PD, Dad walked out before she was born, no siblings, nothing more than a couple speeding tickets against her.” Rossi pulls one of his hands from his folded arms, pointing at the picture with squinted eyes.

“I met her last year, very briefly, at a publishing party. We couldn’t have talked for more than ten seconds, but she seemed like a good kid. You think she’s our unsub?” Everyone looks to Reid, his expression is stone cold and unreadable.

Garcia almost wishes she hadn’t made the connection in the first place as she watches the muscle in his jaw tick, his eyes flying across the screen several times before he turned away from the group’s prying eyes. Nerves of a whole other kind had exploded inside him, forcing his hands to open and close like fluttering butterfly wings at his sides.

“I’m not sure. Just call her in for questioning.” He wants to say he doesn’t think it’s you, mostly because he doesn’t want it to be you. The thought that he could have invited a serial killer of this magnitude into his life, into the life of his team, it makes him even more nauseated than he had been earlier standing in the middle of a messy crime scene.

But when he runs to the library and finds both copies of your books, flipping to pages nineteen, eighty-five, and three hundred and two, he almost cries. On each page reads a word for word, detailed description of every murder that had happened in this case so far. The first girl even had the same name as the first victim.

By the time you make it to the BAU and you are escorted to the interrogation room, he’s read both books cover to cover. He keeps telling himself that there’s a chance you weren’t doing this, that you weren’t the killer, but it’s so hard to believe when you were the mind behind every murder.

As he looks at you from behind the one-way window pane, a mixture of anger and, strangely, hope has begun to swirl around his chest.

“You sure you don’t want to come in with me?” Prentiss says, looking back at the doctor as she reaches for the door. Spencer shakes his head, lips pursed and heart racing. He couldn’t go in their unbiased, willing to accept that you could be the unsub he’d been chasing for the last two weeks.

“Hi, I’m SSA Emily Prentiss with the BAU, nice to meet you, (Y/N).” She stretches her hand across the table and you return in kind, your shy smile stabbing into Reid’s heart like a knife.

“I’d like to say it is nice to meet you too, but I wish it were under other circumstances.” The chair across from you screeches on the floor as Emily pulls it out to sit in. She absentmindedly flicks her slick black hair over her shoulder before laying the files in front of her.

“Unfortunately, I’m always under circumstances like these, working at the BAU.”

“‘Bad guys don’t take days off,’ that’s what my mom used to say,” You glance at the file on the table, chewing the inside of your cheek like you were trying to keep yourself from saying anything more, “I was told I was needed to give my opinion on a case? Although, I’m not sure how I could be of much help. I just write.”

Spencer watches you push a piece of your hair behind your ear with a small chuckle, glancing at the window like you could see him behind it.

“You’re a published author of two books, not just any writer.” Prentiss is relaxed, letting the case file sit between you like a hook dangling between a fish and a fisherman. You keep looking down at it, curiosity eating away at your nerves the way it used to when your mother came home with a new case.

“Tell that to my mom, she’s still holding out on me joining law enforcement.” It’s a joke, but every profiler watching reads into it. It isn’t hard to fit it into a working profile, the unsub feels unappreciated in her skills as an author with the apparent disapproval her mother has over her career. To both appease her mother and stake her claim as a serious author, the unsub is killing the same way she’s written in her books.

“Why didn’t you? Join law enforcement, I mean. You’re obviously very intelligent, you had a masters from Georgetown at just seventeen, and you seem to have a pretty good grasp on the politics and procedures of law enforcement careers.” For just a moment, you consider the question and your answer to it, but Spencer can see the exact moment that it clicks in your mind on what exactly is going on.

Your entire body language changes; your shoulders curling in toward your body, the chewing of your cheek intensifying, your hands pulling back from their relaxed position on the table and tangling themselves into your lap.

“I’m not here as a possible expert witness, am I, Agent Prentiss?”

Emily responds by opening the file, at last, pushing the pictures of the crime scenes across the table for you to have a look at. Seven pictures splay out in front of you and it doesn’t take you long to register the familiarity behind them all. You have to swallow the bile in your mouth before you speak again.

“I’m a suspect.”

“You’re the only suspect.”

#spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x oc #spencer reid angst #spencer reid smut #spencer reid fanfiction #dr spencer reid #spencer reid #spencer reid imagines #spence reid #dr spence reid #criminal mind imagine #criminal minds #dr spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you

853 notes · View notes

chilling-seavey · 4 years ago

Text

Qui Totum Vult Toum Perdit (d.s.) - 7

A/N Guilty or generous

Warnings: This story is centered around a murder so there will be graphic descriptions of blood, death/manslaughter, dealing with corpses, possible domestic abuse (physical/verbal), crime/covering up a crime, shock/grief, and other possibly heavy or triggering topics. Please read at your own discretion.

One thing my parents always taught us while we were growing up was, when traveling, to never stay at the cheapest hotel. By no means should we break the bank to stay at a five-star resort but there was usually nothing good that came out of the cheapest option. I could see what they meant as Jonah and I climbed the metal stairs of the Lincoln Motel, the white paint peeling from the handrails and the steps creaking with each footfall. Once having been on the cover of Forbes, I no longer really needed to follow that guidance that my parents engrained in us since I could afford all the five-star hotels and resorts I so desired to stay at.

I mean, to be brutally fair, dear reader, my parents also taught us not to murder our spouses; so who knew how many lessons of theirs I had ignored in my lifetime.

I triple checked that my car was locked as we reached the top of the flight of stairs and headed down the carpeted outdoor hallway. Anyone who uses carpet outside should honestly not be trusted. This place already left a bad feeling in my stomach. Would saying it gave me murder house Psycho vibes be in poor taste? Possibly? Then please disregard that statement.

Number nineteen was right in the middle of the hallway. The brass number nine was set slightly crooked on the door. I caught myself tilting my head with its direction as if I were trying to stall. I swear if the person on the other side of the door slept with my wife I…I didn’t know what I would do but the thought of it made me sick.

“Are you going to knock?” Jonah tore me from my thoughts.

I swallowed thickly, “Yeah.”

I raised my fist to the orange painted door and rapped a quick knock before taking a little step back. I habitually glanced over the railing to make sure no one was getting too close to my car.

The sound of the door creaking open had me turning back quickly to see who was on the other side. I expected a man and that’s who I was met with, simply the first glance of him making my jaw clench protectively.

He was short. Brown hair. Brown eyes. His patterned button up was undone halfway. Arms and neck littered in random tattoos. I eyed him up for a moment.

“Can I help you?” he asked, an obvious confused edge to his voice.

“Yeah, do you know an Avalon Seavey?” I pushed back at him strongly. I couldn’t help but straighten up around him just to have those few inches above him.

“Avalon? Yeah, I know her enough. Why?” he looked between Jonah and me.

I took off my sunglasses and tucked them in the collar of my shirt to see him better in the shadow of the motel balcony.

“I’m her husband.”

“Daniel.” he breathed with realization, his eyebrows raising as he stared at me.

“Yeah. Daniel. Who are you?” I asked sharply.

Jonah didn’t intervene through my anger, in fact, he looked just as concerned as I felt. I appreciated his willingness to let me have my moment to interrogate this guy.

“I’m Jack. How did you find me here?”

“I found your address in her phone.” I added.

“Oh, what a nice non-toxic relationship you have.” Jack mumbled.

“Excuse me?” I took a quick step towards him but Jonah grabbed my arm and yanked me back.

“I was not sleeping with your wife if that’s what you’re here getting all macho protective douche-bag about.” Jack assured me coolly. “We had nothing more than a professional relationship.”

I crossed my arms over my chest, staring at Jack’s unimpressed flat expression. He didn’t seem to be one to be phased by anything.

“Professional over what?” I pressed.

“Does Avalon know you’re here?” he ignored my question while he peeked around me as if to see her down the hallway or in the parking lot below.

I didn’t flinch as he looked around me. Little did he know that she was in fact right there with us.

“She’s dead.” Jonah answered.

I hadn’t realized I hadn’t replied to him for a few too many seconds but Jonah’s blunt response certainly brought be back to reality. I snapped my head towards him. Since when did we agree we were going to be telling people that?

“Oh.” Jack said flatly. “That sucks. I’m sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah…well…I wanted to see who you were…so…” I stumbled out ungracefully, rubbing the back of my neck anxiously with one hand. I dropped it with a sigh to my side again, “We’ll be going.”

“Hang on. Come in for a second.” Jack offered, stepping to the side and pushed the door open wider to let us on. “I gotta show you something.”

Jonah and I glanced at each other briefly before silently deciding to follow him into the motel room. I peeked over my shoulder to my car down in the lot once more before stepping over the threshold.

Jack seemed to sense my hesitation as he closed the door behind us, “I won’t keep you long. A nice car like that won’t last long around here unsupervised.”

I swallowed thickly, watching him walk across the messy motel room to the closet. Jonah and I stood just inside the door and the first thing I noticed was the bright teal wallpaper that even covered the ceiling, so bright and neon it was nearly blinding and it did not match the dark red floral print carpet at all. The bed had red bedsheets and a dark mahogany headboard that was more 1960s mirror panel than wood and beside it sat a single small round table with a fold out chair and a rotary phone on top. The bathroom sink and light oak vanity was outside of the bathroom in the main room which right away was another turn off to this already run-down place. I was no decorator, dear reader, but the sight of this motel room was nearly nauseating. And that’s said by someone who had a dead body stashed in their car trunk.

As Jack shuffled through the bi-fold closet for whatever he was looking for, I took a moment to take in my surroundings for more than just the initial shock of colour and pattern vomit that filled the place. The neon 80s themed picture above the bed was of the New York skyline which was strange since we were in Los Angeles, and the fact that there were two more mahogany framed mirrors along the other walls was unsettling. I tried not to meet my own reflection.

Jack had a suitcase laid out beside the mahogany dresser and it was tossed open and clothes were haphazardly thrown about it but the suitcase wasn’t the only spot for fabrics as every other available surface – including the small table in the corner – housed various piles of fabric scraps and scissors and pins and needles. The worst of it was the few bare mannequins laying under the window adjacent to the door.

“So…” I started slowly, turning back to Jack whose back was still turned to us, “How did you know my wife?”

“My business.” Jack answered. He pulled a jacket on a hanger from the back of the closet and dropped it on the table right on top of all the scraps and pins and mess. He grabbed one of the many pairs of scissors that were scattered around and snipped a few things that I couldn’t see from where we stood.

His dry answers to our questions had Jonah and I more suspicious as the time went past but we waited to give the guy the benefit of the doubt.

Jack finally turned around with a small smile and picked up the hanger to turn and face the black denim jacket towards us, “I’m a bit of a fashion designer I guess you can say and Avalon found my page on Instagram a few months back and she got in touch with me about making you a custom jacket.”

I didn’t know what to say. In all the words I could use, perfect was the only one that came to my mind as I stared at the jacket in his hand. Someone might see it as a mess of things but it was just my taste; chaos enough to pass as designer even. It housed red x’s painted over the right shoulder and a single white stripe down the left side that matched my surname on the bottom right front panel. He made sure to show each of the denim sleeves, cuffed at the bottom in black and red plaid and the left wrist had ‘honey’ printed in small white font – the nickname I always called her. The other sleeve had matching vertical white font spelling out ‘Only the Beginning’ which was the name of Jonah and my very own record company; the company that always caused the most hostility between Avalon and me. Jack finally turned the jacket around to show the back, the shoulder section sewn over with a lace that looked a hell of a lot like Avalon’s wedding dress and I found myself stunned into shocked silence. It was incredible.

I walked into that motel with no hopes of any sort but what I seemed to find amidst those disgusting teal walls was better than I ever could have expected.

I took a step forward to take the jacket from him, grazing the sleeve ever so gently with my fingers as if it were going to break under my touch. Jack passed it over and helped me slide it on to make sure it fit. He brushed his hands over my shoulders and down my back to smooth it out and directed me to one of the many mirrors that were glued to the motel wall.

“That jacket is fresh.” Jonah said.

“It’s…gorgeous.” I agreed softly, turning slightly to see the back in the mirror.

Jack spoke next as he watched me admire his work, “She worked me into the ground for this one. I kept having to restart because she kept saying it wasn’t perfect enough…I lost a fuck ton of materials and money through that…ended up getting evicted from my place because I wasn’t earning money to pay rent which is why I’m living in this shithole now but…she was adamant. Said it had to be perfect for you. We were going to meet up one last time once you two got back from your trip but…” he faded out with a sigh.

I turned to him, “You were evicted?”

“Oh,” Jack shrugged as if it was no big deal and sat down on the end of the bed, “Yeah. She said she couldn’t pay me right away and I assured her it was no big deal but then when money got tight I felt badly to ask for an advance. She was my only client, ya know? She worked me hard enough anyway to pass as my only customer but…with no pay…landlord ended up kicking me out and this was the cheapest place in the whole county. It’s such an absolute fucking dump here that my daughter isn’t allowed to come visit me until I get back on my feet…court said something about unfit living situations or some bullshit. Not like my ex needs anymore reasons to talk shit.”

“Shit…bro…I’m sorry.” I breathed.

“What can ya do?” Jack shrugged, sucking his teeth with a shake of his head. He stood up from the end of the bed, offering a dry, “She’s dead now anyway so…”

I turned to Jonah who gave me a look as if to just get out of there but I looked back in the mirror at the jacket I wore.

Goddammit.

I spoke to Jack through the mirror, “Do you take PayPal?”

Detective Team: @jonahlovescoffee @randomlimelightxxx @stuffofseaveyy @hopinglimelight @tempus-ut-luceant @br4nd1s @xkelsev @hiya-its-amber @sexyseavey15

#🔪#daniel seavey #why dont we #jonah marais #jack avery #zach herron #daniel seavey fanfic #why dont we fanfic

27 notes · View notes

slytherinbarnes · 4 years ago

Text

Sub Rosa [86]

ii. the garden

Pairing: Bellamy Blake x reader

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: mentions of anxiety, mentions of killing, fighting, dead bodies/skeletons, nausea, language, angst.

Summary: your arrival to a new planet is exciting, thought that excitement is short lived as you come face to face with a new threat.

a/n: HAPPY NEW YEAR MY LOVES! i‘m looking forward to sharing the rest of sub rosa with all of you this year, and I’m looking forward to my new stuff too! here’s to having a better year than the one before! the taglist for this series is open! I hope you enjoy, please let me know what you think!!!

previous chapter // season masterlist // series masterlist

You don’t know what you expect when you walk through the Anomaly, but it’s definitely not water.

You open your eyes and look around, realizing that you are underwater in some sort of fresh body of water. You tilt your head up, towards the surface, watching as three other bodies swim their way up. You are the last to break free from the water, gasping as you take in a deep breath of air. The second you feel like you can breathe again, you start to look around you, your eyes falling on a mountain range that frames most of the lake. The shore of the lake is covered with a rocky beach, and a dense looking forest stretches behind it. Above you, arching across the sky, are a set of rings, adorning the planet like intergalactic jewelry.

You look around you in awe, letting out a shocked little laugh as Hope announces, “Welcome to Skyring.”

Echo quips, “Creative.”

“I named it when I was three. What do you expect?”

You look at Hope in shock, her mind easily recalling a memory from when she was young. Your eyes shift over to Gabriel, the two of you smiling a little as he mutters, “She remembers.”

But you don't get to savor the moment for long, because Hope is already frantically swimming to the shore, leaving you, Gabriel, and Echo behind. The three of you swim behind her to catch up, running the last few feet when your feet finally touch the ground beneath you. As Echo emerges from the water, she glances down at her side, now empty, before turning back to you and Gabriel. “My gun, I lost it coming through.”

“Let's hope you don't need it.”

Gabriel pats his bag, making sure it’s still hanging at his side, and you glance down to your now emerged thigh, confirming that your Grounder knife is still firmly held in its place. You look up again when you hear the sound of someone running away, and you catch a glimpse of Hope disappearing through the trees, leaving the rest of you behind. You, Gabriel, and Echo take off running after her as you yell, “Hope, slow down! Where are you going?”

You follow her along a path through the trees, until you emerge into a little clearing. In the center of the clearing is a house, made of wood and slightly dilapidated, but still standing and waiting for someone to step inside. Surrounding the house are a few plots of land where a neat garden used to stand, though now it appears mostly overgrown. All of you stop to stare at the house before turning to Hope, and Echo is the first to break the silence. “What is this place?”

You take in the look on Hope’s face, the lack of fear upon finding a house in the middle of the planet she’s clearly lived on before. You start to connect the dots, nodding as you understand. “Did you live here?”

Hope smiles at you and nods. “Octavia said you were smart.”

The compliment brings a smile to your face, though you don't get to enjoy it for long before she takes off running towards the house again, pushing the door open and immediately disappearing from view. The rest of you exchange a look and follow her into the house, standing just inside the doorway as she frantically tips over furniture and checks inside of things, clearly looking for something. “Where is it?”

“Hope, what are you doing?” She ignores all of you, and Gabriel reaches out for something on the table beside him. You don't realize what it is until he holds it up, revealing a creepy, homemade doll. “Interesting taste in toys.”

Hope looks up, takes one quick glance at the doll and counters, “That's not mine.”

The three of you again exchange a look, all of you confused on how this is her house but this is not her doll. “Is this your house, or isn't it?”

Hope continues searching the room as she answers Echo’s question, “I was with you on Sanctum for, what, a day? Given the time differential, I haven't been here for hundreds of years.”

“It's incredible.”

You can sense Echo’s growing frustration finally reaching a tipping point before she snaps, “Enough! We need answers, starting with where the hell is Bellamy?”

Hope glances at her before she picks up a basket and tips it over, shaking out the contents. “Once they got here, they used the bridge to take him to Bardo.”

“Bardo?”

“They?”

“Bridge?”

“Yes, the next stop. They are the disciples, the guys that were chasing us in the woods. The bridge is what you call the Anomaly.'' Now Hope is the one growing frustrated, flailing her arms as she talks mostly to herself. “Anders said if I tagged Octavia, they would let my mother live.”

Gabriel tries to process the information as fast as he can before asking, “And Anders is?”

“Head of the disciples.” She grabs a small vase off of the fireplace and reaches inside to pull something out. She holds it up, a strange looking key, glancing between all three of you before she adds, “Now, I'm gonna go to Bardo and make sure he kept his word.”

Hope tries to walk away, but Echo reaches out to grab her arm, pulling her to a stop. “Hey! You traded Diyoza's life for Octavia's?”

“No, I wasn’t trying to kill her! I told you, it was a locator tag. I didn't have a choice.'' Echo gives her an unconvinced look and you step closer to the pair, unsure if another fight is about to break out. You still don't know how you feel about Hope, and you’re still anxious about not being wherever Bellamy is, but you're also aware that Hope seems to have a lot more information than the three of you do, and you need her. Hope’s eyes fall to you, trying to convince you of her words. “She understood. My mother, my responsibility.”

You recognize the words as the same ones Bellamy would use when talking about Octavia, the same words his mother said to him after his sister was born. Which is why you nod at Hope in understanding, letting her know that you get it. You see a look of relief pass over her features, but Gabriel interrupts the moment with another question. “You said the bridge is the Anomaly, a bridge between worlds. Is there a way to control it here too?”

“Yes.” Hope motions to the space beneath Echo’s feet. “She's standing on it.”

Echo steps aside and Hope kneels down and uses the weird key she found to unlock the hatch. She throws the door open and quickly descends the ladder, the path to the Anomaly Stone on Skyring similar to the one you had to take on Sanctum. You’re the first to follow Hope into the dark space, which she quickly remedies by lighting a torch and then another. You take the second torch from its place on the wall and follow Hope to the stone, as Echo and Gabriel scramble down the ladder after you. Hope glances back at you and says, “I used to play down here as a kid. Little did I know it was a bridge to the stars.”

You use the torch to look around the space, the walls covered in hand drawn symbols taken from the stone. And in the middle of all of those symbols are two letters, carved into the stone wall, surrounded by the hand drawn sequences. Gabriel runs his fingers over them and reads out, “C.B.”

He turns to look at you with curiosity, but you just shrug, unsure of what the letters mean, and not really in the headspace to care. Because now, as you stand in front of the Anomaly Stone, you just want to get back to Bellamy. You turn to Hope with a questioning look. “So how do we get to Bardo?”

“Trust Bellamy.”

She reaches into her pocket to pull out the scrap of paper from earlier, a code printed on one side and a message on the other. “A friend on the inside gave it to me.”

Hope looks down at the paper, already reaching out for the stone, prepared to type in the code. But you watch as her hand and her face drop, and she frantically flips the paper over to check the back. “No, no, no. The code, it's washed away.”

You look at her with horror, and she holds up the small piece of paper to prove her point. You snatch it from her hands, flipping it over and staring at it closely, praying that you can catch some faint hint of the code that was previously printed onto this tiny scrap of paper. But just like Hope said, it’s blank, the code washed away, and all of your hope with it. Your voice is a broken, horrified sound when you whisper, “We're not going anywhere.”

You pass the torch and the paper to Gabriel as he’s the closest person to you, and then you run over to the ladder and quickly climb up, ignoring the trio behind you frantically calling your name. You make it to the top and turn towards the door, unsure of what you're even planning on doing, but as you start to pass through the doorway, someone grabs your hand and pulls you to a stop. You spin around and come face to face with Echo, who is looking at you with concern. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. To Bardo. I have to get to him, Echo. I have to save Bellamy.”

“I know, but this isn't the way to do it.”

You glare at her and snap, “Where was that eager attitude that you had five minutes ago? I thought you’d be on my side!”

“I am! But whatever reckless thing you’re thinking about doing to save Bellamy, it's not going to help. It’s just going to make things worse.”

Gabriel, who must have gotten up the ladder without you hearing him, calls out to the two of you from the other side of the room. “Hey, I think I can read this.”

You look up at him in surprise, your eyes falling on the paper in his hand, and you pull yourself free from Echo's grasp to cross the room and stand by his side. He looks up at you with a small smile, “Once it dries, I'll use the charcoal to bring out the indentations in the paper.”

You nod, and he motions for you to sit in the chair across from him. You oblige, plopping down into the seat as he turns his gaze to Hope. “Tell me about the code.”

“I already told you, it operates the bridge.”

“Right. Like the one on Octavia's back.”

Hope shakes her head, “No, that was for me.”

You all look at her in confusion, and she clarifies, “From what I gather, every mind has its own unique code. They call it a, um, a biometric-”

Gabriel finishes for her, “Signature.” He lets out a breathy laugh, and mutters under his breath, “A consciousness code, of course.”

Hope nods and continues, “When you put mine in on Sanctum, you pulled me over. Then I tagged Octavia with a tracker and sent her to the other side.”

“Did you know they were taking Bellamy too?”

Hope turns to you, shaking her head hard. “No, of course not. Octavia loves him. I made a deal to save my mother. The plan was for me to jump back in, rescue her and Aunty O, and kill anyone who got in my way.”

“Well, we’ll just adapt your plan then. We still save your mom and Octavia, but we’ll grab Bellamy too. And anyone that gets in our way, we kill them.” Hope and Echo both nod in agreement with your plan, but Gabriel, who has been fidgeting with the paper in his hand, tosses it onto the table with a huff of frustration. “We'd have to get there for that, and we are not going anywhere. Not with this anyway.”

You sit up from your seat so fast that you knock the chair backwards, letting out a frustrated groan and yelling, “Damn it! We have to get off of this freaking planet!”

You turn and stalk towards the fireplace, putting your hands on the hearth and leaning against it to center yourself. But as you do, the hairs on your arm lift, letting you know that something is off. It takes a second for you to figure out what, but you finally realize that there is warmth beneath your hands, coming from the fireplace. You turn to the others with a wide eyed look. “It’s warm.”

“What?” Echo crosses the room towards you and grabs a fire poker from beside the fireplace, using it to shift the coals around. When she does, some of them start to glow red hot, alerting all of you that the flames only recently died. Echo mutters to the others, “There's someone here.”

You look around and call out, your voice hopeful, “Bellamy?”

“He’s not here.” You ignore Hope’s voice and head to the door to the connecting room, hoping that when you push the fabric aside, you’ll see the smiling face of your fiance. Unfortunately for you, when you move the blanket that separates the bedroom from the room you’re in, you’re met with a man running at you and screaming, “Get out of my house!

He knees you in the stomach when he comes running out, and you grunt in pain from the blow. But you recover quickly when you see a knife being swung towards you, which you duck away from at the last second. The man seems caught off guard by your movement, and as his arm flies past you, you grab it, twisting his arm until he stands frozen in place. You wrench the knife free from his grasp and hold it up towards his neck, and as you turn to get a look at the others, your eyes land on the man’s arm. In the space on his wrist there is a timer, counting down from what appears to be five years. Your brows pull together as you look at it, trying to make sense of it, but you’re pulled from your thoughts when the man turns to the creepy doll from earlier and mutters, “Hope, I'm sorry. I'll come back for you!”

He knocks your grip off of him and takes off running out the front door, leaving you, Gabriel, Echo, and Hope to exchange matching looks of bewilderment. “What the actual hell?”

Hope looks over at the doll and mutters, “He called the doll Hope.”

You shake your head, trying to process the events of the last minute, and add, “The numbers on his arm were counting down.”

“It's how long he's a prisoner here. Five years.” Hope pauses, looking between all of you as she adds, “That’s how long I expect us to stay.”

You don't have time to process or disagree with her words before she’s jogging past all of you and heading out the door. You exchange another look with Gabriel and Echo, the three of you seemingly on the same page about staying here for five years. Meaning, none of you are even a little bit okay with that. You all run after her, jogging out of the house and catching up with her at the edge of the garden. Gabriel is the first to ask one of the many questions running through your heads. “You said prisoners. You don't mean this is a prison?”

“I did mean. Skyring is the place where they send people to atone for their sins.” She pauses near one of the plots, looking over it for a long minute. “This garden is one of his. We have to start planting soon if we want to harvest before winter.”

She walks off again, and you stare at her retreating figure, trying to convince yourself that she can't be serious about the four of you staying here for five years. There’s no way in hell you’re okay with that. You run after Hope again, calling out to her back, “Slow down! What the hell are you talking about?”

Hope glances over her shoulder at you as she stalks through the woods. “From the looks of our new friend, he's surviving on jellies alone. Eating like that, he won't make it five years, and we need him to.”

“Why?”

“Because he's our way to Bardo. When the timer on his arm hits zero, the disciples come for him.”

“Right, and you think they'll take us too?” Gabriel scrubs a hand over his face after asking his question, thinking, and the motion reminds you of Bellamy. You feel a rush of anxiety as you try to process your current situation, but your anxiety only deepens when you start to think about whatever situation Bellamy may be in right now. Being tortured, killed, interrogated. Wanted for bone marrow or information or god knows what.

Hope brings you back to the present when she answers, “Of course not. We kill them, take their suits, jump to Bardo.”

You grab Hope’s arm, pulling her to a stop, in disbelief that she is yet again reiterating a five year time frame. You shake your head, that disbelief written all over your face. “You have to be out of your mind if you think I'm waiting five years.”

“Funny, Octavia said that too.”

She turns and walks away before you can say anything, and you turn to look between Gabriel and Echo, silently asking them to back you up. Gabriel just puts a hand on your shoulder and squeezes before continuing forward, and you turn to look at Echo, who reaches out for your hand and whispers, “We’ll figure this out.”

You nod, unable to say or do much else, allowing Echo to drag you ahead, catching back up with the others. When Echo gets close to them again, her eyes find the sky, tracing the rings that arch over the planet. “Not bad for a prison.”

You shake your head, thinking of the lack of anyone or anything on this planet, reminding you a lot of your time in solitary during your own imprisonment in the Skybox. Reminding you of your near death experience in an arena in what feels like eons ago. “I’d be willing to bet that the real prison is the isolation, like solitary.”

Gabriel nods in agreement and adds to your statement, “Depending on the time dilation relative to Bardo, you could serve a twenty year sentence here in a weekend. It's efficient.”

Echo changes the subject, watching Hope closely. “I take it you've dealt with these prisoners before.”

“One, yes.”

“Dangerous?”

“It depends. Everyone on Bardo is raised to be a disciple. Every single one of them is a warrior, not like the flower children who worshiped you.” She turns and glares at Gabriel, and you almost laugh, thinking that flower children is the perfect name for the people of Sanctum. Almost every person from Sanctum that you had the pleasure of fighting was terrible at it, and the only ones who were any good at it were the Children of Gabriel. Even they were defeatable though. Unless they were in a group. You shake your head, clearing your thoughts and bringing yourself back to the present as Hope continues, “Fortunately, they send people here who aren't pulling their own weight, not devout enough, not strong enough. If everything I've heard about you two is true, we can take him.”

She stops suddenly, bending down to inspect a small broken twig and an indentation in the dirt. She glances at the three of you over her shoulder. “All right, be quiet. We're close.”

Echo, unable to quell her curiosity, asks, “Who taught you how to track?”

“The girl you stabbed and kicked over a cliff.” Hope ends her statement with a withering glare directed at Echo, and you’re suddenly glad that looks can't kill, otherwise your group of four would suddenly be three. Echo rolls her eyes when Hope turns back around and counters, “It's a little more complicated than that.”

You and Echo exchange a look, because Octavia and Echo’s complicated history is very similar to yours and Echo’s complicated history. And despite all of the near death experiences, boyfriend stealing, and clan loyalty, the two of you are now walking hand in hand on a planet that is magically connected to a different planet that you landed on a week ago after a 125 year journey through space. Gabriel seems to sense this moment between you and Echo, because he glances between you before looking back at Hope. “Sounds like a good story.”

Hope quips, “You just heard it. The spy stabbed her ex boyfriend's sister and kicked her over a cliff.”

None of you say anything, falling into an awkward silence as she continues to lead all of you through the woods in search of the mysterious man. Finally, you break through a line of trees into a clearing, and your eyes fall on none other than...an army of skeletons. You nearly groan at the sight, the image reminding you a little too much of the body snatching Primes on Sanctum that nearly stole your sister from you. You and Echo break apart and you hand her the knife that the man nearly stabbed you with earlier, arming her as you reach for your own knife. As you walk up on the circle of skeletons, you are suddenly hit by the smell of rotten, decaying flesh, and this time you do groan out loud, but so do the others. Echo looks over the clearing in bewilderment, “What is this?”

“I have no idea. Looks like he dug up the dead so he could have company.” You eye the skeletons, some of them sitting up around a chessboard, and you feel a roll of nausea as you focus on breathing through your mouth and not your nose, in an attempt to ignore the smell. Hope suddenly rushes across the clearing, dropping in front of one of the skeletons, her voice sounding teary and broken when she whispers, “Dev.”

The man from before suddenly rushes across the clearing, towards Hope, and she scrambles away as he yells, “Leave us alone! I didn't invite them here, I swear it.”

Gabriel whispers, “Isolation madness.”

The man grasps onto his skeleton friend, continuing his mutterings, “Broke into our house. I tried to save Hope. I tried, but I couldn't. I'm sorry. I'm sorry.”

Hope steps a little closer to him, kneeling down and softening her voice as she tries to console him. “Hey, I'm Hope. I grew up here.”

Gabriel, who has been standing very still to your right, seems to see something, because he starts to step away from you, his voice breaking through the soft conversation between the man and Hope. “Wait.”

It’s loud enough to spook the man away, and you all watch him jump over a tree and run off again, disappearing into the woods. Hope turns around, a glare on her face, directing her annoyance at Gabriel. “Damn it, I told you we need him!”

“Maybe we don’t.” Gabriel kneels down beside a skeleton, and you and Echo draw closer as he brushes a finger across the name patch on the skeleton’s body. It’s half degraded, eroded over time, but the first three letters remain. “C-O-L.”

Echo glances at you, and then to Gabriel. “Colonel? Military?”

He shakes his head, reaching into his pocket for a small knife as he does. “Colin, last name Benson. C.B. It was on the wall near the stone.”

He glances at you, aware that you were present when he read the letters out earlier. And then he unfolds his pocket knife and moves towards the skeleton, reaching out for the skull. He uses one hand to hold it steady, and one hand to pry away whatever disgusting gunk is on the skull, quickly revealing something you weren't ever sure you’d see again.

“A mind drive?” You look between the drive held proudly in Gabriel’s hand, and his face, confusion written across your own features. “How?”

“Eligius III was here. We're on planet Beta.”

Gabriel pauses long enough for his words to have an impact on all of you and then he takes off running back towards the cabin. You, Hope, and Echo follow behind him in confusion, calling out to him as he moves, but his mind is only focused on one thing, and that does not involve briefing the three of you. So you all just have to watch him in confusion as he crashes into the cabin and heads for his bag, digging around for a second before pulling out a tablet, and only then does he start to explain. “Everyone on the Eligius mission got one of these. Becca Franko designed the memory drives to be a data retrieval system so the mothership crew could determine what happened if they returned to find a mission team dead. You know, like an airplane black box.”

The three of you shake your heads, none of you familiar with the concept of an airplane black box. But Gabriel ignores it and barrels on, “Russell and I reverse engineered their tech to hold an entire mind.”

You process his words before pointing down at the tablet in his hand. “Wait, that'll play his memories?”

“Yeah.” Gabriel tugs a different mind drive from the tablet, glancing at you as he does. You’re already well aware of what sociopath previously existed on that tiny piece of hardware. “Josephine?”

“I needed to make sure she was really gone.” He slides the new mind drive into the spot on the tablet, powering it on, the screen fuzzy and staticky. You look at it with worry, and Gabriel must sense your growing anxiety. “Just wait. It's repairing corrupted data.”

“So what are the odds that Eligius III randomly chose two planets connected by Anomaly Stones?”

Gabriel shrugs, “Long. I'd say it suggests that the people on Bardo descend from Eligius as well, and if I'm right, it could mean that the species that created the stones thousands, perhaps millions of years ago, were looking for a new home too. I mean, think about it, right? No need for spaceships or cryo or mind drives. You could explore an entire universe.”

Your mind starts to wander at the possibilities of the stones. You’re gonna get Bellamy back, and then the two of you can explore the stars like real space explorers. You can travel the Universe without worrying about the time it takes to normally do something like that. You can discover new planets together and experience everything that the Universe has to offer. You’re starting to think that’s the most exciting idea you’ve ever had. Hope breaks your reverence though, and brings your crushing reality right back to the forefront of your mind. “Not to point out the obvious, but if your friend here figured out how to operate the stone, he'd have used it to leave. He wouldn't be here playing chess with the dead.”

“No, no, no. Colin was a quantum physicist, a Fields Medal winner. If anyone could figure out how to-” He’s cut off by a video suddenly beginning to play on the screen. A woman, dressed in a lab coat, her dark hair swept to the side, leans over someone sitting in a chair. “Dr. Benson, blink if you can hear me. Dr. Benson.”

Gabriel lets out a surprised laugh, “Becca? God, I had a crush on her.”

“Wait, that’s Becca?” Gabriel nods, and you look at the woman again, finally able to put a face to the woman that created Nightblood and the Flame. The woman who accidentally caused the end of the world, who later became the first Commander. Despite living in her mansion and her lab for a while, there were never any pictures or magazines with her face lying around. You never really knew what she looked like. Clarke told you that Becca and Alie looked the same, which she knew because she saw them both in the City of Light, but since you never took a chip and saw Alie, you never really knew what that was like. Still, it’s weird to see Becca now, in this video, before she causes the end of the world and before she becomes the center of religion to the Grounders.

On the screen, Becca continues talking to Colin. “The procedure was a success. The implant will start collecting your memory now. If you die out there, my face will be the first that the follow up team sees. I envy you, you are going on the greatest adventure in the history of history. Lightbourne, the pompous ass, thinks that Alpha is the one. He's afraid that Beta's too far from the black hole relative to the others, but if you ask me, time dilation is sexy as hell. You'll get to the future faster.”

Gabriel mutters, “The black hole, of course. That's why time is so accelerated here.”

Echo, eager to get to the memories that get all of you out of here counters, “Can you fast forward?”

“Quiet.”

Echo rolls her eyes and turns to face you. “This is gonna take a while.”

You nod, your mind drifting back to the man who tried to kill you not long ago. “And I’m sure that guy out there is eager to come home. I’ll take first watch.”

Echo nods in agreement, and you head for the door and step outside, wandering through the garden path and stopping just at the edge of the garden, leaning up against one of the structures and looking out into the trees beyond. You sit out there for a few hours, watching the woods and waiting for any sign of the madman, but you never see him. Towards the end of your watch you start to get bored, and your eyes wander from the woods and over to the garden at your back. You lean down to smell the flowers that are behind you, the patch of purple flowers reminding you of Shallow Valley and you get a pang of longing for your home and your twin and for Bellamy. All you can do is pray to the Universe that Gabriel figures out the code and gets all of you off of Skyring and onto Bardo.

As your eyes roam over the flowers near you, they fall to a bottle, sticking out of the dirt. Curious, you pull it free, shaking it slightly and listening as something shifts around inside. You pull the lid off and turn it over, a rolled up piece of paper sliding out and into your hand. When you unroll it, your eyes fall on a letter, the handwriting both familiar and unfamiliar, and as you start to read, tears tug at your eyes.

Bell,

I hope against hope that this letter reaches you. I need you to know that you were right. There was a darkness in me, but Diyoza helped me past that darkness. It's behind me now. I need you to know that I finally understand all you did to protect me, watch over me, love me. I wish I could see your face and hug you... and tell you that I get it now. I wish I could thank you. By the time you get this, if you get this, I'll probably be an old lady or dead. I want you to know I was happy. I have Hope. Diyoza's a pain in the ass, but I love her like I love you. Please don't worry about me. You deserve to be happy, big brother.

Always yours, Octavia.

You hear the door to the cabin open from somewhere behind you, but you are too absorbed in Octavia’s lost words to her brother. Words that indicate that she was here much longer than you realized. Words that indicate that she had started to heal before reality caught up to her again. As you start to lower the letter, Hope’s voice angrily calls out, “Where did you get that?”

You motion to the dirt beside you, confused by the anger in her voice. “I found it here.”

She snatches it from your hand and snaps, “That was not meant for you.”

She walks past you, the letter still gripped tight in her hand, and her feet carry her until she’s just at the edge of the forest. You watch her in confusion at first, not understanding the anger behind her outburst, until suddenly you realize that Hope’s shoulders are shaking slightly because she’s crying. You stand from your place near the garden and walk towards her, and when she hears you approach, you watch her angrily swipe away her tears before she starts to speak to you, her back still facing you. “I remember when she threw this into the bridge, we still thought Sanctum was on the other side. It must have been how they knew we were here.”

She starts to cry harder, relieving the trauma of her past, and you reach out for her arm, trying to turn her to face you. “Hey, come here.”

She shakes you off, resisting the comfort you're trying to offer her, but you try again, aware that she needs this. You only know a fraction of what Hope has gone through, but you know that more than anything, she needs a friend, and she needs a hug. You put your hand on her shoulders, trying to turn her towards you, and she resists you at first. Until suddenly, she spins around in your arms, jumping towards you and wrapping you up in her arms. She hugs you tight, confirming what you knew all along, that she needed a hug. You hug her back just as tightly, letting her know that you're here for her as you whisper, “We'll get them all back together, whatever it takes. Gabriel will get us the code, and then we’ll get them back.”

She nods, and the two of you stand huddled together as she cries in your arms. You hum Clair de lune, comforting her the way that your dad used to comfort you, the way that Bellamy comforted you, and eventually she starts to quiet in your arms. When the two of you pull away, you move to sit at the edge of the garden again, this time side by side, watching the trees in mutual silence. Hope is the first to speak up, her voice low and ashamed. “You must think I'm so weak.”

You shake your head hard, giving her a serious look. “No, the opposite actually.”

A second voice from behind you pipes up, scaring you and Hope both, your heart jumping with fear. “We've seen your moves, and with teachers like Diyoza and Octavia, I wouldn't want to face you in battle.”

You turn around and look at Echo, glaring at the quiet spy who easily snuck up on you both. “You scared the hell out of me.”

She gives you a small smile and plops down beside you. You're not sure how much she saw of you comforting Hope, but she doesn't comment on the girl's tear stained features, and you’re sure Hope is grateful for that. She glance at Echo, responding to her initial quip. “They didn't teach me to fight, my mom wouldn't allow it. A prisoner came here a few months after they left, Dev. He taught me.”

You think back to Hope’s earlier broken cry when you found the army of skeletons. “The body.”

“Yeah.”

You’re about to ask a follow up question on what happened, but you never get the chance, because you're cut off by an excited yell from inside the cabin. You, Hope, and Echo all turn to look at the small building, watching as Gabriel comes running from the cabin, practically bouncing with excitement. “He did it! I need something to write with, charcoal, a pen, anything!”

You all jump up and follow him back towards Hope’s former home, excited to write down the code that’ll take all of you to Bardo so you can save your families. Except, as you step inside the cabin, Gabriel holds out a hand to the three of you, forcing you to stop, his eyes locked on something in the corner of the room. You freeze, already worried based on Gabriel’s body language alone, but when your eyes finally find what he's looking at, your anxiety spikes even further. The mystery mad man stands in the corner of the cabin, the tablet held in his hand. Your one way ticket off of Skyring held in his hands, and he’s turning it over, end over end, looking at it closely.

“What is this?”

Gabriel holds up his hands in surrender, trying to appear as non threatening as possible. “It's okay, no one's gonna hurt you. That's a memory viewer, okay? My friend was here, and he entered a code and opened the bridge. We need to rewind it, so that we can get the code and open the bridge ourselves. You can go home.”

The man is shaking, his voice raspy from lack of use, and he starts to get panicky. “Too soon. I must serve my time!”

You feel the hairs on your arm lift, and you know that something bad is about to happen unless you can stop it. You meet the eyes of the man, careful to keep your voice soft and soothing, “Okay. If you want to stay, you can stay. Just give us back-”

And before you can finish your sentence, he cuts you off, his voice loud and upset. “No! I serve the master, I am his shield and his sword! For all mankind!”

And before any of you can say anything else or do anything else, he lifts the tablet above his head. Your eyes fly to it, watching the events unfold like they’re in slow motion. As soon as the tablet is high enough, he brings his arms down, putting some force behind his throw, and you are left frozen in place, watching the tablet fall from his hand and clatter to the ground below. You hear someone scream as it hits the ground, shattering into pieces, and later on, when you play through the moment in your mind, you’ll realize that it was you screaming. But in the moment you don't notice, because all you feel is heartbreak and despair. You sink to your knees, staring at the shattered pieces in front of you, well aware of what this means. Without the memory viewer, without the code, all four of you really are trapped here on Skyring for the next five years.

There will be no rescue missions, no saving of anyone, because you’re stuck.

You're stuck until the crazed man in front of you is allowed to go home.

You're stuck until you can kill the men that come for him.

You're stuck, separated from Bellamy.

And in that moment, you swear you feel something inside of you snap.

next chapter

#the 100 #the 100 rewrite #bellamy blake #bellamy blake x reader #bellamy blake fanfiction

57 notes · View notes

youidiotprince · 4 years ago

Text

A Very Merry Ca$hqu€€ns Christmas

“No, Nora! Stay out!” Ava yelled from floor, scrambling to shield her nearly wrapped gift from Nora’s curious gaze. Nora had announced her presence with a quiet knock as she pushed open the door, hoping to catch Ava off guard and glimpse her gift.

“Why can’t I see, hm? If the present isn’t for me. . .” Nora teased, crossing her arms over her chest, feet still planted in the open doorway.

“Because I…” Ava floundered for an explanation that wouldn’t incriminate her, but she couldn’t string together the words. “Just because! It’ll ruin it either way, so you just have to get out.”

“If you say so.” Nora turned to leave, but as she closed the door behind her, she added, “I’m taking this as confirmation that you’re my Secret Santa, though.”

“Nora,” Ava groaned, grabbing the nearest item and throwing it at the now-closed door. When it fluttered to the ground only a foot or so in front of where she sat, she realized it was the glittery green bow she still had to stick atop her present. She’d opted for a more classic look, with red and white striped wrapping paper, thick and shiny, a purchase she’d splurged on for her gifts this year because she’d always liked the crisp lines and folds the more expensive papers made when wrapping. Nora’s gift, which she’d already put under the tree earlier that day, was wrapped in snowman-covered paper, something she’d had leftover from the year before, and maybe the year before that.

Ava peeled the backing from the sticky part of the bow and placed it, perfectly centered where the lines of ribbon intersected on top of her rectangular package. She could faintly hear the tinkling bells of the festive music Nora had just started playing, and she knew that was her cue to hurry it up.

With the package cradled under her arm, she left her room and called out to Nora, “Hey girl, what do you need me to do?”

Nora rounded the corner from the kitchen and eyed Ava’s now perfectly wrapped gift. “Ooh, that looks gorgeous,” Nora said with a mischievous look. “I can’t wait to open it.”

“Yeah, you wish,” Ava taunted with a smile. She placed her gift under the tree and brushed her hands clean of it. “Have you heard from the others yet?”

“Mm, they’re both on their way, they should be here any minute.”

The girls busied themselves plating the snacks they’d prepared and the cookies they’d baked until they heard a knock at the door, the thuds sounding in time with the cheesy Christmas carol playing over the speaker.

“Merry Friendsmas!” Mailin and Fatou shouted together, smiles spread almost as wide as their arms. Mailin modeled a headband with reindeer antlers stuck on top and red makeup on the tip of her nose, and Fatou wore a red and green patterned sweater trimmed with glittery tinsel around the neck, the wrists, and the bottom hem. They both held up their presents, Fatou’s in a wintery blue and silver giftbag and Mailin’s wrapped in what looked like newspaper or scrap paper of some sort. They’d dressed on theme, matching Nora’s all red look paired with a Santa hat and Ava’s cozy plaid Christmas pajamas. After a quiet beat during which they took in all their different looks, the girls erupted in excited chatter all at once, talking over each other in order to compliment and dissect their different outfits.

“That must be so itchy,” Nora told Fatou as Fatou told Ava how much she envied her cozy attire.

“Your nose!” Ava exclaimed to Mailin as she reached out almost close enough to touch it before Mailin flinched away.

“No, don’t ruin it yet. I forgot the lipstick at home,” Mailin admitted sheepishly. “Although it looks like I could just borrow Nora’s.” Nora puckered her red lips in response. She backed out of the way so they all could come in and make themselves comfy. They left their coats and boots in the entryway.

“Mulled wine, anyone?” Nora asked from the kitchen as Mailin and Fatou added their gifts to the pile in the main room and sat on the couch next to Ava. “I’ll be having hot chocolate, so that’s an option too.”

Ava and Fatou shared a look before Fatou answered for both of them, “Two mulled wines, please.”

“Oh wait, I’ll come help,” Mailin said as she leapt up from the couch and joined Nora in the kitchen. “Also, I’ll have a hot chocolate.”

Once they brought the drinks out to the others, they all settled into their easy rhythm, talking about the little details of their lives that had happened since they’d last seen each other, recounting some of their best and worst holiday memories before they met each other. Nora opened up about the year that her mother hadn’t gotten anyone any gifts and Kiki, trying to fix everything, went out and bought Nora a box of colored pencils and a coloring book and Zoe a bracelet-making kit with the small amount of money she had. It hadn’t been much but it had meant the world to both of them. Zoe made each of the sisters a bracelet, and she wondered if Kiki or Zoe still had theirs. Fatou shared that one of the best presents she ever received was a book about marine biology with lots of pictures of marine life. She told them that her brother made fun of her endlessly about it, but he was always looking over her shoulder as she’d read through it.

When they felt like they’d run out of stories, they sang carols and karaoke in pairs until Zoe hollered from her room for them to quiet down, and while the singing might have stopped, they didn’t actually adjust their volume much. Eventually, feeling like a little kid who’d been trying their best to wait patiently for the chance to open presents but who just couldn’t hold it in any longer, Ava admitted, “Girls, I can’t take it anymore. We need to do the gift exchange already.”

“Oh, you’re right!” Mailin gasped, as if she’d completely forgotten about the main event of the evening.

Nora clapped and then wiggled her fingers together excitedly, looking slowly at each of her friends. “Who wants to go first?”

“I will,” Fatou said, straining to reach the gift she’d left with the others. She finally snagged the handle with the tip of her finger, so she pulled it over and sat back upright. “Okay, drumroll please.” The girls started pounding their fists on their legs or on the floor, whichever was closer. “This is for… Ava!” Fatou held the gift out to her with a flourish, beaming.

“Chibi,” Ava said warmly, taking the decently sized bag from Fatou’s hand. It was stuffed with white tissue paper which Ava crumpled into a ball and handed to Nora, who was collecting the trash. Beneath all of that was the edge of a sleek black frame, which Ava pulled out carefully. The frame enclosed a photo of the stars in the night sky with a date underneath: October 2, 2020. Ava brushed her fingertips over the glass, hovering just above so as not leave a smudge.

“It’s a print of the constellations on the first day we all hung out together, when we stole that money,” Fatou blurted. “I know you’ve been looking for things to decorate the place with, and that day is so important to me, to us. This seemed like a good gift because we both love the universe and space and astrology so much.”

“Fatou, this is incredible.” Ava’s voice was full of genuine awe. “Seriously, this is perfect, I love it so much. We should all have one of these, honestly.” Nora and Mailin were craning their necks to get a better look, so Ava passed the print to them. As they admired it, Ava turned to Fatou. There was no way Fatou could know just how much this meant to her. How lame and lonely and insecure she felt before as she tried to rebuild her life here without a solid friend group, how difficult it was to watch other people find these friend groups that seemed like they’d last for life while Ava had paper thin friendships that were haunted by the words of her bullies, the doubts and fears they’d implanted in her. Ava felt as though this group of girls, this group of best friends, had finally allowed her to embrace herself with the confidence she had only ever faked before. Fatou couldn’t know how much that day meant to her in particular, but still, it felt like maybe she did, at least a little bit. “Thank you, Fatou. Really.”

“You’re welcome, Ava,” she said as she rested her head on Ava’s shoulder and snuggled closer, patting Ava’s knee tenderly.

After a few moments, Ava offered, “Okay, I’ll go next, and we can just go whoever receives the gift can give the next one? If that works out.” Everybody nodded so Ava grabbed her gift and settled back down on the couch. “Okay, this lovely, award-winning wrapping is for none other than… Mailin.”

“I get the best wrapped one,” Mailin said as she excitedly took the present from Ava and shook it next to her ear. When she brought it back down in front of her, she hesitated. “I almost don’t want to open it! But alas,” she said, and with that she ripped open the paper to reveal a jewelry box with a brand label printed on it that she’d never heard of. When she lifted the lid, she saw two sets of earrings, one set of green and blue tie-dye rectangular pendants with “climate” engraved in one and “justice” engraved in the other and one set of large globe earrings.

“They’re made from completely recycled materials, and the proceeds went to a campaign for climate justice here in Germany. And they just seemed so you,” Ava explained, motioning between the new earrings and the earrings Mailin was currently wearing, which were big candy canes dangling from her ears.

“No, these are awesome, I’ve been trying to develop my collection of fun earrings. These are fun and make a statement. Thank you. Okay, my turn.” Mailin jumped up to grab her newspaper package. “Special eco-friendly wrapping,” she boasted. “Hope you enjoy.” With that, she handed the gift off to Nora without much ceremony, which added its own bit of surprise.

“For me? Ah, okay, I’m excited,” Nora said as she tore into the newspaper. Underneath it all was a thick stack of shipping labels, some used and some unused. The used ones were obviously an attempt at recycling, which Nora appreciated. The sticker at the top of the stack already had a note on it, which must have been written by Mailin, as it said, “Coupon for free shipping label retrieval and delivery for a year. Ask and you will receive.”

“Those are what you used to do your drawings on when you left them around the city, right? I know you’ve probably worn yourself out with all the drawings you’ve done for our shirts, but as a token of appreciation for all of that, I will provide you with shipping label sticker things whenever you need them.” Mailin finished her explanation with a proud smile.

“This is really thoughtful, Mailin. I’ll definitely take you up on this coupon offer,” Nora said with a wink. She then turned to Fatou. “So it’s just you and me,” Nora joked, handing her gift off to Fatou.

“This box is light, I wonder what it could be,” Fatou said as she ripped off the paper. She was only teasing Nora about the weight of the box, but when she opened it all the way and looked inside, it really was empty. Just completely empty. Fatou looked up, confused, and made eye contact with Ava. Ava’s stomach lurched. It couldn’t be. Had Nora forgotten a gift? She wouldn’t do that to Fatou, would she? And if she had forgotten, why would she just wrap an empty box? She hated herself for thinking it, but after everything she’d been through, she couldn’t keep the thought away that maybe this was a prank, that maybe Nora’s friendship with all of them was some kind of prank. It was just a nagging thought in the back of her mind, it couldn’t possibly be true, but she still couldn’t ignore it, not completely.

At the same time, Fatou and Ava turned to look at Nora, trying to work out what exactly was going on, but she was engrossed in something on her phone, her lips turning up into a smile. How could she be so callous?

“Nora,” Fatou started, voice quiet and hesitant. Before she could say more, three phones buzzed with a new message, and Nora looked up, smile growing. Fatou had planned to ignore the text, but now she was suspicious. She grabbed her phone from her pocket and opened the message, her phone redirecting her to WhatsApp. There, in the ca$hqu€€ns groupchat, was a collection of stickers, some actual photos and some drawings, of axolotls. The drawings had the axolotls pulling funny facial expressions, emoting in different ways. A smile here, a frown there, a wink and a stuck-out tongue. Fatou felt Ava exhale beside her.

“I’m sorry for the empty box, I wanted to give you something to unwrap even though the gift was virtual, but my timing ended up being kind of off with that one,” Nora said, sheepish. “And they’re not exactly emojis, but they’re close, right?”

“My axolotl emoji,” Fatou said almost dreamily.

“Nora, these are awesome,” Mailin chimed in from beside her.

“Thanks. If you want any other facial expressions, just let me know.”

A content silence stretched between the girls, everyone feeling comfortable and warm, processing the gifts they’d just given and received.

“Guys, this was so great, I… you don’t understand how happy I am right now. You guys are the best.” Ava’s heart swelled with something that felt like pride, maybe, that these were the people she chose, that these were the people who chose her. Of course Nora wouldn’t let any of them down like that, not on purpose. None of them would. They all loved and respected each other too much. “The ca$hqu€€ns were written in the stars, you guys. We were fated.”

At Ava’s moment of vulnerability, all of the girls rushed to wrap her in the tightest group hug, falling all over each other and ending up in a messy pile of cuddles. Limbs tangled and faces smushed, and when they finally started to pull away a bit, Mailin took one look at Ava’s cheek and sighed.

“Oh no, I smeared my nose on your cheek.”

#alteradventcalendar #druck #druck fic #cashqueens #ava pereira #fatou jallow #nora machwitz #mailin richter

42 notes · View notes

honsoolie · 4 years ago

Text

don’t rush | 02

pairing: Yoongi/reader

genre: slight enemies to lovers, college au, fluff, eventual smut, classical pianist!yoongi, violinist!reader, they’re both actually really into each other but won’t admit it

warnings (for this chapter only): mentions of stage fright/performance anxiety, swearing, sexual references, slight angst, dad jokes :|

words: 6k

rating: +18

summary: You know, when Min Yoongi’s face isn’t screwed into an accusatory scowl, he looks exactly like the kind of guy you’d have no trouble falling in love with. Or, the conservatory au where Yoongi helps you get over your stage fright. In more ways than one.

a/n: didn’t plan to take this long for an update, life gets in the way, you know the drill. read 01 here and as always, this is crossposted to ao3 :)

When you get inside, the warmth welcomes you in. You’re not quite sure if it’s from the heating in the hallway or how Yoongi’s eyes had shone in the moonlight. You lean against the inner door frame, a happy smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, legs a little weak in the knee. You feel light-headed, maybe from being up late, maybe from your exhausting day, maybe from the lingering remnants of Yoongi’s cologne.

Did that really just happen? Did he really just ask for your number? Was this all a dream?

The euphoria is short-lasting, however. You still have some assignments waiting for you, and only a couple hours left until your morning classes. The tiredness never lets up, and your limbs heavy again as you make your way inside the lobby of your dorm.

Unknown number (2:47am): hi this is yoongi

Unknown number (2:47am): did you get inside ok?

You (2:48am): yeah

You (2:48am): did u?

Yoongi (2:50am): im walking back now

Yoongi (2:50am): you should sleep soon ://

You (2:51am): I still have hw :(

You (2:51am): text me when ur back inside too

Yoongi (2:53am): lmaoo is it counterpoint hw

Yoongi (2:54am): it’s so sweet that you care for my safety ;(

You (2:54am): yes sadly

You (2:55am): ofc I care, we can’t have our amazing star pianist get hurt

Yoongi (2:55am): im home now

Yoongi (2:58am): you have a thing for praise, don’t you

Even though you can’t see him, you splutter alone in your room, roommate fast asleep. There is no way that means what you think it means.

You (3:00am): idk where u got that from

You (3:03am): maybe i do, you’ll have to find out

Yoongi (3:04am): I would, but you have to finish your analysis worksheet :/

You (3:15am): ugh, fuck it

You (3:15am): im going to sleep

You (3:15am): ill just wake up early tomorrow to finish it before class

Yoongi (3:16am): what? No goodnight? >:(

Yoongi (3:17am): some manners you have

Yoongi (3:17am): what a rude girl

You (3:18am): aw have i been bad?

You (3:18am): I’m sooooo sorry

You (3:19am): gn

The minutes tick by, and you grow more indignant than you should. Is he serious?

Who doesn’t say goodnight back? Maybe you scared him off. Maybe all this “flirtatious” banter was just how Yoongi talked to his friends. How would you know? You don’t know anything about him.

The same insidious doubt creeps back in. Maybe this is all a game to him. Maybe he just wanted to introduce himself to another music student in the department, you all were supposed to know each other anyway. Maybe, worst of all, he had really only meant to wake you up in the music building as a simple courtesy, no intent behind it. You groan as you sink into your bed, cradling your head in your hands.

You (3:27am): some hypocrite you are

Yoongi (3:30am): I was in the showerrr relax

Yoongi (3:31am): hm you have been bad

Yoongi (3:33am): maybe I should punish you

You (3:29am): u wish

You (3:30am): but goodnight for real, we have class in five hours :”(

Yoongi (3:31am): goodnight

Yoongi (3:31am): save me a spot next to you

You were in the world’s smallest big crisis.

Was Yoongi actually serious when he asked you to save a seat? Or were you just indulging in wishful thinking? Was he flirting with you last night? And if he was, what are you supposed to do now?

Whatever he meant, you would have to face him now.

The endless litany of maybes and what-ifs grows louder in your head, even louder than last night during your text correspondence with him.You elect to use your backpack to save the seat next to you as class time draws nearer, chiding yourself for overthinking something so casual, but it does nothing to soothe your existential anxiety.

“Thanks for saving me a spot, I’m so glad you remembered.” A voice brings you out of your reverie. It takes a moment to register who it is at first. Your eyes meet the traditional college garb first, sweatpants and an overwashed fundraising t-shirt, then the half-tamed cowlick, that ever-present cup of coffee. Your breath catches in your throat, breathtaking despite the casual circumstances. It’s just another class lecture, you chastise yourself, but your gut twists nonetheless.

Seeing Yoongi in such close quarters is still an adjustment for you, his presence (or even the thought of being close to him) a shock to your body. You had spent so much time languishing after him that even now, it still feels like waking up into a dream.

You clear your throat, stalling, “Yeah, putting my backpack in the seat next to mine was sooo hard. You should compensate me for my labor.”

You try to put on the flirty smile that you were wearing last night, but it feels like a grimace. God, you are way too nervous for this.

You realize you’ll never get tired of the way he laughs at your shitty jokes, the way his shoulders shake and eyes crinkle at the corners.

“Yeah, I will, don’t you worry about that.” He sinks into the seat next to you and doesn’t spare you a second glance.

Dr. Won walks in, the picture of put-togetherness, killing whatever flirty response you had formulated.

You thought you had enjoyed having a crush before, but admiring someone and imagining a life together from afar was worlds away from talking and sitting next to said object of affection. This shouldn’t be that big of a deal. You shouldn’t be tripping all over yourself when Yoongi sits next to you in lecture.

Whatever Dr. Won is saying is drowned out by Yoongi sitting next to you. It feels deeply unfair how he affects you, when he gets to sit next to you like nothing important is happening. It’s just another day in lecture, preparing for the midterms coming up.

He’s not even doing anything, minding his own business. You shouldn’t be swooning when he is just sitting there, again bouncing his leg, taking diligent notes. From the furtive glances you steal, even his handwriting is attractive. Endearing, even if it was a little messy and looping over the printed lines.

True fact: the only reason why Yoongi fidgets so much is because of the effect you had on him. It drives him up the wall, the way you keep tucking your hair behind your ear. He envies your unfaltering concentration, the look in your eye when you see something on the Powerpoint slides that you have to jot down.

Yoongi can’t stand to silently sit next to you without doing anything anymore. Taking his pen, he scrawls on the corner of your neat notes. He knows it’ll piss you off, but that’s the reaction that he wants.

do you have any idea what is going on

He watches carefully for your reaction. Satisfaction creeps into his neutral expression when you notice, confusion turning into what could only be a lovestruck smile, and then into an irritated grimace. Fuck, even the curve of your wrist was enough to drive him crazy. You pick up your pen, writing back.

No, stop writing on my stuff

Okay, new plan, Yoongi concedes. He settles for writing on the corner of his own notes, tearing off the corner. He slips the paper into your lap, fingertips skimming the top of your thigh. He doesn’t notice, but he leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake.

don’t you think dr. won dresses like an old hag

You write back on the scrap of paper:

actually you could learn a thing or two from her

Yoongi smirks, in classic Yoongi fashion.

You know I would rock a long skirt like her

Yoongi watches you read his message, smile, and then tuck the note into your notebook.

After class, Dr. Won reminds everyone of the midterm coming up two weeks from now, and that’s when Yoongi senses an opportunity. The two of you walk out of class together, forced to walk side by side because of the student foot traffic.

“Do you like, want to study together sometime?” Yoongi blurts out, louder than he needs to be, even among the hum of the other students.

He clears his throat. “I mean, we’ve shared a lot of classes, so.”

You can’t help but laugh in surprise, or maybe incredulousness. You resist the urge to let the satisfaction show on your face. “I didn’t know you ever noticed.”

“Of course I did. You’re like, the biggest nerd on the planet.” Even when Yoongi is teasing you, he can’t help but sound bashful.

You gasp in mock offense. “There’s nothing wrong with being a nerd.” You both stop, standing at the mouth of the lecture hall.

“Of course not.” He’s awfully close to you, close enough that you can see the mole on the tip of his nose. “That’s why I’m asking you to be my study buddy.”

It’s not necessary to be standing this close. Sure, the hallway is busy, but not that busy.

“Study buddy? That sounds lame.” You scoff, playing hard to get. Both you and Yoongi know you’re going to say yes anyway.

“What else do you want me to call you? My homework homie?”

“Uh, yeah . That sounds way better than study buddy. ” You’re more proud of your humor than anything else, even if it earns a deserved eye-roll from Yoongi.

“And midterms are coming up. So you know, mutually beneficial.” Yoongi takes a sip from his coffee, peering at you from behind the rim.

“Like… friends with benefits?” You can’t help yourself. It’s just too easy to flirt with him.

Yoongi tongues his cheek, he grins. “Only if you want it to be.” He’s having way too much fun with this.

You try to hide your reaction, but Yoongi notices anyway. (He notices a lot of things you don’t realize.) Your wide-eyed shock, the blush that’s flushing down your neck, the way you open your mouth as if to say something equally as flirtatious back, your laugh, like this is actually way more casual than it is.

“So I’ll take that as a yes,” He says. You could get used to the playful lilt in his voice.

“Only if you promise you won’t just copy my work.” You cross your arms in front of your chest, suddenly very aware of how tall he is.

“I live and die by the honor code, y/n. Of course I won’t,” Yoongi says, leaning ever closer to you in the cramped hallway.

You quirk an eyebrow. “Does a man of honor text me like you did last night?”

“Oh come on. If you’re going to be friends with me you’re going to have to learn to laugh at dirty humor.” Friends? It’s a start, at least.

“Who said that I didn’t like dirty humor?”

“Hmm, I did.” There’s a glint in his eyes that wasn't there before. “You’d have to be a woman of your word and show me.”

“You’ll just have to wait and see.” You flash an innocent smile, like you don’t see the implication of what he’s saying.

Tuesdays have always been the most bittersweet day of the week for you. It’s lesson day, but oh, it’s lesson day. It feels like the day of judgement, every single week. It’s a culmination of all the blood and tears that you’ve poured into your music in the past week, another chance at evaluation. You’ve known your violin teacher longer than you’ve been in college, and it still shouldn’t scare you this much.

The nervousness spins and dips in your chest as you make your way up the winding stairs that lead to the music building. You usually soothe the apprehension by reminding yourself of all the things you’ve done to prepare, just like you usually do before you go out on stage. This week you were supposed to get the rest of the Bach partita memorized and cleaned up, but it still resides in your memory as disjointed bits and pieces of what it’s actually supposed to sound like. You try to run through the parts that you were stuck on last night, but you draw a blank. You usually don’t take this long to commit pieces to memory, but when you open up your score, all you can think about is the unmoving stare of the audience. Seeing your life flash before your eyes every time you stare at your pencil markings isn’t exactly conducive to productive practice sessions.

As you retrieve your violin from your locker and make your way to the practice room, you feel like you’re preparing yourself for your own undoing—every scale, every tick of the metronome—another step towards your demise.

It shouldn’t be this serious, but the pitter-pattering of your heart says otherwise. You glance at the clock. It’s time. You pack up now, so you have a couple extra minutes to wait solemnly outside of her office, staring at the posters that advertise the professionals who come to perform concerts at your college. Next week, a pianist and violinist duo is coming. In the picture, they’re smiling proudly next to a Steinway piano. They look proud of themselves. They probably don’t feel like they’re allergic to the stage, probably live for the audience’s applause. That’s probably how they ended up there on the poster, after all.

Your violin teacher isn’t scary. She’s a homey, lovely old woman whose wrinkles come from a lifetime of smiling. She’s the type to bring you sweet, homemade pastries that are almost as warm as her hugs during the toughest parts of the semester. Which makes the moments when she’s unhappy all the more painful. It’s not her fear that plagues you, but disappointment.

The door clicks open, and you have no more time to ponder your failures as a musician. You gather your things and head inside. Nothing inside her office has changed since the previous week. The same teetering stack of well-loved method books sits on her chair, the same humidifier whirring steadily in the corner, the same Dr. Kim Hyung-Seo sitting on the piano bench.

“Good afternoon, y/n! How’s the Bach coming along?” She asks, like you haven’t spent the past week treating this piece like your mortal enemy. She takes a sip of her warm chamomile tea, from the same snowman-shaped mug that she’s used every week, because she is that endearing. In another life, she would probably be your grandmother.

“Good morning. Ah, you know…” You trail off and gesture into the air, trying to hide your grimace. How could you possibly describe the unease and unsureness around performing without crossing some kind of professional boundary?

“Let’s hear it, it’s okay. Are you all warmed up?” You nod as you unpack your things again. As you move to put the Bach score on the music stand, she tuts.

“Didn’t we agree that this would be memorized last week?” Dr. Kim flips through her lesson notes, inky blue scrawling over the pages. “Yeah, it should be memorized. Close the score, darling.” Usually, when Dr. Kim calls you darling, warmth unfurls in your chest and you beam. You’re not feeling particularly warm right now.

“Ah, okay…” With slow reluctance, you close the score, the plain paper cover mocking you. You lift your bow to your violin, and shut your eyes. You don’t want to watch this.

Yoongi (4:38pm): Hey

Yoongi (4:38pm): wanna study tonight :]

If there’s anything Yoongi is good at, it’s having perfect timing. You half-walk, half-run out of the music building, sucking frigid air into your lungs. The cold weather seems to force the tears back into your eyes. If there was ever a worst-case scenario for how a lesson could go, then that was what just played out in the music room.

Shutting your eyes won’t stop the barrage of images, playing the world’s cruelest slideshow behind your eyelids. Your teacher’s pursed lips, the still fingers clasped over her mug, the pinched brow.

“y/n, we don’t have much more time to clean it up…” Her words echo in your head. “We’ll try again next week…” The disappointment was the worst thing, the downward tone in her voice. “I expected better…”

You (5:15pm): maybe

You (5:15pm): what time?

Yoongi (5:20pm): like now

Yoongi (5:23pm): are you busy?

You (5:25pm): no I just finished up a lesson

You (5:26pm): i’m about to study in the library if you want to join me

Yoongi (5:30pm): I don’t want to go to the library :(

You (5:31pm): why not

Yoongi (5:32pm): if I feed you dinner will you come to my apartment

Yoongi (5:33pm): I really don’t want to walk to the library it’s too damn cold

After all, the best way to a woman's heart is through her stomach.

You (5:35pm): fine

You (5:35pm): it better be a hell of a dinner

Yoongi (5:36pm): of course it will

Yoongi sends you his location, and you’re walking as fast as you can through the campus to make it to his apartment before you can freeze your fingers off.

Yoongi’s expression is nothing short of scandalized when you show up at his door. It’s a typical mouse hole apartment, his front door identical to all the other ones that you’d passed to get here.

“You’re not wearing gloves? In this weather?”

“I don’t have any…” You rasp out. You’re tired. Your throat hurts from trying to hold tears back during your entire lesson, and you have no spirit left to give Yoongi an innuendo-laced comeback.

I expected better.

“Oh my god, you’ve been playing violin for how many years and nobody ever told you to wear gloves when it’s cold?” He leads you inside, the warmth abating the cold that’s wormed its way underneath your clothes and into your bones.

“For God’s sake, y/n, hasn’t anyone ever told you about the importance of blood circulation?” Yoongi clasps your hands between his, rubbing and blowing air on them to warm them up. He doesn’t notice your surprise amid his chastising, muttering something about common sense. You don’t try to keep your guard up this time, just trying to bite tears back at the mention of musicianship. The firm press of his hands grounds you.

“There.” He smiles, proud of himself. “Warm now?”

Oh yeah, you’re definitely warm. In every dimension of the word. But you don’t tell him that, so you settle for a weak nod.

“You can put your stuff there. I’m hungry now, let’s eat first?” You hum in affirmation as you settle your heavy backpack on his cramped couch.

It turns out that Min Yoongi’s idea of gourmet cooking is heating up two freezer-burnt Hot Pockets while you watch him putter around the tiny kitchenette. This is the first time you’ve ever seen him without his glasses, and this is when you finally internalize that Yoongi will always look good no matter what he does or wears or says.

“You made it seem like you were cooking,” You say, just to fill the silence.

“Uhhhh, I don’t know who told you I was capable of cooking, but they were wrong. I can show you a good time in other ways, no?”

You snort.

In hopes of saving time, he microwaves both of Hot Pockets at the same time. You silently bristle at the fact that even your dinner is getting more action than you are these days.

You and Yoongi eat together in his tiny living room, sitting on mismatched stools.

“How did your lesson go?” Yoongi says, more focused on eating than on you.

“Oh…” You set your Hot Pocket down, sighing in defeat. The image of Dr. Kim sitting behind the piano bench, her dissatisfaction like a noxious cloud. “I… I… got ripped apart. I’m a little behind with preparing for the Bach festival, but it doesn’t matter. Nothing I do or prepare will make me less stressed about it.” You slump onto the counter, recounting all the things you did wrong in your lesson today. I expected better.

“What’s the stress about? We still have over a month, right?” You’re suddenly jealous of Yoongi. His nonchalance, his seemingly constant reassurance that everything is going to be okay.

“I’m not worried about that… just, no matter how much I practice, I’m gonna fuck it up on stage.” Your forehead pinches in frustration.

“Are you that nervous?”

“I’ve always been this nervous. For any performance. I haven’t performed alone in a while… and you know. It’s Bach, and everyone expects me to do some amazing job, and it’s like, I don’t know if I can deliver that and-” Yoongi eases his hand on your shoulder, calm, reassuring. He looks concerned. Like he cares. Like a friend.

“When was the last time you played something just for the fun of it?”

“I don’t know, maybe my freshman year? I used to arrange themes from movies.”

“We should work on something together, just for fun. We’re such a perfect instrument combo, there’s so much repertoire for violin and piano.”

“What did you have in mind? Do you even have enough time for that?” (You know you don’t have enough time for that.)

“It doesn’t even have to be a difficult piece. It could be something easy or hard, I don’t care.” Yoongi ponders his next words over a bite of his food. “I… I... just want to see you less stressed out. And music should always be fun, not just for a grade. What kind of music would you be making if you weren’t happy?”

“I don’t know…”

“I know this one Brahms piece that I think you’d like. Totally fits your vibe. We can just work on it slowly, you know? Or we could arrange the Anpanman theme song, I don’t care.”

“I think I’m mostly good for the midterm, except for the composer dates,” Yoongi spins around in his office chair, dragging his feet on the ground.

“Me too,” You say, as you drink in the sight of his room. For someone who claims to abhor studying and all things academic, Yoongi appears to be quite the organized student. Despite the constant claim that his education is merely a necessary evil, he keeps his notes organized in uniform binders on a well-cared for bookshelf. The bookshelf is adjacent to the extremely detailed wall calendar, marked full with due dates and deadlines in pens of various colors.

He runs his fingers over the binders to locate the binder allocated to the species counterpoint class you’re taking together.

“I already have flashcards for everything before the Romantic Era, but I’m so fucked for everything else.”

“Why not just use Quizlet like everyone else?” You say. You eye his neatly made bed and the Kumamon stuffed animal shoved hastily underneath it.

“Back in my day, we used flashcards like cavemen,” Yoongi reasons, despite the fact that your birthdays are months within each other. “And besides, they feel better in your hand.” Of course, they’re indexed by color and musical era.

“Ugh, I hate sitting at my desk. My back is starting to hurt,” Yoongi says, despite having worked for about ten minutes. “Do you want to lay down?” He pats the fluffy comforter adjacent to him. Yoongi doesn’t wait for your response however, plopping down on the bed with an audible thump.

“Okay, old man,” You jibe, but you’ve also been sitting for a majority of the day. Your back is aching too, but you’ll never admit it to him.

Sometimes, at times like these, you wish you could just muster up the courage and stop playing this game of cat and mouse with him. When you lay on his sheets that smell like him, quizzing each other, you wonder what would happen if you confessed your feelings for him, right then and there.

Or outlined exactly how exactly you would take his cock in your mouth, given the chance. Other times, you consider the fact that he might like to play with his food before diving in. Whatever it was, it scared you, the unease climbing up your spine and staying put.

You wonder if he understands the implication of you so casually lounging on his bed, but then you realize that you likely don’t exist in the realm of romantic possibilities for him. He likely sees you as the nerdy, sexless violinist that spends all her time slaving away in the practice room or the library. That’s why you’re here, after all. To help study for the midterms coming up. “Being friends with him is better than nothing,” you tell yourself, but you can’t really bring yourself to believe it.

You don’t remember, or at least don’t care to, when Yoongi started touching every aspect of your life. It’s really only been a couple of weeks since the two of you started studying together. You don’t dare to imagine how much of your thoughts he would occupy if you continue your friendship into the coming months. If your crush of massive proportions was bad before, it’s truly out of hand now. It certainly didn’t help that he actually knew you existed now. He spammed you gifs of baby animals while he was on the way to class, texted you links to performances of pieces that he was working on. He even began to send you teasing texts on the mornings that he made it to the practice rooms before you.

Every experience you have is colored by thoughts of him. The coffee that you drink like ambrosia conjures up images of him sitting across from you in some far-off sunlit cafe, laughing at all your jokes. On the nights when sleep escapes you, you lay awake rehashing over and over what you had said to him on the previous day. You even fall into reveries when he’s sitting there right next to you.

It’s inescapable, especially with the Bach Festival looming over your head. The more time you spend in the practice room, the more you go back to that one fateful night. You can still see the image of him now, sitting before the piano, playing Chopsticks.

You both make your way through the fat deck of flashcards, Yoongi quizzing you first.

“J.S. Bach?” You note to yourself even the upswing in his voice was cute. How did you ever let yourself get so whipped?

“1685 to…” You falter, still stuck on his voice. Even his voice drives you crazy.

“Come on, you should know this.” He drives his point home by poking you in the side, and he likes the gasp that you make.

“1750.” Of course you know Bach’s birth and death dates by heart. You see it every time you open up your score. Even the scant prod he gave you in the side, over your clothes, is enough to make your skin heat up.

“And if you ever tickle me again, you won’t live long enough for midterms,” You threaten, but your harsh tone of voice doesn’t reach the light in your eyes.

“Brahms?”

“Ugh, fuck, I don’t know. 1832 to?”

“Wrong.” He sets the cards down next to him, looking at you in mock disappointment. In an instant, he attacks you with tickles, and your efforts to bat him away are fruitless.

“This-this is what you get for not knowing when Brahms was born! Learn through punishment! 1833 to 1897, remember that next time!!” He collapses on top of you, burying his face in your neck, unrelenting. Yoongi sounds almost gleeful in your torture.

You writhe under his touch, and for all the wrong reasons.

For the first time in your life, you’re almost glad you’re ticklish. Your eyes roll back into your head, not of your own accord. It’s too much, the soft skin of his cheek pressed up against your neck, the warm weight of his body against yours, the way his legs cage you in. A moan slips in between your helpless giggles, and Yoongi doesn’t miss it.

“Uhhh, what was that?” He doesn’t stop, merciless in his advance. “I didn’t know you liked tickling… like that.” He’s teasing you, now. He can’t hide his pleased grin.

Between gasps, you manage to pant, “I… don’t…”

“Then what? Tell me.” That’s when Yoongi relents, leaning back. He continues to straddle you, because he’s cruel like that. (And because he likes it too.)

“You’re just… ugh, I don’t know… so close.” In Yoongi’s eyes, you’re a study in debauchery. From your struggle, your hair is mussed, the hem of your shirt awry. Your cheeks are flushed, from embarrassment or from the tickling, you don’t know. Your chest frantically rises and falls, trying to regain your breath.

You, on the other hand, feel fucking ridiculous. Contrary to popular belief, being on the recieving end of tickling is fucking physically exhausting.

Yoongi is stuck on the hot and bothered look on your face, except for the hard look in your eye. You despise being tickled, even if it is Min Yoongi doing the tickling. He wonders what you’d look like if you were underneath him in… different circumstances.

Would it compare?

“I… I… I just…” You avert your gaze now, hiding your face behind your hands. You can’t stand to look at him right now.

“Spill it, or I’ll go back to tickling you until you break.” He grabs your hands away from your face, pinning them next to your head.

He really isn’t going to make this easy for you, is he.

This is overwhelming. The eye contact is too much. The weight of his hands on your wrists, holding you down, is too much. The way his panting breath tickles the skin beneath your collar is too much. You’ve had a bad day, the voice in the back of your head whispers. He makes you forget how awful this semester has been. He makes you feel better. Make this day easier on yourself. Just give in.

There’s no hiding it now, you concede.

You shut your eyes, unable to face him. “It’s just… been a while.”

“Uh-huh. Continue?” He places his hands back on your stomach, as if in warning.

“Since uhhhh… I’ve done… anything… with anyone…” Your words hang heavy in the air. Your secret is out.

He laughs. He really has the audacity to laugh.

“Shut up! I’m just like, touch starved, okay?” You’re definitely just blushing out of embarrassment, at this point.

Yoongi starts to ponder if he crossed too far of a line, but you continue anyway. You huff, indignant and desperate to cover your ass. This is not how you ever imagined telling Yoongi you were ever interested in him, sexual or not.

“Not everyone is like, the campus pussy magnet and gets to fuck whenever they want,” You say.

He rolls his eyes. “Okay, I’m not the campus pussy magnet. We’re... not so different. I haven’t been with anyone, um, in a while.” Now Yoongi takes his turn to blush and stutter. He does that thing he always does when he’s nervous, runs a hand through his hair and lets it rest on the nape of his neck.

“I find that hard to believe. No need to lie out of pity. Like, come on. Look at you. You’re all…” You gesture down his body, “And you have that whole vibe going on, and you’re tall, and you have good taste in cologne, and-and-and you play the piano , and ugh. You should know that by now.” You babble on. You’re not that good at keeping secrets, anyway. Might as well let the cat out of the bag while you’re at it.

Yoongi doesn’t say anything, but you’re not fazed. By now, you’re used to the long silences that elapse when you’re with him. You wait for him to talk first, just so you can discreetly enjoy the feeling of him straddling you for a little longer. You try to pass off the silence as you quietly fuming at him for calling out your lackluster sex life, but you’re really just trying get yourself together.

Then he starts laughing. Again.

“What are you laughing for now?” Your brow furrows in frustration.

“Nothing, nothing, don’t be mad. I just didn’t think that tickling would be a turn on for you.”

“It’s not!”

“To be completely honest with you, you look like one of those really innocent soft girls on the outside but you’re actually like, into choking and have a secret sex dungeon.” He doesn’t seem to care that you’ve all but revealed your massive, terminal crush on him.

You sigh, but you’re just glad he gave you something to fire back with.

“You and I both know that the university dorms are too small for a sex dungeon, Yoongi. I can’t even have candles in my room. What sex dungeon is complete without candles?”

“Oh, a devil in the details. The ambiance is important, I see…” That devious smile of his makes a comeback.

“Oh, shut up. Give me the flashcards, four-eyes.” He relinquishes the flashcards, but he still continues to straddle you.

“Woah, there’s no need to insult my glasses.”

You ignore him, desperate to move on from your momentary lapse in judgement. “Haydn?”

“1732 to 1809. What about music? Music must be important if you care about the ambiance. Answer my question.”

You laugh to cover up how worked up you are. “Maybe you can find out after we finish reviewing. Scarlatti?”

“1660 to 1725. What kind of music do you listen to? R&B, something sexy?” He sits up now, spurred on by your refusal to answer his questions.

“Or do you listen to classical music then, too? Does Chopin get your blood flowing?” He’s being insufferable now.

You groan into the pillow. “Yoongiii, let’s focus.”

“If it’s something like Liszt, I’m sure I have a couple recommendations.”

Yoongi sits up straighter, waggles his eyebrows in a way you definitely shouldn’t find endearing. “Or, I could record something for you…”

You snap. “Just, I don’t know, sometimes I listen to music?” Your attempts to stop the blushing are in vain, heat blooming across your cheeks and down your neck. It’s even harder to stop when it’s your embarrassingly short sexual history on the line.

“I prefer dirty talk anyways…” You murmur under your breath, wishing he could just get the fuck off your case. The more he keeps talking about things like this, in that tone of voice, the harder it’s going to get to keep your ever-growing crush a secret.

Still, some small part (let’s be honest, the monkey brain part of you) of you, the part of you that aches for him, wants to spur him on.

“What was that?”

“Nothing! Nothing.”

“Hmm… something about dirty talk?” Fuck, does Yoongi have a good ear. He smiles. He knows he’s gotten you now.

Okay, you should probably admit to yourself that he’s flirting with you now. The touches, the holding you down, the insistence on pushing this tiny matter, it all adds up. And the math says that Min Yoongi is flirting with you.

“Mmm, nothing.” You snuggle a little deeper into his bedsheets, playing coy.

“You know, like during sex? Don’t make me tickle you again, because I will stoop that low.”

“I don’t remember saying that…” You mock-pretend to ponder his question, catch your bottom lip between your teeth. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his gaze fall downward. You know you’ve gotten him now.

“Can you refresh my memory?”

“Like… you know.” He shrugs.

“I’m an auditory learner. Do you have an example?”

“Hmm, let me think… I’ll tease you until you’re begging for me to touch you properly? Does that ring a bell for you?”

“No…” You bring your hands to your face to cover up your blush, and because you can’t stand to look at him. Not when he’s talking to you like that, with that look in his eye, his hands on your body. “It doesn’t…” You laugh, even beneath his weight.

He laughs. “I’m just teasing. You’re so cute when I get a rise out of you.”

Oh.

#armywriterssupport #btsgoldnet #yoongi smut #bts smut #yoongi fanfic #yoongi scenarios #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts #bts x reader

84 notes · View notes

secretlynestaarcheron · 4 years ago

Text

Chapter Seventeen + Eighteen

Okay, this is a nice filler chapter with Domestic Nessian because it will make me happy to write :)

The Selection AU

Tagged: @justgiu12 @blxckbeak @justabunchoffandomtrash-blog @swagbookmaster @my-fan-side @heyitsrhysand @lovelynesta @acourtofmarauders @illyrianwitchling13 @sjm-things @superspiritfestival

lmk if you want to be tagged

Chapter Seventeen:

Nesta wiped the sweat off her brow as Feyre and her finished carrying one of the bed frames up the stairs. Feyre leaned over her hands on her knees as she caught her breath. “I haven’t done this much labor since the last move,” Feyre huffs.

“So, never?” Nesta replies as she shakes her head and grabs the bed frame again. “Okay, let’s take this to your room.”

Feyre sighs in content, “My own room, we’re really climbing up in the world, Nes,” she chuckles as she grabs the bed frame and they begin moving again. “Soon we’re going to have to move ourselves into a palace, now that is going to be a sight. Can you imagine me tracking my muddy boots through the palace?”

Nesta rolls her eyes as they drop the bed frame in her spacious room. The house was smaller than the one they had when they were fours but it was almost too big for them now. Nesta didn’t know how they would fill all of the rooms. She had gotten so used to sleeping next to her sisters, she felt like it would be cold and lonely by herself.

“Where do you want this?” Cassian calls pulling her from her thoughts as he walks past the door with Mor. It was their father’s desk, Nesta remembered the late nights she would find him huddle over books and scraps of papers.

Feyre pops up next to her, “Put that in the room across from Elain’s, I think we’re turning that into a library,” she pipes up, Nesta turns to look at her in surprise. “What? It’s about time you have a place to put all of your books. I am tired of finding them littered all over the place.”

“To the library it goes,” Cassian exclaims, giving Nesta a wink. She rolls her eyes in response, she definitely wasn’t at the point of ignoring him anymore but she wasn’t sure where she stood with him. She didn’t even know where to begin when she thought about him, they could both be killed or imprisoned if she ever voiced the thoughts she had of him.

Mor let out a chuckle from the other room and it crashed the little bubble Nesta had placed him in, it was just a reminder that he wasn’t Nestas. Throughout her time here Nesta wanted to hate her for how she joked with feyre, chatted with Elain, and made Cassian laugh so loud it filled the house. Nesta hated how tolerable she was, how Cassian deserved someone that would actually admit they had feelings, who could admit out loud how they felt.

“You okay?” Feyre asks, peering over her shoulder at Nesta as she pushes the bed frame against the wall, right by the window that looks over the forest that borders their house.

Nesta gave her sister a tight smile, she couldn’t let anyone know these thoughts, these were her own to bear. She couldn’t hurt anyone else, not now that everything was finally coming together. “Just thinking about how we will have to head into town to get you some new art supplies, this window gives beautiful light to paint.”

Feyre beams, making Nesta return the smile as her sister talks about everything her sister wants to paint from a portrait of them to the castle gardens to their little shack in caste seven. Despite the pain and misery they felt they would always have each other, they were survivors.

The girls work hard to finish up the bedrooms before nightfall, Nesta moving through the rooms to make sure everything is in the best spot, she needed them to be happy before she could even begin to think about her room. It would be weird to sleep so far apart, they had always slept in the same bed since moving to caste seven.

She peeks through the rooms as she moves down the hall, everyone must have made their way downstairs. She stops at the end of the hallway, where the master bedroom sat, she wanted it to be a guest room or a studio but both Feyre and Elain refused. She opens the door, her mouth dropping when she sees the bedroom set up, Feyre and Elain both curled up on the bed, their heads close together.

Nesta smiles at the scene, making her way over towards the bed and sitting down on the edge. Elain eyes blink open and she smiles at Nesta. “It doesn’t feel real,” she mumbles half asleep. Feyre stirs but doesn’t wake. “Not since you went away, I feel like I am going to wake up and it will all be gone.”

Nesta lays down next to her sister, grabbing her hand and squeezing it. “I know,” Nesta replies, a ghost of a smile on her lips, her world was finally looking up. She looks at her sister's faces in the moonlight peaking through the curtains. They hadn’t been in the home for long but she could see the peace on their features. She realized that she didn’t need to cause any agony by saying anything, all she needed was them.

She listens to them breath while staring up at the ceiling before letting go of Elain’s hand and moving downstairs. The kitchen light is one and she hears someone moving around, peaking in she sees Cassian by himself with a bunch of pans surrounding him.

She leans against the doorway, watching him intently, as he moves around the kitchen without seeing her. He moves to grab something off the stove, swearing under his breath as he grabs the hot plate with his bare hand. “Need any help?” she asks, pushing herself away from the doorway and steps through.

He turns in surprise laughing when he sees her looking at the mess surrounding him. “I was trying to make you guys a welcome chocolate cake, I remember Feyre mentioning to Rhys that it was her favorite,” he replies, running a hand through his hair leaving a trail of brown flour through his hair.

She chuckles lifting a hand to dust it out of his hair before she realizes what she's doing, she smiles sheepishly dropping her hand and turning towards the counter. “Are you following a recipe?” she asks, looking around for a piece of paper.

He takes a minute to answer and she wonders if he was stunned by her actions as well. “Uh, well-, here’s the thing,” he replies, looking around at the mess. “My adopted mom used to make this amazing double chocolate cake growing up, I used to watch her. I thought I could remember.”

She moves to the pantry where a few of her mother’s recipes were placed in a box on the shelf, she moves through them looking for the card she wanted. “Here,” she says, handing it to him. “Probably not as good as a double chocolate cake, but it’ll do the job.”

He smiles in thanks, reading over the card before beginning to gather the ingredients from where they littered all over the place. She can’t help but think about his parents as she gathers some dishes to clean, he had never mentioned them to her, which wasn’t completely odd. They didn’t know each other that well, but she did find it curious how he was adopted. That was rare in the caste systems, most kids were placed as eights and had to fend for themselves.

She was curious, she wanted to ask more but she bit her lip, finishing up the dishes and turning to see him putting the cake batter into the oven. “Round two was a success?” she asks.

He laughs, “It was more like round five, but I’ll let you decide once it's cooked if it was a success.” he replies, looking around the now clean kitchen. “Are you heading to bed?” She doesn’t even respond before he’s moving across the kitchen and rummaging through his bag.

She leans against the counter, watching him look through his bag before pulling out two packages. He turns to her looking down before extending the packages towards her. She takes them from his outstretched hand, eyeing him slightly before ripping the parchment on the first one.

“Their house warming gifts,” he announces as she pulls off the paper and flips it over to see a picture of her at the palace. She was cuddled up in the back corner but all the other girls were out of focus, it was just her in the back looking out at the moonlight with a book on her lap.

“Did you take this?” she asks, peering up at him, his embarrassment answering her question. “I didn’t know you enjoyed photography, you’re really good.” She rubs the glass, that was the second night at the palace, before they even were introduced to the prince. This was before she even had a conversation with Cassian.

“Rhysand asked me to sneak in and see how you all act, a professional photo that you all submitted was one thing but he wanted to see some candid shots,” Cassian replies before looking up at her and running a hand through his hair. “You were the only one not all over me to know anything about the prince.”

She chuckles, smiling down at the photo before looking back up at him. “Is that why I got such a warm welcome from you when we first ran into each other?” she asks.

“I think you actually physically ran into me on our first encounter,” Cassian retorts back to his own normal chipper. “I’ve been taking some of your family throughout the week. I can get them printed if you’d like.”

“I would like,” she replies realizing how oblivious she had been, she hadn’t even seen him holding a camera this whole time let alone snapping photos of her and her sisters. He nods his head towards the other gift and she begins to open it.

It was an old book, the binding was falling apart and the ink was fading, she couldn’t even read the title. “It’s a copy of the original princesses diary,” Cassian says as she looks up at him curiously. “She was the one who instilled the first schools, built and managed the palace library, and traveled the world collecting the books that fill it.”

“Really, I didn’t know any of that,” she replies, flipping through the pages as if she could just absorb the memories.

“History books and magazines mostly pride her on her fashion sense but I thought you’d enjoy her story,” Cassian says, his voice soft. She had never seen him this soft before, so open and relaxed, it was always stern and forced while at the palace.

“Thank you,” she says, looking down at the gifts before looking at him again. “For the gifts and for staying and helping.”

He was right in front of her, the kitchen only lit by a few candles, the smell of cake cooking in the oven. She felt like she was a kid again, back with her mom reading in the kitchen while her mother baked goods for the lower castes. She could see the look on his face too, he was safe, she couldn’t help but feel glad that him being with her made him feel this way.

“Nes?”

She turns abruptly away from Cassian, she is lost in her thoughts again, imaging something between them that did not exist. She turned to see Feyre in the entryway, rubbing sleep from her eyes. “What’s that smell?”

Nesta laughs, “Of course the smell of cake would wake you,”she retorts as the timer goes off and Cassian moves to take it out. Nesta couldn’t help but want to stay like this forever. She was truly and utterly happy.

~*~

“You ready?” Cassian asks, and Nesta notices a new air to his voice, there was something different between since last night when he gave her the gifts and everyone woke up to enjoy the cake. They had sat in the living room way past dawn. Mor fell asleep in the rocking chair and Feyre, who practically scarfed down half the cake, complained of a stomach ache until Elain helped her to bed.

Nesta and Cassian had sat side by side on the small sofa, their shoulders brushing whenever they flipped a page of their respected books, hers the diary and his one of her father’s old business textbooks. Their knees would brush whenever he switched which legs were crossed and she would have to reread the page again wondering if he had felt it too.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” she replies as Cassian takes the bag from her and moves to put it into the car. It didn’t mean much as she turns back to see her sister’s on the porch, she moved to them quickly to embrace them, she wasn’t ready to leave them. “I am going to miss you both.”

Feyre chuckles, as she pulls away from the hug first, straightening her shirt. “Please, once you’re back in the palace library or eating your bodyweight in pastries you’ll forget all about us,” Feyre retorts.

“And the prince wrote to Feyre, he doesn’t know when we can visit but he wants all the families to come after the ball. We will see you soon,” Elain adds. Nesta raises an eyebrow and turns to Feyre who’s cheeks had turned a light pink, she wouldn’t meet her sister's gaze. Better her than me, Nesta couldn’t help but think.

“You could see me sooner if I didn’t go back,” Nesta says, if they agreed she would, she’d turn around and send them off without her. Send an apology letter to the prince and spend the rest of her life here with them.

Feyre shakes her head, “Not possible. I am still rooting for you to win,” Feyre exclaims. “I would look great in a tiara.”

“Who said anything about you wearing a crown?” Nesta asks, crossing her arms and peering down at her sister. She meant to tell them when she was home that there wasn’t a possibility of her winning but with moving she didn’t find a moment alone with them to share, she doubted the prince would allow her to anyways. Feyre might be wearing a crown soon if her red cheeks had anything to do with what was in the letter.

“Obviously being the sister of the Queen would make me a princess,” Feyre replies with an innocent shrug. Elain rolls her eyes at her sister, Feyre had a mind of her own and nothing they say would go against it.

“Speaking of not knowing anything about monarchies-,” Nesta begins earning a grunt from Feyre. “I have a tutor coming once a week, to help boost your studies now that we are three.”

Feyre groans and yells after her as Nesta moves down to the car. “I hope you know I am eighteen now! Do I really need a tutor?”

Cassian props the door open for her and she moves down the sidewalk. “I like them,” he says as he follows her into the car. She smiles out the window where they were waving wildly. “I like them too,” she murmurs.

~*~

“What do you want, Nesta?” Cassian asks, his voice just below a whisper as he turns to face her, she knew he was only that close because Mor was asleep in the seat across from them but she couldn’t help but take every inch of him in. She didn’t know when she would see him with such detail once they stepped foot back into the palace.

She can’t help but roll her eyes when she thinks of the question: What did she want? She wanted a lot of things. She wanted to take a hot bath with lots of bubbles after the trequious journey back to the palace, she wanted the next diary, she wanted a hot meal, and of course, she wanted him. Unfortunately, she couldn't have that last one.

“That’s a very loaded question,” she replies, she wanted to be able to reach out and push the strain of hair that had fallen in front of his eyes that she wanted to stare into for the rest of her life. “I want to house the homeless, I want to end hunger-,”

He chuckles, but to stay quiet it's breathy and she had never heard anything like it before. She wanted to bottle it up and save it for a rainy day when she was back home. Her sisters married and she was alone with her books so she could remember that he was real. “Don’t patronize me, sweetheart,” he replies. She wanted him to call her that, for the rest of their long lives. “What fuels Nesta Archeron, what’s her deepest desire.”

“Do I get to know yours, sweetheart?” she asks, her eyes piercing straight into his dark ones, which had an emotion she couldn’t pinpoint. He gives her a small smile and then nods. “Okay, what I want to do, what I truly want to do-,”

“Stop stalling, darling,” he says. “This plane is going to land any minute.”

She bites her lip before she continues, “I want to teach, I want to take my books to the lower castes and I want to give them a chance.” She doesn’t know why she feels embarrassed to tell him, she hadn’t even said it aloud to anymore before, she didn’t have the means, the books, or the funds before.

He chuckles and she narrows her eyes. “I am not laughing at you, I promise,” he replies, shaking his head an expression of fondness embracing his features as his eyes meet hers again. “You surprise me, Nes. I am glad I met you.”

He’s close to her now, but she knows he’s not going to kiss her this time, but she wants him too.

A sound chimes and the pilot announces that they would be landing soon, Cassian pulls away reaching across the aisle to nudge Mor awake. “Good morning, sleeping beauty,” he says, leaning back in his seat as she smacks his hand away. He turns to Nesta with a mischievous grin, “I am not sure if you know but Mor, Rhy, and I all grew up in the castle together. Rhys and I used to pull the worse pranks on her to wake her up.”

Mor shakes her head from across the aisle, rubbing the sleep out of her eyes and patting down her hair, she still looks effortlessly beautiful despite being asleep in an upright chair. “Traumatizing, I have slept the same, always on edge,” she retorts. They continue to joke, Nesta quickly feeling out of place as the plane lands and the security guard come on to help the exit through the crowds.

She’s quiet as they maneuver through the crowd, saying hello and taking pictures with a few girls, the crowd thickens and she feels a firm hand placed on her back. She turns to see Cassian grinning at her, “Wouldn’t wanna lose you in this crowd,” he says over the cheering. She nods turning back towards their destination.

The car was quiet, all three of them squished in the back, she wondered if the King had sent such a small car because he didn’t want her to come back. Mor sat in the middle, telling tales of them as children, but Nesta hardly listened. When they were alone she was sure that Cassian was hers but in reality neither of them were available from the outside point of view, especially her.

“You’ve been quiet, you feeling alright?” Mor asks as they step out of the car and Cassian moves to help the guards unload the bags.

Nesta smiles in thanks, “Of course, just tired,” she replies, “You share a lot about your childhood, did you not stay local for your later years? Did you travel?”

Mor lets out a breath, “Let's just say the King and my father didn’t approve of who I chose to spend my nights with,” she says with a wink. “They sent me to a school across the sea.” Nesta eyes widened, of course she knew, she had wondered about Elain who barely acknowledged any boy who came her way but she had never heard of someone being sent away.

Mor looks back and sees Nesta’s expression. “I hope I didn’t offend you,” Mor replies but doesn’t seem like she would have actually cared if she did.

“Of course not, I am shocked by how they responded not by you,” Nesta replies with an ease. Mor sends her a smile and Nesta is glad, the last thing she wanted for Mor to not feel comfortable around her. Nesta couldn’t help but celebrate selfishly, so Cassian wasn’t with her.

“You two standing there all day? We have a feast to attend!” Cassian exclaims from where he was hauling a few bags and trunks up the stairs. Mor laughs after him before turning towards Nesta. “Since I was honest with you, I hope you can be honest with me,” she begins and Nesta nods a wave of anxiety pulsing through her. “I’ve known Cassian for years, there’s only been one girl in his life and he was hurt by the end. I saw you two in your kitchen before we all came down and I heard bits and pieces of your conversation on the way here.”

Nesta’s face burned, she didn’t have anything to be embarrassed about, she hadn’t said anything that would get either of them in trouble. “I am not going to say anything, Cassian is a brother to me, I want him to be happy. He seems happy with you but you’re apart of-,”

“The Selection, I know,” Nesta finishes and turns away from Mor. That explains the embarrassment, she didn’t want Mor to think that she was leading him on, but could she trust her enough to tell her what was really happening. “I wouldn’t lead him on if I knew there was no way I could be with him.”

Mor purses her lips but she seems happy enough with Nesta’s answer. “Okay, that settles that then,”

she replies putting an arm through Nesta and leading them towards the stairs. “I think we’re going to be great friends.”

Nesta rolls her eyes and wonders how she ever thought she could hate this girl over a guy.

She moves down the hall towards her room, wanting to fall into the soft bed and never wake up. “Hey!” she turns to see Cassian jogging down the hall towards her. “Where are you headed? The feast is that way.” He points behind him.

“But my soft bed and warm bath is that way,” replies pointing towards her door.

He catches up to her and they fall into a nice silence. “So,�� she pipes up as they step in front of her door. She thinks about that night he walked her back from the library and awkwardl it had been, that was only a week prior, time was moving so quick.

“So?” he questions stepping in front of her like he did that night.

She crosses her arms, “You never told me your deepest darkness fuel-worthy desire,” she retorts. “I told you mine, so you get to tell me yours.”

He smiles down at her mischievously, “I guess it’s only fair,” he returns, glancing up and down the hallway to make sure no one was nearby. “You can’t laugh and you can’t tell another soul.”

“Laugh? Like you did to mine?” she retorts with an eye roll but nods nevertheless. “I promise.”

He steps forward, his face dropping low so his mouth is right by her ear, she wanted to pull away but she couldn’t. “My fuel worthy desire-,” he says, pausing, making her heartbeat with anticipation. She was ready to shove him if he said anything stupid but the word that falls from his lips stuns her. “You.”

Her breath catches, as he pulls away enough to look her in the eyes, she blinks up at him. “Did I scare you?” he asks, worry laced through his tone. He moves to pull farther away but her hand reaches up to catch his coat. She shakes her head, swallowing the lump in her throat, as she pulls him closer towards her. He doesn’t take long to meet her halfway, neither of them caring in that moment who sees them.

“You just keep surprising me, Nes,” he murmurs, pulling away slightly, pressing his forehead into hers.

“Good surprises I hope,” she replies, fighting the urge to pull away, she had never been this vulnerable in front of anyone before. He chuckles, shaking his head, as he reassures, “The best.”

Chapter Eighteen:

Cassian sprung awake to the sound of pounding on his door, he groaned, pulling away the covers and slipping on a shirt as he moved towards the door. It was probably Amren, welcoming him home with a pile of work. He opens the door reading to start the morning off with a quick wit comment but it falls short from his lips when he sees the King standing there.

The King takes in Cassian’s appearance practically pulling him apart with his eyes. “You weren’t at the feast last night,” the King replies, stepping through the door and looking around Cassian’s room, before turning to face him once more. “You missed the announcement of guests staying with us before the ball, I would think the Captain of the Guard would want that information.”

“I was catching up on the work I missed while away, my apologies,” Cassian begins, looking around to make sure there was nothing incriminating, even if there wasn’t the King would find some way to scold him about anything. “My second in command, Amren, was there. I trust her to have the list ready for me to go over.”

The King hums but doesn’t move. He was here for another purpose. Cassian wishes he would just outright say it without making Cassian guess. “I can go speak to her first if you would like,” Cassian retorts, hoping that would satisfy the King enough that he would leave.

“Are you sure there isn’t another stop you would like to make?” The King asks his eyes narrowing to watch Cassian’s expression which lucky for Cassian was simply pure confusion. He racked his brain for anything that happened before he left, he hadn’t made the list yet, perhaps the King was waiting for the names.

“I am not sure-,” but before Cassian can finish the sentence the King extends a magazine towards him. He grabs it looking at the cover. It was when they were arriving home, Cassian stood behind Nesta while Mor was taking a picture with a young girl. Cassian’s eyes narrow. “What am I supposed to take from this?”

The King lets out a breath of frustration, pointing to where Cassian’s hand was placed firmly on Nesta’s lower back. That’s when the headline caught his eye, “The Selection Affair?”

Cassian can’t help but worry, had anyone seen them last night? He had been foolish to kiss her out in the open where anyone could report back to the King. “There was poor security at the airport, I didn’t want to lose her,” Cassian replies with a shrug that he hopes didn’t come across too relaxed. “Rhysand is one of my best friends, even you can see that, I wouldn’t ruin this experience for him. If you don’t believe me, even you know I value living more than I do a girl.”

The King chuckles and it irks Cassian. “I don’t believe you, but I have no proof not too. Just know, if you do find yourself in a relationship with one of the selected, you won’t be dying,” The King replies and as he steps out the door, he turns back towards Cassian and with a crooked smile says, “You’re a prisoner to me, Cassian, and I found that killing your girlfriends fuels you. Don’t test me.”

Without another word the King strolled down the hall as if not just dropping a bomb onto Cassian. He knew the coincidence for beginning a relationship with a selected member, but when he was near her, all he could think about was her. He always thought subconsciously that Rhysand would protect him but not even Rhysand could help him when he didn’t even know the extent the King had on Cassian’s life.

He shut the door, turning back towards the dark room, he wouldn’t be able to go near her ever again. He slammed his fist against the wall next to him, blood dripping down his knuckles as he did it again. He couldn’t even tell her why he had to stop.

It would be easy enough, he told himself as he made his way to his office where he would have to do the work he left behind. He would be so busy with the ball that he would make every excuse in the book not to be near the selected. He let his mind trail to after the ball when the girls who start dropping in numbers to the point where he would have to talk to her or if she was picked, if she became Queen he-

He stopped his escalating thoughts, he knew she wasn’t the type of girl that would play them both. She wouldn’t have kissed him if she still wanted Rhysand. He couldn’t let himself think of her like that even if it would pull him away from the thoughts of her. How she felt in his arms, how she tasted, how-

“Welcome back, did you have a nice vacation?” He turns to see Amren moving down the hallway with a stack of folders. “New recruits, you still know how to do your job, right? Didn’t lose your touch on your week and a half vacation?”

He rolls his eyes as she drops the stack in his hands. “It was a blast, I even got a tan line from sunning myself,” he retorts, unlocking his office and shoving the door open.

“I hope you are nice and recovered, because I did absolutely nothing while you were gone. Have fun with your massive workload,” she taunts.

He chuckles as he drops the files on the desk. “Don’t be jealous, Amren. One day you’ll feel joy again, I believe it,” he responds, his eye catching on a note that was tucked under his door, it was caught under a cabinet.

“I prefer to do my job then run off with a selected,” Amren responds leaning against the door frame and reaching into her pocket to pull out a parchment. “I also have the list of the prestigious guests that will be staying at the palace leading up to the prince’s birthday ball. I have a star next to the ones already here.”

Cassian moves around his desk and grabs the list groaning at the first name. “Did you really think he wouldn’t be here? He’s the prince's cousin,” Amren pipes up knowing exactly what name he was groaning about.

Cassian shakes his head, scanning the rest of the names, before looking back at Amren. “I was hoping that he would at least go home, why does he need to stay at the palace the whole time?” he asks. Amren purses her lips as if hiding something. “What do you know?”

“It’s all gossip, I wouldn’t think too much into it, especially when it comes to Tamlin but apparently some guards saw him with one of the selected while you were gone,” Amren responds with a shrug. “They were seen embracing last night, I am not sure who the girl is, but it’s Tamlin so who knows if there’s any honesty, however-,”

“Tamlin would also do something like this and not care about the repercussions, the King can’t kill his nephew,” Cassian finishes for her. He hated Tamlin for putting Rhysand in such an uncomfortable position, but wasn’t he doing the same last night? Embracing one of the selected? It didn’t matter, he would never be able to talk with Nesta again. “Do we know who the girl was?”

Amren shrugs half-heartedly, “No proof, we know it’s not Nesta, and they were seen in the south wing so that most likely scratches every girl that’s in the north wing,” Amren retorts and before Cassian can even ask her to make him a list of the girls and their rooms she pulls out another piece of parchment. “Honestly, I should have your job.”

“Trust me, Ams,” Cassian says looking over the list, “You do not want me as your second in command but I will see about getting you a raise.”

Amren rolls her eyes, both of them knowing that the King would never think of giving her a raise or even prompting her, he barely wanted her in the spot she was in. “How about fixing the hot water instead, I am tired of taking cold showers,” Amren replies.

“Consider it done,” Cassian says, giving her a smile as she moves down the hall lifting a hand in goodbye. Cassian pulls the door shut, grabbing the envelope, and ripping open the seal. Someone must have slipped it under the door before he left in a hurry to be with Nesta and her family.

Whoever wrote it was in a hurry as he took in the rushed writing, the ink smeared together blurring some of the words. “I know you're looking for the spy, your suspicions are correct, we do have a mole hidden in the selection. I’ll let you figure that one out, Cas. I will let you know that we have something big prepared to celebrate the prince’s birthday. ~T”

Cassian wants to crush the paper in his fist but he needed it as proof for when he ruined Tomas Mandray’s life. Threatening Cassian like this, purposefully taunting him, this was all a game to him. What did a well established man have to do with a rebellion besides being bored?

“Captain,” a small voice says from the doorway, a young maid barely sixteen stood staring up at him with frightened eyes. “The King wanted me to give you a message.”

Cassian slips the piece of paper under a stack of books, not ready to show anyone else the contents especially a young maid scared of the King. “Very well, let’s see it,” Cassian says, trying to soften as best he can not to scare her anymore.

“He wants me to tell you that he wants extra guards during the week, while everyone gets ready for the ball, especially on the selection,” the maid squeaks out barely looking at him.

Cassian’s eyebrows furrow, of course Cassian would set up extra guards so the King had sent her for another reason. “He wants the ladies to be extra protected, particularly, Nesta Archeron,” the maid responds flinching at the name. Cassian wonders what the King had told her about Cassian, why she was so scared. “He has requested you be Nesta’s guard, he sees potential in her and wants his best guard to protect her.”

He swallows the anger, “Very well, if the King comes to you again let him know that I received his message and will implement it by tonight,” he says, falling back into his chair, the girl stayed there staring at the ground.

“He wanted me to make sure you had everything you needed,” the girl responds. “Is there anything I can get you?”

Cassian rolls his eyes at the twisted gesture in this cruel game. He noticed how she looked like Nesta with the dirty blonde hair and light eyes and wondered if the King had chosen her because of those reasons based on her fear and the King’s reputation he had his conclusion. “No, thank you,” Cassian replies seeing the relief flood through her. “Thank you for giving me the message, you are free to go.”

She hurries down the hall without another word.

~*~

The guests that had already arrived as well as the selected girls were at dinner. Nesta had smiled at him as soon as he walked in but he turned away from her, his eyes hard and unfazed as he turned to say something to Rhysand.

He didn’t miss how her shoulders fell.

He stood behind her through dinner, catching the King’s gaze many times, who was more entertained by the scenario that he had put Cassian in than the Prince of Spain's conversation. He didn’t look at her too long, only keeping her in the corner of his eye, enough to make sure she was ok without letting himself get lost in the thoughts of his hand in her hair or fading into her eyes.

Those eyes that the gentleman sitting next to her complimented often.

Cassian’s teeth clench as he heard the drunken words slip from the gentleman’s mouth, his feet urging him to step forward as he saw Nesta move her seat farther away from him and his wavering hands but as soon as he was going to risk it he glanced up at the King once more, seeing his lips curl up in a cruel smile at Nesta and the handsy ambassador.

Fury filled him as he realized that the King was setting him up. He was waiting for any physical proof to send Nesta to her death.

The dinner moved slowly as Cassian fought every muscle in his body as he watched ambassador Handsey talking loudly to Nesta about her appearance, he was glad when Rita came over to chat with Nesta pulling her away from him. He watched the ambassador give up on intruding in their conversation and move on to another group, Cassian doesn’t miss the disappointment on the King’s face.

The crowd begins to disperse as soon as the Queen takes her exit, Cassian wavering as Nesta continues chatting with Rita and laughing. Even the King takes his leave, his eyes burning into Cassian’s before he disappears into the hall. Nesta says her goodbye, before turning and leaving, Cassian follows behind her not wanting Nesta to know that he was assigned to her.

It would be easier on the both of them if they didn’t have to talk. Nesta circles back, moving away from her room and towards the south wing. Cassian brow furrows as he watches Nesta move down the hall, looking over her shoulder to make sure no one is following her. If she was the mole they gave her no training whatsoever.

She stops short, moving into the shadows, but Cassian can see her clearly looking down the hall. He wonders what made her hide but Tamlin and Rita appear down the hall moving towards her door. They’re whispering to one another but it doesn’t look like a lovers quarrel. Rita seems angry and Tamlin, as always, is taking it like a joke.

“I am not giving you anymore information, your going against the plans, this isn’t the Tamlin show. You can’t use us to get back at your cousin or his friends,” Rita snarls before opening the door and slamming it shut behind her.

Tamlin lets out a string of curse words, moving to knock on the door but deciding against it and moving to the hall out of sight. Once the hallway is clear, Nesta moves from her hiding spot, back down the hall towards where Cassian was.

She would see him whether he wanted her too or not, so he stepped out into the light, causing her to jump back in surprise. “Cassian? What are you doing here?” her tone was not as welcoming as he wanted it to be. Realization hit her and she crossed her arms, “Did you follow me here?”

“Yes, but only because it was King’s orders. I am assigned to guard you,” Cassian explains, deciding not to go into anything else the King commanded him to do. He couldn’t believe that Tamlin was the T in the letter, it had to be him. “Why did you follow Rita?”

Nesta rolls her eyes, “I don’t need to tell you anything,” and her voice is hostile, he knew she was building a wall between them and it hurt, but he knew in the long run it would protect her better than he could. “Rita was weird tonight, I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

Cassian felt guilty for thinking she was the mole, he wasn’t even following her that well and she barely noticed. All she cared about was making sure her friend was okay. “Are you walking me back?” Nesta asks, he couldn’t quite grasp the tone. He stays silent. “I don’t know why you’re acting weird but after overhearing that conversation I don’t really want to walk back alone, you can even do you ten steps behind me.”

He couldn’t say no. Nesta wasn’t the kind of girl to ask such questions so he gives her a curt nod watching as she moves down the hallway before walking behind her.

#dont worry them being happy wont last forever #nessian #acotar #cassian #nesta archeron #nessian fanfiction #acotar fanfiction #sjmaas #rhysand #feyre archeron #the selection au

50 notes · View notes

angelinwhy · 5 years ago

Text

The Sobbing Power Ranger

Description: Harry and Y/N are best friends, but she’s in love with him and has been for a while now. At a Halloween party, everything comes out when someone spills her secret, but Harry doesn’t take it too well.

Warnings: angst and alcohol!

Halloween was Y/N’s favourite time of year - spooky movies, parties where she could get smashed, and all of the sweets she could eat.

Every year she celebrated it, with her best friend Harry. The year before they had stayed in a decided to watch a bunch of scary movies, and he ended up hiding in her shoulder when watching most of them because they scared him that much. In the end, he had got that scared that she had to share the bed with him, which she wouldn’t of minded that much if she wasn’t in love with him. Of course, Harry didn’t know because he only saw them as best friends and nothing more, so Y/N knew that he wouldn’t take it well if he found out about it. But that didn’t stop her from having the best times with Harry - and this year round, the two of them were attending a Halloween party together at her best friends house.

They had been planning their outfits for a while - she was going to go as a Power Ranger (due to her love for them when she was a child) and Harry was going as a Storm Trooper from Star Wars.

Now, the two of them were in Harry’s sleek Range Rover, driving to the party that had started well over an hour ago, as they didn’t really want to be the first people to arrive there. Y/N sat in the passenger seat, clad in a blue Power Rangers suit that hugged her body, and Harry was in the drivers seat, wearing his Storm Trooper outfit that was a little bit too small for him. She had both of their helmets in her lap, as Harry couldn’t hold his own while driving. Normally the pair weren’t deadly silent like this, the only sound in the car being ‘How Do You Sleep?’ by Sam Smith. Harry ran a hand through his hair, taking a turning down the street and they got closer to Steph’s, Y/N’s best friends, house. It wasn’t far from Y/N’s home.

“You’re being oddly quiet tonight,” Harry points out as he quickly glances at his best friend. “Halloween is your favourite time of year, and you love parties. So, tell me what’s up.”

Y/N smiles slightly, shaking her head. “Just because I am quiet doesn’t mean something’s wrong with me.”

Oh God, she was such a terrible liar. Something was wrong with her, and that being the fact that she knew Harry would end up picking up a girl tonight. It was common for him to do so at parties, as he was known as a huge flirt and someone who did sleep around. The only upside was her and Harry didn’t live together, so she wouldn’t have to listen to the horrific sounds. Because she was so in love with Harry, it hurt her to see him with other girls, but she knew it was something that was completely out of her hands and that she couldn’t stop it. It wasn’t like she could one day just barge in while he’s having sex with a random girl and say ‘hey, dickhead. I’m madly in love with you so please stop picking up random women.’

“Liar,” he muses as he pushes her leg slightly.

She pokes him in the stomach, but the light impact being stopped by the hard parts of his costume. “Haz, I promise you right now that I’m fine,” she lies straight through her teeth, using the best tone she could muster to make Harry believe her, and he did. “Steph texted me and said that there’s a photo booth literally right as you walk into the room, so we should get some cute photos together so I can put them in my scrap book.” She tells him, and he wets his lips before smiling and nodding at her offer.

“Sounds great, bab.”

Once they had arrived, the car is parked and they put their helmets on. “We are 100% going to be the best dressed people here,” Y/N speaks up as they walk up the stairs to her house. It was a lovely house in London, and Y/N loved spending most of her time there with Steph. Harry scoffs at her, saying that he’s going to be the best dressed person at the party, and in response, Y/N elbows him lightly.

Upon opening the door, the red lights flashed right in Y/N’s face and the sound of ‘Thriller’ filled the air. It wouldn’t be a Halloween party unless they had the spooky tunes to match it. Y/N steps inside the house, recognising a bunch of people instantly, and Harry follows in behind her. Although he didn’t know most of these people, he wasn’t nervous - Harry was a very outgoing and confident person and it always worked in his favour, Y/N could only match his level a certain times. She spots the photo booth and before anyone can even get a word in to the two best friends, Y/N is grabbing Harry by the hand as she pratically drags him towards it. He laughs softly, moving the curtains out of the way so the two of them can step into it.

“What pose first?” Harry asks.

Y/N hums. “Let’s recreat the last one and stick our middle fingers up,” she tells him and he laughs.

3… 2… the two of them stick their middle fingers up, holding them in different positions to get them in frame. 1… the picture is taken and they only have ten seconds to prepare for the next one.

Harry is quick to sling his arm around Y/N’s shoulder and she folds her arms over her chest.

3… 2… 1… the flash happened again.

“Quick, take your helmet off!” Harry says, and Y/N does what he says, holding it by her side for the last photo.

He also takes his off, and to Y/N’s surprise, he grabs her face and presses his lips against her cheek. She wasn’t faking a smile for the photo, as a huge one drew itself onto her face the second his soft lips had made contact with her warm skin. He held it there for a second. 3… 2… 1… and that was the last photo done. (And Y/N’s favourite one, obviously). He pulls away from her and lets go of her face and smiles down at her as they wait for the photos to print out.

Once they had, the two strips came out and Y/N and Harry took one each.

She gushes when she looks at them. “I love them!”

“These are our best ones yet I think,” he tells her as puts them in his clear phone case, not having anywhere else to put them. Her heart warms a little at the gesture, and she does the same as she doesn’t have anywhere to keep them for the meantime either. He kisses her on top of the head, then puts his helmet back on, and she does the same. “Come on, let’s go and find Steph and get a drink.”

The best friends head out of the photo booth and back into the party, the bubble they were just in popping. Y/N walked through the house, going past people who were sitting on the couch talking, but the most of the guests were up dancing with drinks in their hands. They made it into the kitchen, and that’s when Y/N saw Steph pouring out a drink. She takes a sip, and notices Harry and Y/N. “Hey guys!” She talks loudly as she moves the drink away from her lips, going over. She hugs Y/N first, giving her a tight squeeze as they make the happy squealing sound that most girls do when they hug each other. Harry then gets his hug. She was clearly drunk, and Y/N could tell from the way Steph stumbled slightly when she walked. She pulls back and smiles at them both.

“You guys look awesome!” She yells excitedly, and the pair take their helmets off.

Y/N smiles, “thanks babe. I see you’ve gone for the slutty devil, again!” She jokes, messing about with her friend as she references her right red dress and the devil ears hidden in her black hair. Steph scoffs as she shoves her best friend lightly. “What do you guys want to drink?” She then asks.

“I’ll have whatever you’re offering, love,” Harry says from behind Y/N, and Steph nods her head before eyeing Y/N slightly, and her brows furrow. She starts to make the drinks, and Y/N leans back into Harry’s chest as she watches her best friend. “Oh my God! I forgot to tell you… Haydn is here!” Steph tells Y/N and Harry, and Y/N eyes almost fall out of her bloody head. Haydn just happened to be her ex - the ex that she left not that long ago because she started to fall in love with Harry, and she felt that it wasn’t fair to stay with him if she knew she loved another. She had seen him around, but not properly since the breakup so she was nervous to see him. Especially now that Harry was with her, and that Haydn knows why Y/N broke up with him. She sucks in a breath.

“Well,” she starts off as she takes the drink off Steph, “as long as I don’t see him, I’ll be perfectly fine.”

Both Harry and Steph are slightly stunned as Y/N gulps down her drink without any problems. “You sure you’re alright, Y/NN?” Harry asks again, and she nods her head before looking at Steph. “Is it alright if I go off with Steph for a few minutes just to talk to her?” She asks shyly, and Harry nods.

“I’ll be waiting in the living room for you if you need anything, yeah?” He tells her, before heading off and going to where the party actually was. The second she turns around and faces her best friend, Steph knew that something was up with Y/N, she could just tell by her eyes - clouded with confusion and a little bit of sadness. Steph sighs before taking her best friends hand and leading her out of the kitchen, until they made their way to the stairs, where the two of them sat down.

Y/N squishes in next to Steph, placing her helmet on her lap and leaning her chin on it as she sighs. Steph just looks at her with sad eyes as she sips her strong drink, that was making her feel more drunk by the minute. “Why did Haydn have to come?” She groans as her head falls forward. “He knows why I left him and he knows how I feel about Harry. I just don’t want him to want anything, because I know what Harry will say if he finds out. And I’m not ready for all of that Steph,” she whines in annoyance as it all just comes out at once. Steph puts her hand on the small of Y/N’s back and rubs it gentle, trying to soothe her. They had got here not long ago and Y/N was already feeling like shit, but she couldn’t show that in front of Harry. She didn’t want to worry him on a good night.

“Haydn can keep his mouth shut, I swear. I won’t let him anywhere near Harry, or you - and if he does I will literally kick him in the face,” Steph rants, her London accent thick and present in her slurred voice.

Y/N groans rather loudly. “Christ! Why do I have to be in love with my best friend?!”

“You can’t help who you fall for,” Steph tells her.

She was right. The last thing Y/N expected was to fall for the one person who had been there for her in the darkest of times. Her best friend. For the first few days when she realised that she was in love with him, she had to work out how to act natural around him, as she didn’t want him being sus or managing to work it out. Because let’s face it, he could see right through Y/N and could read her like a book.

The two girls got up off the stairs and headed back into the party, because after all she had a load of people to speak to. People who she hadn’t seen in ages due to her spending most of her time with Harry and no one else. When they were in the living room, Y/N laughs almost straight away when she spots him dancing alone in his Storm Trooper outfit. He looked a fool but Y/N thought that it was cute. She handed Steph her cup, who had sat down with two girls they both knew from secondary school, and made her way over to Harry. “Looking a little lonely over here, d’ya mind if I join you?” She asks Harry like she doesn’t know who he is. He laughs slightly and nods.

“Why of course.”

He grabs her hand and immediately the two of them start dancing.

It was all of the little things like this with Harry, that made her fall for him.

Sometimes, she couldn’t put her finger on the reason why she start to fall in love with him. There was many things he did that gave her goosebumps, and many of them could be the reason. But when she thinks hard enough, she can remember and it all comes back to her. One night, she was completely done with everything. Given she didn’t have the easiest life or the best job, things were stressful and at that point she had fallen out with Steph, so she only had the twat who she loved calling her best friend. Y/N had gone to his house that night, crying and shaking and not knowing where to turn, and like any other day, he welcomed her with open arms. Worried, he was though. He had never really seen Y/N in a state like that, and it had upset him to see her that way.

He had held her through the night, kissing her head and reassuring her that things would be better while she just cried in his arms. Harry had gave her all of these pet names, and cuddled her and from what she can remember, they’re the things that made her start to love him in the way that she does.

But, it was the other things also. Like the two of them falling asleep together in the same bed, slow dancing in his bedroom, cuddling on the couch while watching movies. They acted like a couple, but that just showed how close they were. But then again, Harry was a huge softie and quite possibly the kindest person to ever walk the face of the earth, so it was natural for him to act like that around her. But, to her, and due to her feelings, stuff like that felt so different know. It really did feel like they were a couple when they did stuff like that, but Y/N always had to remind herself that they weren’t. Otherwise, she would end up doing something that she’d regret.

“What drink have you got?” He asks Y/N, referencing the drink she had picked up on the way to the living room.

She didn’t actually know what it was. “To be honest with you, I’m not really sure,” she tells him and Harry chuckles. He takes it from her and has a sip, and cringes almost immediately. Y/N tries to ask him what it is, but instead her makes her take a sip from the cup to find out herself. When the drink touches her tongue, she gags and Harry laughs loudly over the music. “It’s fucking jäger!” She curses as turns to look at Steph, who was laughing herself. “You are such a bitch!” She tells over the music, which only makes Harry and Steph laugh louder over the music.

As she turns back to Harry, he looks down at her. Though, she couldn’t see his eyes because of that bloody helmet. “If you weren’t wearing that helmet, I would smack you upside the head, you prick. You know I hate jäger!” She tells him and he pulls her in for a huge, squeezing her tightly.

“Aw come on bab, lighten up! You know you love me!”

If only you knew how much I did love you, Y/N then thought to herself.

“You know what happened the last time I drank it!”

Harry smirks from under his mask. “Oh yeah, let me recall!” She tries to shush him but it was the bloody helmet restricting her from doing so. Styles, you are so fucking lucky you have that stupid Storm Trooper helmet on, she mutters in her head. “I found you in the club toilets, your dress all bunched up around you, hair messily tied into a bun as you leant over one of the toilets, being sick loads. I remember you crying when I found you, and complaining that your home was in Iceland with all of the penguins. I swear, I have never seen you so drunk before, and it was a night I will never forget!” He laughs rather loudly as he thinks back to that one hilarious night.

“See,” she mutters as she swats his arm. “This is the thing with being best friends with someone for ages, they know everything about you and they know all of your secrets, there isn’t anywhere to hide!” She exclaims and she flails her arms about. She wasn’t that much of a lightweight, but that drink she had downed in the kitchen was hitting her quite quickly.

He laughs once more, before hugging her again and apologising through his laughs.

“I need a wee,” Y/N then announces.

Harry lets go of her so she can go upstairs, but not before telling her to be careful. She nods her head before walking away from him, pushing past the drunken witches and pirates as she makes her way out of the living room.

Once she’s out, she takes off her helmet and the biggest smile makes it way onto her face, and she runs a hand through her hair. She wasn’t one to get all shy around Harry despite everything going on with her and her feelings, but she loved it when they messed about with each other, it was quite possibly one of her favourite things. Harry was lucky she kept quiet about his most embarrassing stories whilst being drunk. Her smile grows wider and goofier as she heads up the stairs, pushing past two girls as they were making out, not before mumbling ‘sorry’ as he stepped on one of their hands. When she was at the top, she made her way to the toilet, but cursed when she saw that the door was closed. “Just great.”

While she waits, she checks her helmet and her costume to make sure it’s all in tact, which is was.

The door finally opens and she gasps in happiness, but that quickly disperses from her body when she sees that it’s Haydn walking out of the toilets. Y/N felt her heart sink when he realised it was her.

“Oh, Y/N,” he speaks slowly. “What brings you here?”

She scoffs. “It’s my best friends Halloween party, of course I’m going to be here you dipshit.”

He tuts, shaking his head as he let another person slide past him and go into the large bathroom, which made Y/N gasp in annoyance. She tries to shove past him but he blocks her completely. “Now now, don’t be like that with me, Y/NN. I thought we had something good going on,” he taunts, and Y/N gives him the evils. He wasn’t like this when they were with each other, he was sweet, and kinda, and not a total prick who would do anything to see her be upset.

“Used, used to have ‘something good’” she informs him, and mocks him with air quotes.

That’s when he leans against the wall and smirks. “I remember now. You left me before you hopelessly fell for your best friend when we were dating. I wonder how he would feel about that, you know? He’s told me before that he only sees you as a best friend and nothing more. So tell me, Y/N, what do you reckon he would say if he just happened to find out that you were in love with him?” He teases her in a horrible way, making her blood boil, but also making a pit of nerves settle in her stomach. She didn’t even want to think about how Harry would react if he found about how she felt about him. She wouldn’t be able to live with herself, because she knows that he’d be livid.

“You wouldn’t dare,” she almost threatens. “You’ve turned into a right prick since we’ve broken up.”

“Oh! And why would that be, hm?” He then says, and that’s when all of the colour drains from her face. “I remember now. It’s because you fell in love with him when we were dating! Like what kind of a person does that to the person that they’re supposed to be in love with?! I’ll tell you who. A shitty person, that’s who. You’re a shitty person for doing that to me!”

Just before she could open her mouth and retort, she hears Steph’s voice from behind her, speaking over the music and asking her what’s wrong. When she turns around, Y/N also notices Harry standing with her, looking slightly worried at the fact that she is arguing with her ex. He comes down the hall and steps in front of Y/N, basically towering over Haydn. “Why the fuck are you yelling at Y/N? She’s done nothing wrong to you!”

“Oh, she didn’t tell you about the terrible thing she did to me, did she Harry?”

“Haydn-” she tries to cut in.

But unfortunately, it was too late.

“Y/N’s in love with you Harry, and she had been since me and her dated. Her being in love with you is the reason that she broke up with me, thinking that she could be with you, but clearly that hasn’t worked,” he explains before moving past Harry, who doesn’t even flinch when Haydn bumps his shoulder. “Well done mate, you’ve found yourself a keeper! But just don’t date her, you never know who she’ll fall in love with next if you do.” He pats Harry’s back, before leaving.

Y/N then felt her whole world crumble around her. The tears were effortlessly falling down her cheeks, her non-waterproof mascara running with the sad drops. (She hadn’t bothered with the waterproof one because the last thing she thought she’d be doing was crying). Harry turns to her and his heart drops when she sees the expression on his face. He looked disappointed, and almost mortified. Steph stood behind the pair, not ready to watch this all unfold. It was truly horrible to see. “He’s telling the truth, isn’t he?” Harry asks, his voice completely monotone.

Through the first sob, Y/N nods her head.

“Are you being serious, Y/N?! I thought you said that our relationship was going to stay platonic,” he almost yells, making Y/N flinch. A few people who were in the bedrooms had came out to see what all of the commotion was. “Is that why every time I told you I had took a girl home or spent the day with one, you had a face like fucking thunder on?” He asks yet again, and all she could do was shamefully nod. This was her worst fear. Harry scoffs. “I can’t believe you, you’ve been in love with me for months now and you haven’t once bothered to tell me?! Do you know how uncomfortable that makes me knowing that we did all of the shit that couples do, like sleep in the same bed and give each other affection and that, and even though I thought it was platonic, you’re in love with me?” She just nods again. Harry shakes his head.

Steph steps in. “Oi, give it a fucking rest. She can’t help the fact that she’s fallen for you!”

As she was yelling at Harry, Y/N was already walking away.

The tears streamed down her face as she heads down the stairs, legs feeling like jelly as she hears him yell back, “well I wish she fucking hadn’t of fallen in love with me!” Y/N felt sick to her stomach. When she reached the bottom, some of her friends saw her crying and tried to reach out to help her, but she just sobs and shakes her head at them. The helmet slips from her grasp, which causes a few more heads to then in her direction.

Once she pushed her away out of the front door, the cold wind nipped at her face and her body, the suit not being the most durable for the cold weather. Her sobs were pratically inconsolable now as she walked down the street turning and seeing a group of girls dressing in their Halloween gear. Or just dresses and a headband to match. They spotted her and laughed, and that’s when the realised how stupid she must look at that moment. A sobbing Power Ranger, walking alone down the street as the tears drippped down her face. When she had passed them, she had lost all control of what was happening. She just felt like falling to the floor and not getting back up. She couldn’t imagine how crazy she looked either - her mascara had clearly ran, and because of how strong the wind was, it was making her hair really messy.

She wiped her nose as she wept pathetically, and she felt a complete fool.

But after all: was it so wrong to be in love with him?

#I USED TO LOVE POWER RANGERS #PART TWO?#harry edward styles #harry styles imagine #harry styles writing #harry styles x y/n #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles one shot #harry styles blurb #harry styles

334 notes · View notes

hadestownmodern · 5 years ago

Text

Thrift Shop Birthday

It’s Reeve Carney’s birthday so this came out of me today instead of my actual adult work, whoops -Danielle ------ On the first birthday Eurydice spends with Orpheus, she wakes up with a nervous energy. She hasn’t known him long, but feels the strange complexity of their relationship called for some kind of celebration on her end. It isn’t simple; what do you get the person who’d confessed his love to you the night you’d met-who’d convinced you to stay?

She’d settled on an idea-one little inkling. He’d mentioned a jacket she wears-oversized, warm, comforting. She’d told him she’d thrifted it and he’d nearly jumped with excitement, asking question after question about her favorite places to go and what it’d been like. This man, with his completely eclectic style, had only been once or twice. Eurydice vowed to change that.

They’d started out their morning at a smaller shop settled awkwardly between a bank and a chiropractor with walls of little trinkets, coffee cups and vases and statuettes with seemingly no purpose at all. He’d taken his time, looking through each of them with quizzical interest.

“Who do you think was the last person that had this?” He’d asked her, holding up a figurine of a porcelain duck wearing a sailor’s hat. Eurydice laughs, taking the figure from his hand to examine it further. It’s sturdily made, with some sort of etching on the bottom to claim its ownership-Dottie written in expansive cursive.

“This woman definitely collected these; had a big shelf of them,”

“Oh!” He lights up at the notion, “She spent hours looking for them. ”

“She was very rich-she definitely paid someone to make them because she couldn’t find any more.”

“And her family used to try and make them, too, but those didn’t end up like this one-those were Play-Doh, but the good thing about her is that those were her favorite. I think she has this whole collection of Play-Doh ducks somewhere because she wouldn’t give them away.”

She hands the duck back to him and he turns it over, tracing the etching on the bottom with a warm smile before putting it back on the shelf. They continue this game, a back-and-forth storytelling of ordinary people living their ordinary lives. Somehow, still, the stories are laced with a fantastical mystery, a beautiful what if that lies within the effortless pace of his narration.

Eurydice stops them to buy two pretzels, to slow their pace as they walk from block to block. The weather’s turned quickly into its first signs of winter; grey sky, bitter air, crowds thinning in a way that only a city native’s eye can take notice of. She laughs to herself as he dangles his hand in the space between them, fingers flexing and retracting, nervously brushing against hers.

“You can hold my hand, Orpheus.” He fits her hand in his and she can feel the hesitation, as if he’s afraid she’s going to change her mind. She does-taking her hand away for only a moment. She loops her arm around his instead, presses against his side.

They walk for a while, filling the space between them with snippets of conversation. Orpheus and Eurydice lingered on the line of polite, we just started dating conversation and talking like they’d known each other for years, volleying between stories of movies they’d seen and how they felt about the world as a whole, then back to which colors were the most aesthetically pleasing. The pauses within are filled with Eurydice against his side, pointing out places with rude storeowners or cats on their windowsills. Then, she stops at a narrow door, brings him up a flight of old wooden stairs to an ornate looking door with a bell that rings when she opens it.

The room is a sprawling mass of clothing racks, of hats and scarves hung on the walls. She turns to him, hands him a simply made greeting card with twenty dollars stuck inside. Orpheus attempts to give it back, shaking his head. She pulls an identical bill from her own pocket and shoves his back toward him.

“This is all part of the birthday, Orpheus. This is the best thrift store you’ll find, my favorite place in the whole city. You’re lucky, I don’t usually want people to know about this place. But you seem like you’ll keep my secret.” She holds his hand, squeezes it once before stepping back from him.

“Buy me an outfit, and I’ll buy one for you. It can be anything you want, but it has to stay within the twenty dollar limit.”

“Okay,” He’d laughed at her chaotic spirit, pocketing the $20 bill.

“Orpheus? The only catch is that when we’re done, we have to wear these out to dinner later. Choose wisely.”

He nods, taking his job very seriously as they part ways at the entrance. Moving through the women’s section he can barely find anything, peeking over the racks to search for the top of her head bopping along, wandering between aisles with a calculated grin. He wonders what her angle is as he holds a few choices out in his hands. This section doesn’t seem to suit her, with its prom dresses and old work blouses. He breezes into the men’s section, hoping to find a hint of inspiration.

“Hey, no peeking!” He hears her voice from two aisles over, where Eurydice hides her choices behind a rack of coats.

“Not peeking, just…looking for you!” He stammers through his words, flipping through the rack of tacky Hawaiian shirts with a smirk.

Eurydice holds a finger in the air, looks at him through teasingly narrowed eyes before turning her back to him, thumbing through a rack of clothes he can not see. His hands catch on strange fabric-thick, imposing-and he takes a moment to hold the garment in question up to the sky before grinning and draping it over his arm. Different, unique. He can’t wait to see the look on her face when she’s presented with it.

They go back to his apartment immediately afterward, their garments wrapped up in the canvas bags they’d brought to the store. They sit on the floor with their legs crossed,

“Orpheus…what the fuck is this?” The garment is heavy on her lap and she’s laughing as she holds it up, watches it unfurl. She shakes her head, holding the firefighter’s jacket against her body. It dwarfs her small frame, hits slightly past her knees.

“I only had three dollars left afterward” He shrugs. “You can put whatever you want on to go with it, I just felt like this was the best idea.”

“Oh no,” She drapes the jacket over her shoulders. “This is perfect.”

“Open yours,” She urges, pushing the bag toward him. He picks it up from the bottom, weighing it in his hands. It seems far heavier than hers had, even with the weight of the jacket. He pulls a pair of pants out first-jeans, seeming normal until he unfurls them. There are small patches of scrap fabric handily sewn in random places, tiny enough to draw notice only when looking close enough. The back pockets are also covered, but in a more blatant fashion. The cross-hatched fabric that had been chosen is slightly bold, creating a style all their own. He nods appreciatively as Eurydice shifts in her seat, brimming with anticipation.

There is an old band tee next, a graphic of a cowboy hat and text reading Thift Shop Cowboys. They’d toured, according to the three dates on the back of the shirt, all in Nebraska. Then, a button from the same band-it was a combo deal, we got lucky. There is a flannel, green and yellow and impossibly warm, fabric that feels invitingly soft between his fingers. A complete outfit; Eurydice grins in triumph when he points this out, shrugging.

“I had money leftover too, but you’ll have to wait to see how I spent it. Come on, get dressed, I’m starving!”

They’re quite the pair as they walk hand in hand down the street, Orpheus in his charmingly off-beat alternative outfit and Eurydice in her big jacket. Before they can enter the little diner she’d chosen Eurydice pulls an old, worn looking camera from the middle of her bag.

“Hold on,” She instructs, pulling him to the edge of the sidewalk closest to the building. “Take a picture with me.”

She fiddles with the old camera-another thrift shop treasure she’d fussed over until it worked just good enough to take a picture after jiggling the buttons a few times. The photo prints out instantly, and Eurydice waves it around as it develops, looking at it only briefly before laughing. They both sport confused faces, quirked eyebrows and half-opened mouths as they figure out how to work the vintage machine. They take one more, this one a different moment frozen in time. Shoulder to shoulder, their cheeks are pressed close together, Eruydice’s eyes closed as Orpheus has his eyes turned toward her. Both pictures make a return to her backpack, treasured.

The diner is full of eclectic decoration-old postcards, framed photos with seemingly no purpose…as if a thrift shop had come to life in the place. They sit on the same side of a big corner booth by the window, watch the foot traffic go by as they order milkshakes and fries. They keep the food between them, taking sips from each other’s drinks and dipping their fries in. Eurydice can’t help but keep herself close to him, feet tucked under her knees, head on his shoulder. Occasionally his head falls onto hers, stays there as he keeps his arm around her, reminds himself of the hefty fireman’s jacket with a laugh.

She only removes herself from his side to rifle through her backpack, taking out one of the photographs and a pin. Her tongue darts gently, quickly between her lips in concentration before she becomes animated once more, looking around before sticking their photograph to the wall.

“Eurydice!” He squeaks. She shakes her head while admiring her handiwork.

“Nobody will even notice, Orpheus. And then when we come back? This is our booth.”

They walk home in contented silence, full of comfort food and bliss, shielding each other from the biting cold as their pace quickens. The warmth of his apartment is a welcome thing, Eurydice hanging the fireman’s jacket on the coat hook and making her way briskly to the kitchen counter, where she pulls a small bundle from the front pocket.

“Ok, last thing.” She instructs him to sit on the couch. “Hold out your hands.” He feels the small weight drop and looks up at her in question, wondering what the newspaper-wrapped bundle could be. Eurydice watches with a tightness in her chest, an inner voice wondering if this is something stupid-silly. As his eyes widen, his grin reaches from ear to ear, her doubts are instantly quelled.

“No way.” He laughs as he holds the gift in his hands, looking up at her in disbelief. “This is incredible.”

“I thought he might need a new home.”

“Eurydice,” He rises from the couch, wraps her in a tight hug and kisses her gently. “Wait.”

He bounds over to the small shelf holding his record player, with the most narrow little shelf at the top. He puts the gift on the little lip, just above the record player, a near-perfect display.

“There’s something missing.” He gestures to her backpack, a silent request, and then delves in. When his handiwork is finished they stand in front of it together, Orpheus kissing the top of Eurydice’s head. Each time he chooses a record for years to come, Orpheus feels his heart warm at the photograph of their confused faces and the porcelain duck with a sailor’s hat.

#hadestown #hadestownmodern #orpheus #eurydice #young orphydice #every day pre-baby is going to be written because there's not many and they're my favorite #danielle writes

34 notes · View notes