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thebeast-dennis-etcetera · 9 months ago

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Dance With Me

Prompt: You ask Gibbs to be your date to a friend’s wedding.

You’ve known Gibbs almost as long as Tony has and you two had grown to be very close friends and colleagues over the years but that still wasn’t enough to calm the anxiety pooling in your gut as you gathered up the courage to ask him to be your date to your friends wedding.

You didn’t want to show up alone and you also didn’t want to show up with one of the girls, knowing your friends would make fun of you for not being able to snag a man. McGee and Jimmy had their wives and you weren’t close enough with Torres to ask him, although you’re not sure you’d be able to handle his egocentric attitude anyways.

Going with a stranger just seemed tacky so Gibbs was your answer. You just needed to suck it up and ask him.

“Got that BOLO out yet Agent L/N?” you heard him ask you, pulling you out of your thoughts. You hadn’t realized you had been staring at him the entire time, your face getting hot in embarrassment.

“Uh, yes. Sorry Gibbs. It’s been sent to local authorities and agencies. He won’t get far.”

He just nodded and went back to typing on his computer, shaking his head in confusion.

————

It wasn’t until hours later once the whole team was gathered at a crime scene that you went through with it.

“Gibbs, can I talk to you for a second?” you asked , finishing up the photo snapping. McGee and Bishop were talking with a witness and Torres was getting information from the local authorities.

“Go for it L/N.”

“Um. A good friend of mine from high school is getting married this weekend and I just know all of my friends will give me so much shit if I don’t show up with a date and-

“Are you asking me to be your date to your friend’s wedding Y/N?”

You fumbled for words as he waited. “Uh, yeah. I guess I am.”

“Is there a dress code?”

You weren’t expecting that as his next question but didn’t challenge it.

“Just a suit. I’ll be wearing a dark blue cocktail dress.”

“What time?”

“Gotta be there by 5. It’s about a 40 minute drive from my house. Hoping to be out of there by 8ish.”

“I’ll pick you up at 4.”

You were at a loss for words at how fast and easily he agreed to everything and you thought you should say something but he was already walking away to join McGee and Bishop.

————

The sound of your doorbell ringing almost had you jumping out of your skin. The last half hour, your mind was racing with questions. Was it a bad idea for to be taking your boss as a date to a wedding? What are you two going to talk about for 40 minutes on the drive? What if you make a fool of yourself?

Having no choice but to push all those thoughts to the back of your mind, you walked over and opened your door, seeing Gibbs standing there looking dashing as ever. He was dressed in a crisp suit, all black pieces except the navy blue pocket square and tie tied perfectly around his neck.

“Wow Gibbs. You look amazing,” you couldn’t help but blurt out.

“Ah, it’s just a suit,” he downplayed. You smiled and grabbed your clutch and keys before leaving.

The car ride wasn’t too bad, the both of you managing to make enough small talk in the traffic until you arrived at the place. Gibbs parked and you both walked into the cute little industrial style venue.

————

“We just wanna say thank you and enjoy the drinks, music and food!”

We all raised our glasses in cheers and drank. Almost immediately, everyone scattered. Some headed to the dance floor, others to the bar.

“You don’t seem like a champagne kind of guy. Why don’t we get a real drink?” you asked Gibbs. He gave you a look and you knew what he was getting at.

“We’re not gonna drink all night Gibbs. Just one. I’ll make sure we’re both good to drive by then.”

You got up and he followed you to the semi crowded bar. Looking at your options, you chose whiskey for Gibbs and a vodka soda for yourself. While waiting for your drinks, you noticed a man constantly glancing over at you. You weren’t in the mood to be flirted with, that was one of the reasons you brought a date.

Gibbs hadn’t noticed what was going on so when you intertwined your arm with his and leaned into his firm frame, he looked down at you with questioning eyes.

“Just keeping the vultures away,” you explained, grabbing your drinks once they were ready and giving Gibbs his. The two of you walked over to the little outside area that played the music from inside, softly out of speakers. The DJ went back and forth from slow and steady to fast upbeat rhythms but nothing had caught your attention so far.

“So why me Y/N?” Gibbs asked, taking a sip of his whiskey. You knew he was asking why you asked him to be your date instead of anyone else.

“You don’t believe you were my first option Gibbs?”

He let a small smirk appear and you couldn’t help but smirk back.

“More like only option,” he replied.

You looked at him with a tilted head, him staring right back at you, giving slight goosebumps. You wish you knew how to stare into people souls like Gibbs did. Every time he looked at you like that, you always had one of two thoughts. One was to spill all your secrets big or small and two was to just kiss him. Luckily, you’ve never resorted to either one of those.

“My only options really were you, Torres, or a random man online. I’ve known you for years and feel the most comfortable with you so it was a no brainer.”

Before he could say another word, your all time favorite slow song came on. Putting your drink down on the little table, you reached out your hand to Gibbs.

“I don’t dance,” he stated, taking another sip.

“C’mon Gibbs. Live a little. There’s no one around. They’re all inside. Just one dance.”

He stood there as you gave him your best puppy dog eyes until finally he finished his drink and set it down on the table. When he took your hand in his, you practically squealed in joy. You couldn’t believe you were about to dance with your brooding boss.

He showed off his secret dancing skills quickly as he pulled you in close, one hand wrapped around your waist and the other holding your hand up as his feet led you two in a slow paced sway.

The butterflies in your stomach fluttered as you focused on your feet, making sure you didn’t step on his toes. The close proximity between the two of you was suffocating but in a good way. You hadn’t felt like this since your first kiss with your ex-husband.

“Don’t look down,” Gibbs instructed softly. You decided to look at his tie instead but that quickly became a dumb idea as you let out a nervous laugh and defeatedly rested your forehead against his chest.

“I can feel your heart pounding. Are you nervous Y/N?”

You closed your eyes and took a breath.

“A little.”

You felt him release your hand and tilt your head up to look him in the eyes.

“Me too.”

This was it. This was the moment. The moment you thought about from time to time while working with him. Never in a million years had you ever thought it would actually come true. Your hands moved at their own accord and wrapped themselves around his neck, gently caressing the back of his head, his eyes occasionally glancing down at your lips.

“I’m glad you agreed to come to the wedding with me Gibbs. I honestly thought you’d say no.”

He chuckled and licked his lips, now causing you to glance at them.

“You really think I could say no to you?”

You could’ve been hallucinating but you swear he stepped closer to you, holding you just a little bit tighter. No words were spoken as he slowly dipped his head down and you met him halfway for a kiss that made your body numb. All the what if questions and the terrible scenarios you had created in your head just dissipated and in the moment it was just you and him.

When you pulled apart, his face was apprehensive as if almost expecting you to take off running but you did no such thing. Instead, you smiled and pulled him in for another kiss which he willingly reciprocated.

————

Parking on the street, he walked you into the lobby, into the elevator and down the halls to your apartment door.

“I had a great time Gibbs-

“You can call me Jethro when we’re alone,” he offered which made you smile.

I’ll see you at work tomorrow Jethro?”

He just nodded with kind eyes and waited till you were in your apartment before turning to leave. Going over the whole night in your head, you eventually came to a conclusion. He might not have said anything but there’s no way he didn’t feel something for you. He wouldn’t have kissed you like that otherwise.

Unlocking your door and opening it, you stepped out into the hallway.

“Jethro, wait.”

He stopped and turned to you.

“Do you want to come in for a little bit?”

He walked back over and stepped close enough that it wouldn’t have taken much to lean in for another kiss.

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

His tone was almost teasing as you got lost in his icy blue eyes.

“I don’t know..what do you think?” you asked honestly, not sure how this would all work out.

“I think whatever you want to do, I won’t deny you it.”

A few seconds of thinking and you had your answer. Opening the door a little wider, Jethro stepped into your apartment.

Note: Ahh! The angst! I love it, sorry. 😝

#gibbs x reader #leroy jethro gibbs #ncis #ncis fanfiction #agent gibbs #mark harmon #ncis request #ncis imagine #jethro gibbs x reader

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kimberlyeab · 11 months ago

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Undertale Yellow - Thoughts

Do you ever touch a piece of media and it hits you so hard that you just decide to drop all your artistic responsibilities for a day and write something to get your thoughts down into a single coherent place.

Well, uh… let’s talk about Undertale Yellow.

Please avoid if you intend to play and do not want spoilers as this delves heavily into topics laid down in the pacifist route. Also please note this contains content warnings for child death, so don’t touch if that ain’t your cup of tea. Like all Youtubers would say, please play the game before you read this, because this experience is best enjoyed in its original form.

The first issue i am struck with before getting too deep into this topic is that this is a fan project. While i, as a fan creator, enjoy feedback on my work; even if it is a little biting at times, i don’t know the pulse of the team in this regard. After all, this had no price tag and was purely a labour of love with seven hard years of development behind it.

i also don’t know how the development of this project was handled and if it was a collaborative effort from start to finish or different teams worked on different sections with an overarching goal. All i have is my own experience of modding for Hearts of Iron IV where my efforts were focused on singular nations and not overarching plots. If different sections were handled by different teams, please don’t take a critique or praise of any singular section as a slight against your work, it was all fantastic just some areas were more fantastic than others.

i enjoyed the mod, immensely, it stuck with me to the point that i had to come here and discuss it for what seems to be close to 2000 words. This project is something truly special, not only in terms of a fan game, but as a piece of media in general. It managed to make me feel that sense of magic I felt two years ago when i first played Undertale. And i can’t think of a higher praise than saying that.

The sprite work was amazing. The battles were fun and just the right amount of challenging… except Axis… fuck Axis. The music was a genuine banger to the point where i even liked some of the songs better than some of Toby’s work (i’m looking at you, the person who composed A Mother’s Love, that Hopes and Dreams drop ruined me emotionally for the rest of the run and i hold you and the writing team responsible for that).

And the story, gosh the story was just a real treat.

The mod in general is a bit slow to start, i’ll be honest, i did enjoy the tease at the beginning with Toriel and i think it was genius to cut us off from her entirely at that point. To me, a Undertale mod doing the ruins is like a Batman movie watching Bruce’s parents get gunned down. So, getting something refreshing here was a great foot forward. Actually, I think that the fact that this mod does not use the OG cast as a crutch is an all-around strong point that i really appreciate and helps set it aside as its own independent thing, different from Undertale. Even though I did find myself craving at least a cameo at times.

On my first day of playing, i witnessed everything that the ruins and Snowdin had to offer. i enjoyed Dalv and Martlet immensely. As I went into the start of the Wild East, I was having a lot of fun. Yet, something felt off, something wasn’t quite sparking the magic i felt with Undertale. So, I left off my first session in the Oasis, having beaten the third boss. All in all, an enjoyable time but not quite clicking.

i couldn’t describe why the game felt off up to this point. Until i watched a friend stream xeyre own first run of the game.

Xey said something during it which made me realize what the issue with these first three areas was. They felt safe, they felt fangamey. These were fun experiences with great atmosphere and enemies but Dlav and Martlet (up to that point) were not characters who grabbed me and made me feel as invested in them as say Toriel, Sans, Papyrus, and Undyne (all characters we would’ve met at a similar point in OG Undertale). Sure, they were nice, and were immensely fun, but i didn’t feel that drive to get to know them better and care about their greater story. These were not the characters of ask blogs and video essays.

At this point, i went to bed, content to get back to it tomorrow but still very much feeling like “this is a fangame.”

Then i woke up…

And let me telling you about Starlo and the town on the edge of the Wild East.

This is where Undertale Yellow grabbed me, this is where the story became something special. This wonderful cast of six unique characters who left me wanting to consume every piece of dialog they had available. These six characters managed to crackle to life that little fanfiction voice in the back of my brain. It was these characters that planted the seed of this sprawling text i am currently writing.

Starlo, himself, is a wonderful character, very fun, very well written, just a treat to experience and spend time with. His missions were comedic gold to a degree where I was cackling in VC because of how good they were. And the fights, oh jeez, the two fights in that area are where the mod really showed off what it could do when it came to combining fun gameplay, great music, and just top tier sprite work that helped give these characters so much substance and life.

And it was also in this section where i started to get invested in the characters. This is where the fangame vibes withered away and gave birth to that same experience i had playing Undertale for that very first time.

It was hinted at with Starlo, a monster putting on a façade to hide from the cold reality of being a member of a broken species living in an equally broken land. His reasoning is so tragic, yet through the tragedy, he is just trying to distract people and bring them whatever joy he can manage. His methods are faulty but his goal is good.

And Ceroba is just amazing, as well, hinting at something darker in the narrative, weaving her story into OG Undertale by experiencing loss to the same experiments that would haunt Alphys. She is something familiar, a mother in pain like Toriel, but also someone who didn’t let that pain keep her in hiding. She uses that pain to try and help this world. And it plays on me so well, making me genuinely ache as my mind idly wonders which amalgamation in the lab was once this monster’s little girl. I wanted to know her story and experience it.

Then the game was all high points from here.

The adventure in the Steamworks where we see the remains of a shattered legacy and the pain that Ceroba goes through when she realizes that her husband was never respected in life. It resonates as we learn how much he just wanted to help Monsterkind and his legacy was just thrown away and left to rot. It made me hate Asgore.

And then comes the plot twist, the moment the shoe drop, as we approach Hotlands and Starlo confronts us. He knows Ceroba’s secret and is there to keep us safe. I had never been so invested in finding out what any of this meant, craving to know what could possibly bring these two into conflict with one another after being so close just two sections prior.

And that’s when we go to Ceroba’s home. That’s where we experience the empty abode that used to house a family. It’s where we learn how this tormented world of captivity that broke them, one by one, killing father, daughter, and yes, even the mother. It’s where we learn about Chujin, a figure of mythos, this mod’s Asgore in a way. A man who knew that escaping the Underground wasn’t the end goal unless Monsterkind could assert itself and prove that it had a right to exist upon the surface. This moment was so compelling, asking questions that fans have had for years and answering them in a way that felt downright satisfying.

And it put a fire in my breast going forward. i feel bad for the individuals who wrote dialog for optional areas after this reveal because i was a woman on a mission at this point. There was no endearing encounter, no fun moment that would distract me from finally finishing this with Ceroba.

And as we reach New Home and face the enemy, a mother who has lost everything, with our friends by our side, that’s when we play the best boss fight, I’ve had the privilege of enjoying in a very long time. It was the right amount of difficult with perfect music, amazing phases and forms, and a wonderful use of the yellow soul to its full capacity. It was long and slogged out, fought tooth and fucking nail, all while the music perfectly weaves together Ceroba’s struggle with the adventure we’ve been on and also a little nostalgia just to remind you what’s at stake. i have slept and i still remember her piano bits combined with those little western twangs, bringing together two childhood friends before dropping Hopes and Dreams just to show you how epic it is. It is… HOLY SHIT… it is something.

And with every phase we see a little more of what this monster lost. We watch her husband wither away, we see her risk her daughter and fail, and we see every last thing this obsession has cost her. And we know that this is a family broken by a collective scar left upon a whole species. We know that humanity is at fault, subjecting a whole race to torment for something that’s generations old. This family is just one of many who our species has wronged, just one trauma on a whole ledger.

And as we finally dispatch her and feel victorious, the reality of the situation slowly settles in.

This is a prologue… we know how this ends.

Asgore has five souls right now. Yet, by the events of Undertale, he has six.

i knew on a logical level that this would happen but the mod still managed to destroy me with the reality. As our friends try and figure out a way to keep us safe, we, the Spirit of Justice, a child with a pure heart, know that we can’t let this slide. We saw what humanities punishment has done to this species and we know that we can help them.

So, Clover sacrifices their Soul. And its at this moment that i started bawling like a child, watching their friends bargain with them, then plead, then seeing them slowly come to terms with it. And the game slowly ends from there, watching our hero make this sacrifice and then send away their friends so they don’t have to see them die. It’s just us, alone, knowing that we did the right thing and it cost us everything. It’s beautiful and tragic, the perfect ending that still chokes me up thinking about it.

And it pays off as the credits role and we get an epilogue that shows all the monsters we’ve touched and made their lives better.

It was special.

This was the special that i felt after Undertale.

And like Undertale, i will never touch it again (unless i speedrun it). The story was completed and the sacrifice was beautiful. It would be wrong of me to erase the deeds that i’ve done to better these lives. i don’t want to erase their happy ending just to tinker around and extract every ounce of life from this game.

So uh, yeah, sorry to the people who worked on geno-run. i’m sure you did a great job but i can’t bring myself to hurt these characters.

All-in-all, sitting there in a VC, bawling at 3:30 in the morning, i knew this was unique and I knew that i wanted to share my thoughts with the fandom and maybe even the developers if they get around to reading this.

Dear devs, if you read this, you created something out of this world, thank you.

Sincerely, thank you.

Would I recommend this mod?

Let me tell you what I said after the credits rolled.

“Fuck this mod.”

Err… text kind of loses the translation of those words being spoken through the warble of a tear-stricken voice that was fresh from sobbing for ten minutes straight.

So, uh…

Yeah, it was alright!

Hey, y'all should join my Discord! It's multifandom and queer as fuck (Please be 18+ though).

Visit my website to see where else you can find my work, follow my socials, or support me!

#Undertale #Undertale Yellow

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coochiequeens · 6 months ago

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After finding an article about a woman who had three kids and a husband that came out as trans I looked into what was going on in the family. Sure enough their middle child already came out as trans. And now the authors bio identifies her as trans..... But being trans isn't a social contagion

05.11.24

My wife surprised her coworkers when she came out as trans. Then they surprised her. She was ready for one reaction but was greeted with a beautiful response.

Society, pay attention. This is important.

My wife, Zoe, is transgender. She came out to us — the kids and me — last summer and then slowly spread her beautiful feminine wings with extended family, friends, and neighbors. A little coming out here, a little coming out there — you know how it is. It's been a slow, often challenging process of telling people something so personal and scary, but pretty much everyone has been amazing.

However, she dreaded coming out at the office. She works at a large technology company, managing a team of software developers in a predominantly male office environment. She's known many of her co-workers and employees for 15 or so years. They have called her "he" and "him" and "Mr." for a very long time. How would they handle the change?

While we have laws in place in Ontario, Canada, to protect the rights of transgender employees, it does not shield them from awkwardness, quiet judgment, or loss of workplace friendships. Your workplace may not become outright hostile, but it can sometimes become a difficult place to go to every day because people only tolerate you rather than fully accept you.

See rest of article

06.22.16

"Come with me. You’re going to meet the prime minister."

My family and I were sitting in the House of Commons in Ottawa on May 17, 2016, when a member of the Canadian Parliament came to find us. We exchanged surprised looks and quietly rose from our seats, making our way out into the halls of Canada’s most important edifice.

We were there because we’d been invited to witness history that day.

And now, quite unexpectedly, we were about to meet the man at the helm of this historic change: Justin Trudeau.

In order to understand why we were seconds away from this meeting, it’s important to know why we were asked to be there in the first place.

In many ways, my family is a fairly typical one, with two parents, three kids, and a house in the ‘burbs. I’m a writer, and my spouse works in high tech. We throw birthday parties, pay our taxes, cut the lawn, and walk the dogs.

Our family. If we were ice cream, we’d be vanilla.

Yes, we’re pretty average except for one thing: Two of our family members are transgender.

Just over two years ago, our middle child came out as trans.

Seeing her blossom from a depressed and distressed "boy" into the radiant young lady she is today was the catalyst my partner needed to speak her own truth 18 months later: She is a transgender woman.

See rest of article

ROWAN JETTÉ KNOX (formerly known as Amanda Jetté Knox) is an award-winning journalist, writer, certified professional coach, and human rights advocate with a special focus on LGBTQ2+ rights and mental health. Love Lives Here: A Story of Thriving in a Transgender Family was a #1 bestseller, an Indigo Best Book of the Year and Staff Pick of the Month, and was chosen for the 2020 Canada Reads Longlist. His work has been featured on the BBC, CBC, The Today Show, O Magazine, The Social, and The Marilyn Denis Show. He was a 2019 Chatelaine Woman of the Year, a 2020 Top 25 Woman of Influence, and was chosen as one of 2020’s Most Influential Parents by Today’s Parent. He was the 2020 gold winner in Best Column from the Canadian Digital Publishing Awards. He lives in Toronto.

#Canada #Less than two years after the middle child came out the husband did #Narcissists transitioning when the attention is on someone else #First the writer accepted the bs that she now had a wife #Then the writer came out as trans herself #How are the other kids adjusting to a trans sibling and the parents devoting themselves into being allies?#Then both parents become trans?

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jillianallen14 · 3 years ago

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Spirk fanfic rec

Some amazing Spirk fanfic to bless your dash because I’m falling in love with this shit all over again (this is like the 10th time this has happened lol):

Entering Orbit: Jim escapes to Iowa to avoid the media frenzy following the Narada incident, but a late-night miscommunication results in Spock turning up on his front porch; rated m; 30,957 words

Papers in the Roadside: Non-Starfleet AU. Jim owns a small bar in Chicago, keeps on picking up strays and taking care of everyone no matter how hard it makes his own life. Spock is a journalist writing feature articles for the Chicago Tribune; he depicts the world with uncanny skill, but hides more than one personal drama and is possibly under surveillance from the Vulcan royal family. They meet by accident just before their lives start to spin out of control; rated e; 49,637 words

Take Refuge in What You Know: AU - Kirk has moved into a apartment/house and wants to get to know his neighbors. He meets his neighbor Spock, a loner who suffers from extreme agoraphobia. Kirk thinks he's beautiful enigma; rated e; 120,334 words

Listen, this is not only my favorite Star Trek fic of all time, it’s also one of my favorite fanfics in general. It’s right up there with Text Talk and The Shoebox Project from the HP fandom, which if you’ve read, you know are incredible and frankly life-changing. And this fanfic changed my life. The description the author gives doesn’t do the beauty of this fic justice. I suffer from agoraphobia and Spock’s depiction as an agoraphobic man was probably the most well-researched, sympathetic, empathetic, caring, realistic portrayal of what it’s like to be agoraphobic that I’ve ever witnessed in fiction. It made me cry like a child because I had never felt so seen and understood. This writer is incredible, and this fic is incredible. I can’t recommend it enough. It’s an AU, which I’m usually pretty wary about, but it barely even feels like an AU. It just feels like Jim and Spock. The author’s understanding of both of their characters’ is perfect, like just a spot-on portrayal of who they are. This fic genuinely helped me accept who I am and helped me understand that I am capable of & deserving of love. If you don’t read any other Star Trek fics (and you def should read more Star Trek fics because they’re amazing), then let this one be the one you read. I dare you not to read it three times in a row like I did.

Observations: First Officer Spock comments on life aboard the Enterprise and his service under Captain James T. Kirk; rated m; 500,000+ words.

So the author of this fic actually did a thing where they made this fic into two books (similar to what The Shoebox Project authors did many years ago in the HP fandom). They don’t get any money from people buying the books; the cost is just to go towards producing the books. This fic is the equivalent of two LARGE novels. We’re talking 600 pages & up. It’s a huge fic. Now, that being said, I read it in one day. ONE DAY. It’s that good. This is another one of my all-time favorite fics, though not quite as dear to my heart as the one I listed above. It’s focused on AOS, and tbh, I forget that what happens in this book isn’t actually canon. Like it’s so well-told, it just feels like it’s now part of the timeless story of Kirk & Spock. The “professional” Star Trek writers would never be brave enough to do what this author does with Kirk and Spock, though. This fic will make you angry, will make you laugh, will make you cry. It has such a good grasp on every single character. It also shows the love between the crew of the Enterprise, which is always a treat, and it’s beautifully done in this fic. It has a sorta-enemies-to-lovers arc between Spirk and an enemies-to-close-friends arc between Spock and McCoy that is beautifully done and fleshed out. This fic is definitely a journey to go through, and I can’t recommend it enough. It’s extremely slow burn, and you will want to slap both Kirk and Spock (and McCoy) upside the head at certain points lol.

Of Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves: The progression of a relationship, through Coffee Beans and Green Tea Leaves. Basically, it’s an AU where Kirk works at a coffee shop to pay his way through school, and Spock visits often. rated t; 16,429 words

Love, love, love, this fic. It’s cute, it’s in character. They have kind of a rocky start together, so it’s got a little bit of that Elizabeth Bennet and Mr. Darcy i-hated-you-but-now-i-love-you-marry-me vibes to it. I’m a sucker for that, if you haven’t figured that out by now lol. It’s really good, and a really enjoyable read. And it’s not too long, if you’re in the mood for something on the shorter end of things.

Please Don’t Touch the Vulcans: The "yes" is out of Jim's mouth before he can think about it. Jim is chipper about having time off for the holidays. He asks everyone if they want to spend time together but sadly, everyone ditches Jim over the holidays because they have plans. McCoy visits his daughter, Nyota visits her family, and everyone splits. Not knowing Spock has feelings for him, Jim doesn't even bother asking if he wants to spend time together figuring he has something to do. Something cute, romantic with the boys spending time with one another and confessions; rated m; 17,690 words

Super cute and has lots of Sarek, which idk about y’all, but I’m always a fan of. Sarek and Jim kind of get to know each other a bit, and it’s cute. Sarek knows about they’re in love before Spock & Kirk know lol. If I remember correctly, there’s also some appearances from everyone’s favorite: Old!Spock! You also get a little bit of jealous and protective Young!Spock. So you’re in for a real treat with this one.

The Ren shat’var Trilogy: A split-second decision changes Jim's life forever, as he enters into a bond with Spock in the face of certain torture. Enemies to the Federation emerge from unlikely places, and the command team must contend with unexpected threats, as well as challenges within their own intense relationship. In this three-part series, the Enterprise races across the galaxy to confront the unknown, and Jim and Spock discover the true significance of their unprecedented connection; rated e; 184,411 words

Textual Attraction: Valentine’s Day does not bring up pleasant memories for Cadet Kirk. But the serendipitous switch-up of his cell phone with a particular Vulcan professor’s will make his day far more interesting –and romantic. Perhaps some new memories can be made! 15,900 words

SO GOOD. Just SO good

Spaceman: Academy AU. Five times Spock realizes he's attracted to a barista at the academy spaceport, and one time he decides to do something about it. rated t; 3728 words

Short, sweet, funny. You’ll love it.

Subtext: Texting your Vulcan first officer in the middle of the night is never a good idea. Especially when you have an obsessive crush on said Vulcan.The holidays are approaching and Jim is left entirely Spockless aboard the Enterprise when his First takes shore leave on New Vulcan. After some midnight pining, Jim sends a text he instantly regrets. That is, until Spock responds and willingly continues their textual communications to an inevitable conclusion; rated t; 13,032 words

Cute, sweet, funny. It’s a texting fic. I think you’ve probably figured out I love those. This one makes me laugh so fucking hard. Like actually laugh-out-loud-omg-did-i-just-snort kind of funny. Spock is great in this one

All Spock Wants For Christmas: While Jim is away on a delegation mission, he panics about what to give Spock for Christmas. With help from Bones and Uhura, and in between some spam texting with Spock, Jim realizes he already has the perfect gift. And all it needs is wrapping paper and a bow; rated t; 11,966 words

And here we have another cute, sweet, funny texting fic. Sue me lol

The Morning After: Jim convinces Spock to take shore leave with him on Risa, hoping the time together will help re-solidify their bond of friendship after some recent tension. Meanwhile, Spock convinces himself he's on Risa for one reason and one reason only, to prevent his wayward captain from getting into trouble. After a passionately illogical night of Romulan Ale and chocolate infused liquor, everything changes when Jim wakes with something other than a hangover filling his head. Something he's sure neither he nor Spock can handle. Because if Jim knows anything for sure, it's that his messed up thoughts belong nowhere near Spock's clean, ordered mind; rated m; 50,381 words

HAHA. This fic fucking cracks me up. You’ve got drunk boys pining over each other & not realizing it. You’ve got accidental marriage. You’ve got bed sharing. It’s great, it’s cute, it’s funny.

Take This Sinking Boat (And Point It Home): In which Spock pines, Jim isn’t stupid (except he kind of is), and Christopher Pike has had enough of this bullshit; 6698 words

Pike is great in this one, and it’s super, super funny.

Extracurricular Activities: Spock returns to the Academy from a tour of duty to find an intriguing cadet captures his attention; rated e; 15,433 words

Veritas: Basically, Kirk and Spock are on trial because the Federation thinks they are emotionally compromised by each other, which is putting the lives of their crew in danger. They have to convince a court they’re not actually in love with each other. They think the claims are bullshit. They think it will be easy to prove that they aren’t in love or emotionally compromised, damn it. It isn’t; rated m; 186,80 words

This one is so, so good. A real gem off of Fanfic.net. I remember it was actually one of the first Spirk fanfics I ever read, and it blew me away. The progression of their relationship is really well-done and interesting. It has star-crossed lovers vibes and has some really emotionally intense moments in it, especially for Spock.

A Habitual Affection: Living in 1930s New York with the Vulcan you're secretly in love with is no simple thing. But Jim never liked anything simple. And then, the big snowstorm hit...; rated t; 7998 words

A beautiful TOS fic about one of the gayest episodes of Star Trek. Love this one.

Atlas: Between what was and what will be stands James Tiberius Kirk, in all his fractured patchwork glory. Because saving the Federation was only the beginning; rated t; 135,529 words

A beaut. Really great characterization, and the progression of Jim and Spock’s relationship is really well-done.

#spirk #spock #kirk #james t kirk #spock/kirk #kirk/spock #star trek #star trek tos #star trek aos #space husbands #spirk fanfic recs #spirk fanfic

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jj-5656 · 4 years ago

Text

The Fight

With; Newt (TMR)

A/N: Kind of a long one guys. Thank you again for all the love. I appreciate every like, reblog, and comment. Enjoy!

Warnings: mention of suicidal thoughts/attempt, anxiety, minor panic attack, Minho being an ass (I promise it’s not all depressing and sappy there is a good amount of angst/fluff ofc)

“Bugger off Newt, I want to be left alone.” The boy trails behind as you stomp over to the forest, figuring collecting fertilizer would be better than having to tolerate the pestering blonde any longer.

“Don’t you want someone to keep you company?”

“Am I still speaking English? Leave me be.” It’s been a long day, and a part of you is still getting used to the harsh, mundane work days of the glade since you’re arrival a few months ago. It’s been a lot of pressure, but surprisingly you’ve managed to hold it together. It’s impressive too, you’ve managed to adapt better to your new life better than any other glader had. Perhaps that was why the boy was so drawn to you.

It’s not like he had wanted to be. In fact, Newt would have been more than happy treating you like any other glader. But it just so happened the one and only girl in the glade just had to be a natural track-hoe, so there was no avoiding her. Not her smooth skin, glistening eyes, or her infectious laugh-

“Hello? Would you quit it, shank? It’s like you want to get me jacked.”

“Maybe I just like seeing you all riled up.” You can feel the smirk playing on his stupidly Cherry-red lips as he teases you, quickening his pace so he can grab the straggling branches of the thick forest out of your way. Your stomach flips at his words, but it’s quickly filled with hot anger as the nervousness fades. He won’t quit flirting, and despite your quit wit you’re finding it harder to snap back at him when he says things like that. He doesn’t even mean it

“You’re infuriating!”

“And you’re gorgeous.” The words slip past his tongue before he can catch him, and your footsteps stutter over a stray twig amongst the brush on the ground. You almost trip, but the glader behind you is quick to catch your forearm. It’s silent, and you’re darting your head around just fast enough to catch the stunned look on his face, informing you he hadn’t meant to voice the compliment aloud. Your eyes narrow, trying your best to ignore the longing temptation within you begging to kiss away the stupid blush in his cheeks.

“You know, instead of searching the forest for fertilizer, I should just pick up all the klunk that comes out of your mouth.” The harsh words come without much thought, but you don’t completely regret saying them. If he was actually interested, he wouldn’t be so keen on making you annoyed every minute of every day.

His eyebrows narrow, but if your snarky comment provoked any thought he doesn’t voice it.

“Shuck, sorry then newbie. I’ll slim it.”

“Listen, I was a newbie four greenies ago! So you can stop calling me that.” You spin on your heel to face him, standing your ground when he stops short in order to not run you over. When you meet eyes, he gives a kind smile, studying your features intently. Almost as if you were in a daze, you do the same. Relishing in the sounds of the nature around you and the warm sun beaming through the tree tops, perfectly illuminating the lightest streaks in the taller boy’s hair. You hadn’t notice before, but there are small puddles of gold in his deep brown eyes, speckled about in his irises and disappearing when he tilts his head to the side in feigned curiosity. He licks his lips before letting his accented voice break the silence.

“What’s up with you?”

“What? Nothing.”

“You’ve got that look about you.”

“What look?”

“That look.”

“I don’t have a look.”

“Well, I’m looking at you right now, and you have a look.”

“What look?!” He grins at your suddenly aggravated persistence, holding back a laugh when you let out a dramatic groan and start to tread deeper into the woods.

Later that night, you’re making conversation with Frypan as you help with the dishes. He’s good company, and most times mundane chores like cleaning up after other gladers seem to fly by when he’s around. You let out a sigh when a familiar hand reaches out to help you take out one of the heavier pots from the drying rack.

“Didn’t know you were a cook, greenie.”

“Maybe I;’m just trying to avoid you.”

“Impossible, you’d miss me too much.”

“What do you want, shank.”

“What, I can’t help out too?”

Just then, you’re pulled away by the forearm with a strong yank. Releasing yourself from Mihno’s grip and rubbing the excess suds off of your hands quickly.

“What the hell?”

“Listen, you want him to quit being a shank towards you right?”

“Of course I do Minho, but-“

“Then flirt with me.”

“Wh-what?”

“Flirt with me, squeeze my arm and laugh like I just said something really funny.”

“You’re already saying something funny. You must be jacked.” You attempt to blow your friend off and walk away, but he pulls you toward him again.

“Just humor me for a minute, yeah? Let’s see how riled up this shank gets.”

“Minho, he’s not going to get mad. He lives to annoy me, he’ll be happy to see you’re joining in on the fun!”

“Y/n, you’re not seriously this dense? The poor shank likes you, he’s just got no idea how to show it. The playful banter you two have, although it’s cute, is starting to get old. So, because I’m an amazing friend and wing-man, I’ll help you shanks out. Now squeeze my arm and laugh.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“Don’t believe me?” His challenging smirk is enough for you to give in, determined to prove the raven haired boy wrong. Setting aside your irritated mood, you adjust your hunched stance before giving Minho your most charming smile. Muttering idly and pressing his bicep with a dramatic laugh. He shoots you a glare when you pinch with a little too much passion, but a smirk stays on his face nonetheless. He moves just a bit closer to you, eyes darting across the glade and smile widening.

“See she-bean? He’s practically fuming.” The boy does all he can to contain his laughter, pulling himself together when you offer a subtle glance to the blonde across the glade. He’s leaning against the now empty sink with his arms crossed. Looking too angry to even begin to make his death glare towards Minho any less obvious. Admittedly, you don’t think you’ve seen Newt ever look so flustered. When you lock eyes, his lips remain tightly pressed together. Not long after does he turn back around to continue attending to the dishes. All whilst muttering something under his breath and shaking his head.

“Don’t get so cocky, you’re blushing too you shank.” You swat Mihno’s hand pinching your cheek, genuinely laughing when he nudges you out of the homestead hut.

“I’ll probably be banished by sundown for that.”

“You think he’s really that upset about it? I mean, I know we’re good friends and all but I never expected Newt to see me like that.”

“It’s a good thing I’m one of the only shanks around here with a brain.”

“Y/n, mind if I talk to you for a bit?” Alby approached the pair of you with a soft expression, his gentle nature filling you with a bit of concern. You nod hesitantly, feeling as though every damn glader needed to pull you from one conversation to the next tonight. You follow Alby closely as he leads you back into the homestead, sitting on one of the hammocks and motioning for you to do the same. There’s a contemplative silence before the head glader speaks, only taking him a few moments to gather his thoughts before meeting your eyes.

“I gotta be honest greenie, I’m a bit worried about you.”

“Why me?” Your eyebrows narrow in confusion, and the older boy’s worried tone makes your heart sink.

“Most of the newbies are jacked the first couple weeks. You know, lashing out one minute and crying like a baby the next. But you’ve been quite, collected. That leaves a lot of room for me to be concerned.”

“Alby, you’re upset that I’m not...Upset?”

“I’m upset that you remind me of myself. I was a lot like you, I kept everything in when I first got here. I was reserved, and I kept everything bottled up inside. And I’m no therapist, but that quickly tore me apart. I understand being a girl might...Complicate things, seeing as some of these shanks expect you to be weaker. You don’t have to prove yourself greenie, at least not in that way.” You take a minute to consider his words, chewing on the inside of your cheek in thought. He studies you for a moment, seemingly thinking about his next words with caution. “I don’t mean to jack you up, just think about it.” He finishes carefully, nudging your shoulder with his own before exiting the hut. Giving you a tight lipped smile and curt nod before disappearing from view. Was that supposed to be a pep talk?

**************

The past weeks had been confusing, terrifying, and downright unbelievable. That was clear, but didn’t you have no other choice than to accept what was going on? You still had millions of questions, and a certain ache in your heart that felt like it was pulling at you. But there wasn’t time to break down, not yet anyway. Is there even a right time? The conversation with Alby seemed to have made you worse off than before. You shuffle for the hundredth time in your hammock, letting out an exasperated sigh at the restless situation.

Despite your efforts, sleep never comes. For the past week, you’ve been exhausted just about everyday. Today had been no different, except when you try to relax, anxiety crawls in the air around you. Suddenly, the warm night air is absolutely suffocating. It’s too much pressure, too much unknown for you to handle it any longer. When your pounding heartbeat begins to drown out the cicadas and other sounds of the glade, you can only think of one thing. Alby was right

Stumbling out of your hammock, you start making your way out of the hut. It doesn’t matter where, you just need to escape. Even when you’re outside, there’s still not enough room. The four walls that once felt like a barrier between you and the horrors of the ominous maze, now feel like a cage. Trapping you inside and shrinking impossibly smaller until they eventually crush you.

Without thinking, you begin to sprint over to the west wall, pounding at the menacing stone and letting out a chocked sob. All at once, every emotion you’d suppressed since your first day in the glade releases from you. It’s nauseating, and you grip your stomach in an attempt to latch onto some sense of stability.

Who put you here? Why was everyone so indifferent to their lives here, and why had you eventually become the same way?

There’s been this ache, some rotting substance in your core that’s been emanating within you since you first woke up in the box. A horrible, indescribable hollowness that is the result of the loss of what must have been your life before the maze. Suddenly, you miss your mom. Or maybe a woman who resembled one. It’s mortifying, to know you must have parents somewhere out there. But you can’t remember them, can only feel the ugliest parts of you that aren’t whole without them. Your vision blurs, and there’s an awful white noise that drowns out any and all sounds of reality surrounding you. Completely immersed in your own thoughts, even the ground beneath you feels as though it’s been meticulously sculpted by whatever monsters put you here. It’s impossible to breath, feeling as though every beat of your heart, every blink of an eye is in the control of the creators. So caught up in your own panic, you don’t sense the boy calling your name behind you.

You attempt to squirm out of his strong grip, his stature never showing how strong he truly is from his long hours in the gardens. It’s no use to keep pulling away when his back hits the stone wall of the glade, using his strong grip to hold your hands against your chest as he slides you both to the floor. Weaker leg giving out from the sheer strength needed to restrain you. Newt’s not sure if he’s helping or making your panicked state even worse, but he’s reassured when you begin to calm. Erratic cries faltering into small whimpers as your head uncontrollably jerks at each sharp intake of air your body forces you to take. You can feel his heart beat rapidly against your back, informing you just how scared he is despite his stoic nature on the outside. You try to release from his grip once again, instincts telling you there’s too much to worry about to calm down. The blonde pulls you closer to him once more, hushing your cries and leaning his chin atop of your head. The world feels authentic again, and you silently think out a plethora of thank you’s to the boy for immersing you back into reality. Doing your best to cease your cries and gain control of your breathing, you grip onto the fabric of his long sleeve sleeping shirt with a terror-induced strength. It’s all too much

“Just breathe y/n, breathe with me.” He mutters softly, chest filling with pride when you mimic his dramatic intakes of air.

The ringing subsides, and the white clouding your vision finally clears when your heart begins to slow. Eventually, Newt releases your arms. And in an instant, you clutch onto his hand in fear the crippling panic will return. Rip you away from everything you’ve come to know in only seconds.

“You’re alright now love, just breathe.” He soothes again, not even flinching at your harsh grip on him. The minute you had left your hammock, something within him beckoned him to follow. You’d been off the past couple of days, and somehow the boy knew you couldn’t be alone. His eyes well with tears, you having reminded him so much of himself his first year in the glade. He wonders what you would have done if he hadn’t caught you in time, and what lengths you would have gone to if the pain never stopped and the maze walls opened. He wills away the thought with a shake of his head, reminding himself that you’re still here, and in dire need of a friend.

“I miss my mom.” You stutter out eventually, soft lips trembling and pulled into a pitiful pout. “I don’t remember her of course, but it’s like I can feel her. I feel everything and nothing at the same time, you know? There’s so much death here, it’s been hard to find something to live for. How am I supposed to do this, how are we supposed to survive this? I mean...This has gotta be some sort of sick joke, nobody could be this shucking cruel right?” You let out a pathetic scoff, still shaking uncontrollably in his arms.

“Listen to me y/n, I’ve been where you are. We all have, and I can promise you there is so much more than that feeling. You have to believe me.” You shake your head, refusing to accept his empty promises. He sighs before continuing, trying to gather his thoughts in preparation to confess what he’s kept secret from almost all other gladers until now. “A couple weeks into my first year here, I couldn’t shake the same feeling you’re describing. That dark, ominous part that sits inside of all of us here. The unknown, the memories begging to re-enter your mind. I hated it, I hated this place, and I hated myself.” You lift your head from his shoulder at that, wanting to study his contemplative expression as he carries on. “Eventually, I couldn’t take it. So I ran out into the maze....And I did what I assume you’ve been thinking about the past couple of days. And I can assure you, nothing you do to yourself with get rid of that pain. That’s why we survive, we persevere, we fight. It might have taken a shattered leg and permanent limp for me to realize, but I know now the only way to beat that feeling is to escape this shucking place. What comes next doesn’t matter, we have to show whatever slintheads put us here that they won’t ever win. Do you understand?” His expression becomes stern, willing each word to bore into your mind as a permanent oath. Stunning brown eyes boring into yours as if they’ll cement each syllable into your mind. You nod, unsure of how to respond.

“You have to promise me.” He mutters softly, eyes welling with tears at your empty expression. “Please love, promise me you’ll fight.” He’s holding your head in his hands now, silently willing the overwhelming demons your facing to escape that beautiful mind.

“P-promise. I promise.” You reassure weakly, overcome with love for the boy under you. Instantly, you encase him in a tight embrace. Heart swelling even more when he plants a soft kiss to your temple.

“Good that.” He breathes gently, pulling you impossibly closer to his heart. Just to hold you for a little while longer. You have to fight, and you’ll do it together.

Tagging: @8avery8 @jenny33996

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thosewickedlovelies · 4 years ago

Text

An Ode To Marcus Moreno’s Arms

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x GN!Reader

Rating: Mature

Summary: You’re a training specialist in swordsmanship at Heroics Headquarters, so you see a lot of Marcus Moreno.

Tags: Reader has a vivid (sexual) imagination, but there’s only a few brief sections.

Word Count: 2,272

A/N: This started out as an ode to his arms, but his arms are connected to the rest of him, so. Alternative title: In Appreciation of Marcus Moreno

My assumption/headcanon of his powers are telekinesis, plus general exceptional physical prowess and weapons skills? Idk, we weren’t given much, but those feel like solid abilities for someone implied to be the super among super heroes. Idk what this is but I regret nothing.

More content/worldbuilding set in this universe 💗

Marcus Moreno’s arms were capable of many things.

You knew this because you saw them on an almost-daily basis. You were one of the training specialists at Heroics Headquarters, one of a large, ever-expanding staff of instructors who were experts in their respective fields of combat or weapons. Your job, essentially, was to be a superhero minus the powers- and use your abilities to keep the Heroics in top form.

Your expertise was swordsmanship, which meant you spent more time with Marcus than any of the other heroes. All of the physical trainers and specialists sparred with the Heroics in mock villain showdowns, but you also helped them hone specific skills. You were here because your skillset and abilities matched Marcus’s.

So you’ve had plenty of opportunity to behold his arms at work.

One would think that they’d be most enticing mid-action, but it was a cosmically ironic fact that there was never really a wrong moment to ogle. How that man could make merely unsheathing his swords so erotic was beyond you.

But by now you’d seen it from every angle. You were as familiar with Marcus’s technique as you were with your own, and knew well the cycle of muscle contractions which rippled up his whole body. It started with his legs: setting his stance, primed and poised on the balls of his feet. Then every muscle in his torso, his clinging t-shirts sliding over taut flesh as they rode up with the lifting of his arms- his arms. Biceps suddenly incredibly present and visibly straining past barely-existent sleeves, tendons flexing rigid and obvious, a tangle of pathways you wanted to map with your tongue.

This show was best when he had started his day with tactical theory sessions, because then his expressive face got involved. Oh yes, it wasn’t enough for him just to be built the way he was, his face had to go and be attractive as well.

Tedious strategy debates with Miracle Guy during these sessions never failed to get under his skin- you could always tell how much steam Marcus had to let off based on the clench of his jaw. Or the way he’d drag his bottom lip over his teeth, nostrils flaring in an almost-snarl. When that happened you knew he gripped the hilts of his swords a little tighter, because you’d see the ridges in his wrist dip and pull like piano strings perpendicular to the line of his gloves. The blades would sing little sharper on those days, his arms freeing them in a jerk rather than their usual smooth, deliberate slide.

It was amazing you ever made it beyond unsheathing your weapons.

But oh, were you glad you did, because watching Marcus Moreno fight was truly a treat. The control he had over his body was remarkable; even when his limbs flung and stretched, they were to ready to contract again at a second’s notice. “Fight” was really too limited of a term for it- Marcus manipulated his body in an incredible harmony of mind and muscle, using his weapons- including his telekinesis- as extensions of himself.

You wondered sometimes how fine his control over his telekinesis was- if he could use it on himself. If he did use it somehow to give his blows that devastating extra speed and strength.

It was easy to understand, after witnessing him, why battle is often described as a dance.

On particularly ruthless training days, his tan skin would gleam with sweat. It would bead and trickle along the pulsing veins in his arms, drawing your attention even more, and salacious scenes would flash behind your eyelids: those same glistening forearms visible in your peripherals as they box you against a wall, that same intent glitter in his dark eyes as they come closer and closer, breathless, his chest heaving into yours-

You never let on to any of this though. You were a master of the blade, and had trained too thoroughly to let the appearance of an opponent get to you. Besides that fact, you would never do anything to risk your place with the Heroics. Although you were an authority figure, they were still superheroes, and thus unlike anyone else you’d worked with- it made for a challenging, stimulating dynamic in which you were constantly both instructor and student.

Even outside of the training arena, Marcus’s arms were a sight.

Holding data pads or writing utensils as he led the Heroics in discussions of group tactics, deftly manipulating characters onscreen or scribbling things on a whiteboard. Sometimes he would go to these sessions straight from physical training, and the cooling sweat on his skin would raise goosebumps all along the smooth flesh.

You observed how gently his arms could move in yet other circumstances.

Training specialists often joined in when the Heroics were given new gadgets to play with. And although these days tended to be slower, they still made you sweat. Watching the caution with which Marcus handled the gear at first, the slow care he reserved for things with which he was still becoming familiar. The precision and that control he always kept- even when his frustration slipped out in the form of snarky remarks, he was always conscious of his movements. As he gained confidence, the surety would return to his motions, his shoulders squaring in quiet triumph- his broad, broad shoulders, which you had imagined far too many times propping up your thighs while his hands and mouth were otherwise engaged between them.

You wondered if Marcus would treat your body like something new he had to master. If his hands would probe and caress with the same thoroughness. If the same wicked delight would steal over his features as he learned how best to coax you toward his desired goals; if his fascinated smirk would change after the thousandth time he had taken you apart.

It didn’t help that these sessions highlighted that he was a kind, competent teacher. His teammates exasperated him sometimes, but Marcus was the first to step in when one of them was struggling. A light touch to rearrange their stance, an encouraging word or smile. If you hadn’t personally felt the power thrumming under his skin, you would have never guessed that such a soft man was capable of his immense abilities.

Occasionally you had to remind yourself not to get all dopey-eyed when he was instructing the kids. If you thought he was patient with the adult Heroics, it was nothing compared to how he interacted with their younger counterparts. Equally firm and joking in turn, he taught them every trick he knew while desperately hoping they would never have to use the knowledge.

Some days were easier for him than others- the times they practiced with weapons could have unexpectedly diverting consequences. Marcus let Guppy hold his katanas, once- she was fully capable with her shark strength, but the vision of the diminutive girl brandishing swords that were taller than she was, her face aglow with a ferocious grin, had all the others in fits.

You swore he was suppressing laughter himself as he carefully took them away from her. His hands, already distracting enough, looked comically vast compared to hers as he delicately maneuvered them to pluck the swords from her grasp. Something about the sight of his thick fingers, resettling themselves around the hilts with reflexive ease, made your mouth dry.

His fingers squeezed other things, too, and it made flames leap low in your belly every time.

Lime wedges, on the rare occasions he indulged in drinks stronger than wine at the Headquarters bar. His friends’s shoulders, in affection and farewell, after relaxing with them at said bar following hard days. You longed to be one of those who Marcus slung an arm around in jest, a laugh shaking his shoulders and sparkling in his eyes. Would his skin be as warm as it was while swinging a weapon? What would his body feel like softened in mirth, instead of vibrating with focus?

You didn’t blame him for his more formal attitude during work hours. His days were busy, and you rarely saw him off the training mats. You had shared a few evenings with him on nights when the bar was quieter, though. He was perfectly friendly, treating you just like anyone else he was getting to know.

Tonight was one of those quieter nights, but you didn’t do more than cast a quick glance at the small group sitting in the corner before slumping to the bar. You were worn out today, and just wanted something strong and solitary before going home.

You sighed into the numbing wash of your drink, your eyes drifting shut. Nobody would bother you this evening; it wasn’t that kind of atmosphere.

Except- the barstool next to yours scraped against the floor.

You inhaled deeply, preparing to politely rip into whatever idiot was assuming you needed company- only to have the words struck off your lips by the apprehensive brown eyes of Marcus Moreno.

“Hey,” he said, clearing his throat. “I’m sorry to bother you. You can tell me to march right back to my table if you like, but uh, I just wanted to see if you were all right. After today.”

You could see that he genuinely meant it- he was perched only partially on the barstool, ready to take off again if you said the word. But his gaze was curious, concerned.

You brow furrowed. “After today?” you echoed, too caught off-guard to think of anything else. What could he mean? Nothing special had happened today. He’d disarmed you, sure, but it wasn’t the first time that had occurred in the eight months you’d been working with him.

Marcus shifted uncertainly. “You just seemed...tired. Reflexes slower than usual,” he noted wryly. “And, well. We have matching bags.” He pointed to his face, where dark shadows were visible beneath his eyes. He offered a self-deprecating, tentative smile, conscious that he was treading in new territory.

It takes you a minute to process. In all the time you’ve spent observing his fighting techniques to perfection, you’d never considered that he could have been using those same opportunities to observe you. It provokes a funny feeling in your chest, twisting your breath up in your lungs like tangled ribbon.

“Oh,” you murmur, surprised but unoffended by his mention of the bags under your eyes. “Well...I am tired today, I guess.” You took a sip of your drink, gauging his interest, hesitating before continuing. “My sister broke her hip, so she just moved in with me for while she heals. It’s been...a stressful transition,” you admitted.

He angles himself toward you, attention fully committed and eyes widening in sympathy. “Oh gosh, that’s terrible. Do you need some time off? I can clear it with the boss for you, work with Santino for however long you need.” He seemed to straighten up, as if ready to spring away and take care of it the moment you answered.

“No, please,” you chuckled in appreciation of his earnestness. “I might need a few shorter days, but neither of us need me fussing over her 24/7.” Both you and your sister were strongly independent. It meant that you had often been at odds when you were younger, but you were all each other had now, and had made efforts to improve your relationship.

Marcus nodded in understanding, settling again. He seemed at a loss for if he should leave or say something else, so you made the choice for him.

“Tired of getting your ass kicked in my lessons, Moreno? You know Santino doesn’t work you as hard.” Your fellow swordsmanship instructor was slightly younger, a newer hire who was still a little bit in awe of the Heroics.

You didn’t usually speak so flippantly to him, but his eyebrows arced high at the challenge, a smile tugging on his lips. “Sounds like somebody needs a reminder of who kicked whose ass today, ma’am.” Rolling right along with your apparent newfound playfulness.

You pinpointed, suddenly, what was different about him tonight, why this interaction felt different compared to your others. There’d always been an air of deference about him before, as if even outside of the arena he considered you a superior. But tonight he was just treating you like a peer, a regular person. Maybe it had taken your excessively dragging day for him to come to terms with the fact that you were a regular person, but the ice finally felt like it had broken between you and you just...talked, after that. For longer than both of you probably intended.

“Shoot, I have to go get Missy,” Marcus realized, catching sight of his watch. “But you- you’ll be here again? I mean, I see you here a lot.” He stumbled over his words.

Did he? It was true that you were often at the bar at the same time, but for him to acknowledge that meant that he actually noticed you. Remembered your presence.

“Yeah, I’m here pretty regularly,” you confirmed, cautiously hopeful.

“Good. I mean, I’ll see you, then- next time.” His voice rasped low, but there was a nervousness in his expression. He twisted his jacket between his large hands.

He wanted to see you again. “Yes.” You smiled at him, surprise and pleasure shining through. “I’ll see you next time,” you said with conviction.

His eyes crinkled in answer, and your breath caught. Your ordered yourself not to watch him leave the room.

You drove home with a quiet grin on your face.

#we can be heroes #wcbh #wcbh fic #marcus moreno x reader #marcus moreno x you #pedro pascal #pedro pascal characters #NOBODY LOOK AT ME

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caught-in-the-filter · 4 years ago

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Smutty CS notion: sweet duckling Princess Emma stumbles on Dark Hook and is too intrigued for her own good...there are some things she just won’t tell Queen Snow 😉

Chasing a Shadow (Chasing a High) - Chapter 1

A/N:Thank you so much for the prompt @karlyfr13s! There is never enough Dark Hook Duckling. 😏 I hope you like it! 😘❤️ Huge thank you to @veryverynotgoodwrites for beta-ing and being awesome. ❤️ And thank you to everyone on the CSMM Discord for all your support! ❤️

Rated: E; Words (Ch1): 3856; AO3 tumblr.: Ch1, Ch2

——

Emma knew how to handle herself. As the daughter of Snow White and Prince Charming, who’d since become the ruling queen and king, she’d been well-trained in several ways by which to defend herself and protect the citizens of their kingdom. She could use a bow and arrow, was very skilled with a sword, and knew how to travel amongst others undetected. Whenever she’d asked to venture into the town, her parents were usually agreeable to it.

They didn’t know, however, about the dark figure in whom she’d taken an interest on her last few visits. Curiosity bubbled inside her while she watched him from afar as he swiftly moved through the crowd, the hood of his cloak concealing his face as he rounded a corner and vanished from her sight.

It became a little game she played with herself—finding him, trying to catch a glimpse of the man beneath the shadows, almost copying his swagger as she followed him. She wanted to know where he disappeared to every day as the sun set.

Her desire for answers made her bolder than she’d ever been, determination fueling her next moves.

Emma tracked the mysterious figure to a seedy street a few towns over, sparsely lined with lamps which mostly remained unlit as the day gave way to nightfall, and she found herself squinting in the darkness as she lost sight of the man again.

“A bit far from home, aren’t we, lass?”

Emma jumped at the sound of the sultry voice and turned to face its source. Her eyes widened as she got a good look at the cloaked man for the first time. Dark wisps of hair covered his forehead, and matching scruff decorated his chin, with equally dark kohl setting off his deep blue eyes and making them look that much more wild. An intriguing scar had long since healed on his cheek, and despite it, she couldn’t explain the sudden ache she felt as she scanned his features. He was rather attractive, she had to admit, save for the threat of the sharp metal hook whose tip he held at her throat as he backed her to a wall, the sudden contact of cold stone taking her by surprise. (In all honesty, though, that intrigued her too, the moonlight dancing across its surface as it sent a chill of some sort coursing through her.)

“What is it, love?” he sneered. “Are you here to make a deal or to try to kill me?” He glanced down at her scabbard and loosened it with his hand, shoving it to the ground with a clatter. “Either way, you’re in so far over your head.”

“Please,” Emma croaked, her throat suddenly dry, though from what she wasn’t quite sure. It wasn’t exactly fear, she knew that much. “Neither. I just—”

“Ahh,” he gave her a devilish grin, “or perhaps you’re after something else entirely.” His hand snuck beneath her bodice and seared her skin as he slid it up her side. “Does the thought of the big, bad Dark One turn you on?” He leaned the curve of his hook against the wall over her shoulder and hovered his face just above where it had been, inhaling sharply along her neck and humming against the shell of her ear, making her legs tremble beneath her as they suddenly grew weak. “Ohh, you don’t know what you’ve just gotten yourself into, then,” he growled, “Princess.”

The Dark One?!

“W-wait—” she pleaded because she knew she should. Panted, really. He already had her breathless as his mouth explored what little skin was left exposed by her modest outfit, while his hand found her laces and worked to reveal more of it to him. “I didn’t know….” She’d heard stories of the Dark One that had made her blood run cold, and she knew the danger he presented.

But the man in front of her didn’t quite fit the description that had been passed along in fairy tales, and all she felt now was heat, pooling low in her belly and blossoming on her cheeks and curling her toes.

“You know who I am?” she questioned, not that her identity was exactly a secret, but she thought she’d done well to evade his observation, though she guessed her current circumstances proved otherwise.

“Aye. Why do you think I led you all this way?” he asked, rucking up her skirts as his fingers brushed the back of her knee, encouraging her to lock her leg behind him as he lifted it and caressed her thigh. “I couldn’t very well take you in the middle of your own town for everyone you know to witness.” His eyebrow raised as he added cheekily, “Unless, of course, you’d like that too.”

“I wouldn’t,” she replied quickly, unamused by his soft chuckle.

“But you’d like me to take you here?” he teased, not waiting for an answer. She gasped into his mouth as he slanted it against hers, his tongue inviting itself between her lips and she found it not unwelcome as it drew forth a moan from deep within her in tandem with his thigh as he nudged her legs further apart and nestled it between them. Without a second thought, she rocked her hips, seeking a friction she didn’t know she needed until each pass both soothed and spurred the throbbing she felt in her core.

“Tell me what you desire, Princess,” he coaxed, breath hot over her lips. “I know you’ve been following me for some time. Tell me what you’ve come to crave, and I shall make it happen.”

“And what would I owe in return?” Emma knew any interaction with the Dark One would have unintended consequences.

“For you, love, I’d make an exception. Consider it my patronage to the crown,” he said with a flourishing bow while keeping his thigh pressed between hers. The timbre of his voice dropped much lower as he pressed his forehead to hers and purred, “With or without magic, you’ll come with no price, I assure you.”

Emma knew it was a bad idea, tried to convince herself to push him away, but her hands and hormones betrayed her mind as she pulled him closer, one hand anchored in his hair while the other splayed against his back and travelled lower to grip his ass with a confident playfulness neither of them had expected. She felt the hard bulge rubbing her thigh through his trousers as she continued to ride his leg and cursed without realizing what she was saying.

“My, what a crude vocabulary for a princess,” the Dark One commented, slowly sliding his hand toward the apex of her thighs. “Beneath the yards of intricate fabric, you’re still just a needy little wench, aren’t you?” He sent a jolt along her spine as his fingers passed through her folds and eased between them, working her more gently than his reputation would’ve led her to expect. “You put on airs of piety, in your castle with your guard and your formal address, but your slickness reveals the truth of your primal desire.” He pressed them deeper inside her, adding another and curling them towards himself, and she arched into his touch with a whimper and another string of curses when he continued to repeat the motion. “That’s it, darling. Fuck yourself with my hand. Show me just how desperate you are for me.”

Emma furrowed her brow at his words, unsure of when he’d stilled his hand and let her take over the pace. Her rhythm faltered, and she canted her hips in protest as he removed his hand from her core, only to watch in stunned amazement as he licked her arousal from his fingers one by one, his talented tongue determined to catch every drop.

“Your taste is exquisite, Princess,” he said. “It’s no wonder you stay locked away at most times. If they only knew what they were missing, you’d never be without a caller begging for even the smallest sample of your irresistible sweetness.”

Emma stuttered over unintelligible syllables, biting back words she hadn’t expected to want to say, a vulgar question nagging to be spoken that she wouldn’t dare to voice.

“Yes, love?” The Dark One pressed his chest flush against her, staring into her eyes, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from hers.

“I, umm—” Emma hesitated. The Dark One simply smiled, waiting.

“You’re a bit of an open book, Princess,” he said. “I can read your thoughts, but to get what you want, I need you to say it.”

Not one to back down from a challenge, Emma worked up the courage to ask, “Would—would you like to taste it directly?”

He raised his eyebrow and hummed his assent, his voice a low rumble in his chest as he prodded, “Is that what you would like, love?”

“Y-yes.”

“Then tell me.”

“I want your mouth on me, Dark One,” she pleaded. “I want to feel your tongue inside me.”

“Mmmm, with pleasure,” he growled as he sank to his knees in front of her and ducked beneath her skirts.

The sinful cry that left her lips echoed down the empty street as he made contact with her wet and aching flesh, and Emma was sure someone would hear it and the equally loud moans that followed. Her legs wanted to cave beneath her, instinctively pulling together and pressing tightly around his cheeks as he devoured her, the brush of his scruff burning her skin in the best way. He chuckled without pausing his ministrations and held her thighs apart with the palm of his hand warming one and the flat of his hook cooling the other. She squirmed at the conflicting temperatures, or more likely at the way he licked and sucked in the space between them.

“Still with me, Princess?” he mumbled into her core, muffled by the layers of fabric cinched at her waist that shrouded him. Bracing herself with her arms against the wall, her fingertips dug into the gaps between the stones as he scraped his teeth against her clit and nipped at her sensitive flesh, his tongue plunging inside her as he drank in her arousal.

“Mmhmm,” she sighed unconvincingly, rolling her hips as she chased her high. A building tension overwhelmed her as the Dark One nosed at the swollen bundle of nerves while his tongue relentlessly found a spot that his fingers had only teased. “Oh gods,” she panted, her knuckles turning white as she heavily relied on the wall to keep her upright, losing the support of his hand and hook as they met his mouth in the middle to bring her to the edge.

“You flatter me,” he muttered, the joke lost on her as her head spun dizzily and fell back against the stone, her eyes fluttering closed while her hips bucked into his encouraging grunts as she came hard on his tongue.

The Dark One did well to catch as much of it as he could, opening his mouth beneath her as he thrust his fingers inside her with purpose and let her release pour into it, licking along her folds and sucking on her clit until she at last relaxed into the wall behind her. He lifted her skirts and stood before her once more, looking absolutely wrecked and feral, his chin glistening with her wetness below swollen lips, his hair mussed from static and sweat, his pupils blown wide with a greater hunger they’d yet to sate.

“I so wanted to make you wait for it,” he growled, chest heaving, “to make you wait for your release until I had you on my cock, but you were just too tempting, my dear. I had to taste all of you.”

Emma’s hands reached up to attempt to tame the haphazard locks atop his head but only served to add to the chaos as she clenched fistfuls of it instead when his lips collided with her own. She melted at the heady taste of herself on him and welcomed his full perusal of her mouth. The Dark One moaned eagerly as his tongue teased hers as it had her core, and Emma boldly took his bottom lip between her teeth as she pulled back for just a moment before she rose on her toes to meet him again.

“That’s it, Princess,” he said as they breathed together. “Take what you want.” He nosed along her jaw, nipping at the path until he bit her earlobe. His hook caught on her neckline and he tugged it down, down until he freed her breasts. The cool night air rushed across her newly exposed skin, teasing her nipples until he harshly palmed one breast and thumbed at the stiffening peak as he asked, “What do you want?”

“I want—” she could barely breathe, let alone think enough to speak. But then, she really didn’t need to think at all, only feel, to feel something more and then keep feeling it until she crashed all over again. “I want your cock, Dark One. Give me your cock.”

“Good girl,” he purred into her ear as he unlaced his trousers and lifted her skirts in the crook of his hook. His hand departed from her breast only long enough to align himself with her entrance and press inside with one steady roll of his hips as his teeth sank into her shoulder.

Emma cried out at the pleasurable pain of his bite and the stretch of his cock, clutching at his back for any sort of hold, finding purchase in the material of his cloak.

The Dark One’s fingers returned to their task of kneading her flesh as his tongue worked to soothe the purpling spot onto which his mouth had latched, and he began to move inside her with deep thrusts that left her almost empty before filling her completely each time.

“Gods, you’re so fucking tight, Princess,” he praised. “Tight and wet and fucking perfect. All for me.”

The small, encouraging sounds she made with every slide echoed the muted slap of his balls against her wet skin, the Dark One’s hungry moans finding their own sort of syncopated rhythm as he kissed along her collarbone and licked at the hollow of her throat before meeting her mouth again.

“Oh, how I’d love to taste every inch of you,” the Dark One groaned against her lips, “to watch your body quiver as I run my tongue all over your skin.” He dipped his head to trail his breath down her chest and suck at her nipple before releasing it with a soft pop. “But alas, we’ve not the time nor is it the place, and there’s a much more pressing matter for us both.”

Emma felt that tension building inside herself again as he devoured her mouth once more, massaged her breasts relentlessly, and slammed into her aching core. His words affected her more than she thought they could, and she writhed against the wall as she moved with him in an effort to bring them both to completion. She could tell he felt it too as the cords in his neck tensed and the force of his hips increased.

“Where do you want it, love?” he asked, his voice little more than a whisper this time as the words caught in his throat.

“Ins—inside me,” she choked between whimpers. “I want to feel it inside me, Dark One. Please come inside me.”

“Fuck, Princess, you are a naughty minx.” His thrusts grew rougher, more frantic as he began to lose the last of his resolve. “As you wish, my darling.”

While she thought he was already as impossibly deep as he could go, the Dark One adjusted his angle so that his legs would give him a stronger foundation as he pistoned his hips with abandon. The change sent her reeling, and she struggled to hold on as the corners of her vision blurred from his merciless snaps.

“Are you with me, Princess?” He breathed.

“Mmhmm,” Emma answered as before, though she knew it wasn’t quite true. Her mind travelled to the edge of another blissful plane, and her body was kept from physically falling only by his pinning hers to the wall.

“No, I mean, are you with me, love?” the Dark One clarified. “I’m so fucking close, sweetheart. Are you with me?”

“Y-yes.”

“Good.” His hand slid its way up to her throat, taking a loose but firm hold. This time Emma did feel just a touch of fear, wondering how far the darkness would go to get him where he wanted to be, but it soon turned to further desire as the Dark One only tightened his grip enough to make her gasp as she relaxed in a mildly lightheaded haze. “Come for me, Princess. Come right on my cock as I fill you with my seed, you naughty thing.”

It did something to her, the way he continually mixed formalities with such vulgarity in equally sultry tones and with an eloquence that made her wonder for a brief moment why there would be any other way to speak when his speech alone could make her feel so good.

Emma’s legs began to quake beneath her when he passed the curve of his hook over her clit in deliberate circles and reminded her that she didn’t have to rely on just his voice to find her release, for which she was most grateful.

The Dark One stifled their moans of pleasure with a passionate kiss, plunging his tongue as deep as his cock as his hips stuttered and stilled and he spilled himself inside her. Their chests heaved as they rested their foreheads together and panted over each other’s lips, attempting to catch their breaths and waiting for their limbs to feel solidified again before daring to move.

“That was wonderful, darling. And I’ll be expecting some… other reciprocation with this pretty little mouth of yours next time,” the Dark One smirked. With a snap of his fingers, he righted himself, leaving her already missing the feel of his cock as his trousers laced themselves.

“Next time? I thought you said I’d come at no price,” she teased, wrapping her fingers around his hook and running them back and forth along the curve.

“That I did. And I didn’t lie, you’ve nothing to repay me.” He took the time to manually fix her bodice, every brush of his fingers lighting little fires across her skin, his effort with the ties as hot as the rest of their prior interactions. “But you withheld the truth from me of just how good of a fuck you are, Princess. You can’t honestly say this was a one-time thing.”

Emma hummed and placed her other hand on his chest as she challenged, “And what if I do?”

“Then I’d hope you’d kindly get on your knees for me right now, and I would assure you that whatever ungodly hour you arrive home will have been worth it.”

Emma’s gaze flicked from his eyes to his mouth and back as she pulled her bottom lip between her teeth.

“As tempting as that sounds,” she said with a smile, genuinely interested in finding out how he tastes and curious to see just how weak she could make the all-powerful Dark One in the process. But she knew she shouldn’t have gone this far to begin with, and fearing the consequences of further pursuit of whatever this was with him, she responded, “I need to get back before my extended absence is noticed, unless you want to deal with the army of guards my parents would send after you if they somehow found out you’ve ‘ruined’ me.”

“‘Ruined’ you?” His eyebrow raised as he scoffed, “Oh love, your innocence was clearly gone long before tonight. We both know you knew what you were after when you followed me here, and you certainly knew what you were doing when you got it.” His voice became darker, almost threatening when he added, “And I can handle the guards.”

“We might know that, but they sure as hell don’t, and I intend to keep it that way.” Emma sighed. “And I know you can handle them, that’s what I’m afraid of. It’s not for your sake but for theirs.” That earned a sarcastically begrudging eye roll from him.

Emma ducked and slipped away from him, picking up her scabbard as she did, and he spun on his heel as he watched her slowly step backward, beyond his reach.

“Goodbye, Dark One,” she said.

“I’m not unwilling to fight for what I want. Don’t think I’m letting you go this easily.”

“I would despair if you did.” Emma took another backward step before turning and taking off in the direction of her castle.

“Goodbye, Princess,” the Dark One called after her, or thought he called, his voice softer than he’d realized or intended as he watched her leave and got lost in the thought of his release still inside her.

It was all Emma could think about too, knowing it was driving him just as mad and grinning to herself at the fact that she could get to him. She could feel the way it dripped down her thighs as she moved. She could feel the way it dried sticky on her skin as she allowed it to remain there longer than she probably should have.

And she could feel it later as she further explored herself when she finally reunited with her bed and imagined what else he might do to her if given the chance, and what she could do to him, the scent of his pleasure mixing with that of her own arousal as they blended on her desperate fingers, which would have to suffice until she could find him again. She bit back moans and struggled to refrain from calling out his infamous moniker as her head fell back with the fresh memory of his mouth on her neck and the promise that she would feel it everywhere else.

Oh yes. Yes.

Yes, she would absolutely have to see him again, somewhere that would allow them a bit more freedom, the potential danger of granting that to him only adding to the thrill of it all.

Recalling his request, she brought her wet fingers to her lips and tested herself to see what she could handle, learning how much could fit and how deeply and for how long before she’d need a break. Just the hint of him on them encouraged her to try more, deeper, longer, as her other hand matched the pace inside her core and her thumb flicked at her clit.

She’d find an excuse for why she’d need to clean her own sheets tomorrow.

As Emma at last relaxed into the mattress, she drifted into dreams of what might be in store for the two of them. There are some things she would never tell her parents, and fucking the Dark One again and again would just have to be one of them.

——

Tag list ❤️: @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @hollyethecurious @ilovemesomekillianjones @itsfabianadocarmo @jonesfandomfanatic @jrob64 @klynn-stormz @kmomof4 @qualitycoffeethings @stahlop @teamhook @the-darkdragonfly @thejollyroger-writer @tiganasummertree @xsajx @wefoundloveunderthelight @zaharadessert

#cs smut #captain swan #cs ff #cs fanfiction #dark hook duckling #dark hook #princess!emma #pwp #cs pwp #kayla writes #my writing #prompt fic #chasing a shadow (chasing a high)

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quillyfied · 3 years ago

Text

Because it’s my blog and I’ll cry if I want to, here’s a detailed list of the things I love and don’t love about the Wheel of Time series so far (starting with I LOVE how jam-packed each episode is, makes them seem so much longer than an hour, but also I DO NOT LOVE that they’re releasing them in three-episode chunks, how DARE they force me to go back to waiting for weekly episodes like some kind of 90s peasant). Needless to say, this will be chock-full of spoilers for both the TV show and the book series, so approach at your own risk.

Things I love:

- The CASTING. Everyone is doing so well and I can’t think of a single cast member who isn’t pulling their weight to make this an incredible production, even the background characters (Dana the Darkfriend in ep3 in particular was sparkling, adored her performance from beginning to end). They all work so well together and are great at the delicate moments of tension and the larger gestures of conflict and comradery too.

- The music. It’s so not what I thought it was going to be but the folksy guitar and the dark drama of it really compliment the series. I have mixed feelings about the look of it so far—it all looks amazing, especially the costuming and the locations, but also it just feels like a vague gritty grey-brown dark drama when the books never felt that way to me. They were at least a more vibrant and colorful gritty drama, but we’ll probably have to wait until we get out of the wilderness and into Robert Jordan’s excessive descriptions of everyone’s outfits and dresses and jewels for that.

- Channeling! It’s got a little bit of an ATLA vibe, which I’m into, and is an impressive ethereal visual for the amounts of power Moiraine is handling while fighting Trollocs (who look AMAZING btw, so unsettling). The way they’re describing it and handling it as opposed to the books is interesting too, though it’s early so we’ll have to see how exactly they’re doing it. The show hasn’t gone into how there are two halves to the One Power, and how the threads of Power they make into weaves that become spells are elemental-based, but that might still be a bit much for this early in the series (or at all; the elemental-based threads are also tied a bit into the binary gender split of the One Power, with women being more proficient with air and water and men with earth and fire and both with spirit, so if they’re getting rid of the gender differential it would make sense to also further simplify and get rid of the elemental threads, too. Saves them the trouble of color-coding the threads, which, while cool and also possibly tying into the EXCEPTIONAL opening sequence with the Pattern being woven so chaotically, would take up more animation time. Though we do also lose a bit of what makes Nynaeve such a powerful and exceptional channeler and why she’s Rand’s first choice in helping him cleanse the male half of the One Power, but it’s been three episodes, can’t tell what all is being written off yet this early in the game). We just get Liandrin’s badass and creepy monologue right before she Gentles Logain, hinting at the taint on the Power that comes from men touching it. Are they doing away with the gendered halves of the Power? Are they introducing it later, when Egwene enters the White Tower? WHO KNOWS?? I’m excited to find out, because already changing up the gendered role of the Dragon (or at least the expectation surrounding it) from the books is a change I can get behind.

- How the Emond’s Field villagers start fighting back against the Trollocs. The Old Blood runs strong in the mountains, indeed. Listen there were many times when I just started crying bc I was so excited and pleased with what was happening, and that moment when Daise Congar picks up a pitchfork and the villagers join her in stabbing a Trolloc to death was incredible. Y’know, side note, I also love how the show is taking the challenged gender roles from the books and just augmenting it—they’re doing a delicate dance with the gendered nature of the magic system but in everything else, it’s very clear that gender doesn’t mean much (meaning, women aren’t oppressed or subjected to sexualized violence on the same level as other fantasy series and this was true in the books as well—such a wealth of complex and nuanced female characters equal with the nuanced and complex male characters. And somehow they’re doing it MORE in the show. Incredible. And! AND! Introducing normalized queerness much earlier!! FANTASTIC).

And now, for the things I don’t quite love:

- Perrin’s wife. Okay, I’ve mostly worked through this and found my way back to being content to see where it goes, but introducing a completely new character, Laila, as his wife, and then having him accidentally kill her, did NOT sit right with me at first. Felt too close to fridging, in a series that really didn’t need it or benefit from it. However, after talking to some other folks, I’m making my peace with it and the possible implications it could have on the plot later when Perrin’s book wife Faile shows up in fixing a lot of the problems I had with what their relationship goes through in the books. My only persistent complaint is that they introduced Laila but then we didn’t get much time with her at all beyond a sense that she’s awkward, a relentless fighter, probably loved Perrin but had a hard time verbalizing it, and was friends with Perrin’s friends too. Idk she seemed cool but we didn’t get enough time with her for her death to be as impactful as it could have been. (Also it just hit me last night while trying to fall asleep that the “I know” that Laila whispers in Perrin’s nightmare echoes the “I know” she says after Perrin tells her he loves her and THERE’S an added layer of sadness I didn’t need, thanks WOT Prime.) Also it’s a little weird to keep bringing up her name in connection with Nynaeve’s as people they lost during the Trolloc attack because it felt heavy-handed in trying to remind the audience of this rando side character we should also feel sad about losing; Mat’s little monologue about the knife Laila made him and giving it to Perrin had much more impact in getting us to retroactively get to know her and like her more. For book fans, anyway, who would already have an emotional connection to Perrin and feel for him, Laila is a discordant note. I’ll live with it, I’m curious to see where it goes, but I’m not particularly pleased about it either.

- Rand and Egwene’s relationship. Like. Okay. Okay. I get why they had Rand and Egwene sleeping together. I just don’t like it. Also taking Aviendha’s cheeky little “I heard men fall asleep afterwards bc they’re lazy” comment from the books after she and Rand hook up (Rand’s actual first time, I want it known, several books in) was a nice callback but giving it to Egwene and Rand…eugh. I’m sorry, I’m forever attached to the books’ choice of Rand and Egwene having, like, cute little kid crushes on each other and how that relationship between them morphs as they leave home and meet new people and gain new experiences until they finally have to have the awkward “I know in another life we would have gotten married and been happy but now, I no longer have a crush on you, sorry dude, let’s be good friends instead” talk. I get what the show is going for, building the tension between them to something more hard-hitting and emotional as their relationship falls apart, but (and maybe this is the asexual perspective in me speaking) I don’t think they needed to have sex to accomplish that. I’m forever grateful we didn’t get the full scene of it, though, THAT is a vibe I want to stick around because it’s my favorite part of the books, how there’s no sex scenes, just fade to black moments. Sex is normal and part of adult life but that doesn’t mean I want to watch it happen, personally!

- The language. Okay, yeah, I get it, the language they use in the books would sound silly out loud and might not fit with the blood and gore of the world, but that’s another thing I preferred from the books, how we had this complex adult world but without copious swears and sex. And to be frank, having the words most used being piss, prick, shit, and bastard fits, and bitch, but the first time someone throws the C word in there I’m going to have to pause and take a minute to sigh and massage my head because I really don’t think the Wheel of Time world NEEDED that. I just disagree on a visceral level that you need sex and strong language to convey that this is a Serious Adult Fantasy World. People are getting eaten alive by minotaur-like creatures with human eyes and beast faces and the violence is only going to get more bloody and more creative as the stakes and the powers get higher and higher, that’s pretty adult on its own tbh. (And please keep in mind these are just my own personal preferences, I’m a wimpy baby and know for a fact that if I didn’t love the books so much that the violence would be way too much for me to stomach and continue watching, bc there’s a huge difference between reading it and seeing/hearing it, yknow? But. Love the books. Want to see where the show is going. So I’ll suck it up.)

- Mat’s backstory and family changing. Just seems unnecessary tbh. I get that his parents being dysfunctional drunks gives him more reason to want to go back and protect his sisters and causes more plot drama but it also seems like a change made to just make it grittier and I don’t appreciate that in the slightest. Idk, I don’t think it’s a bad thing to have the Emond’s Field Five all come from good, healthy homes, and from my refresher on the WOT Wiki, I completely forgot that Abell Cauthon is up there with Tam al’Thor on list of Good Concerned Dads (Who Are Also Proficient At Weapons), and it SUCKS to lose that in favor of Mat, renowned gambler and drinker and tail-chaser, come from a broken home wherein his dad is a renowned gambler, drinker, and tail-chaser giving his mother ten kinds of grief. While we’re on the subject of changing backstories again, Nynaeve kinda got Rand’s backstory a bit, didn’t she? And Rand never learned that he was adopted while dragging his injured father through Trolloc-infested woods. Look I GET IT they’re going to change things from the books, but why change these particular things tho XD It’s only been three episodes, I’m sure their reasons will become clear in time, but for now…blegh it’s different I don’t like it weh weh weh.

Overall I think we’re getting a labor of love and devotion (…and apparently a casting change for Mat come Season 2?? Why???), which comes through in every aspect and soothes over a lot of the stuff about it I’m not enjoying much, and I’m excited to see more!

#wot prime #wot prime spoilers #wheel of time #overall i am enjoying the experience #we will see where it goes

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hotchley · 3 years ago

Text

like blood underneath your fingernails

Honestly, I’m quite proud of this one. It’s been in the works for a while, and I finally have a title (from Looking Too Closely- Fink) and I both did those flashcards and emptied the dishwasher, so it’s here now. It’s been proofread!! Once. In the car.

The writers (according to the internet) did not deal with the aftermath of Scratch’s initial... thing. So I took it upon myself to write the case after. It got dark, but I had fun writing it. And it has low-key Mortch vibes... a lot of other amazing writers have also written fics linked to this, so you need to read those too because they’re just the best

OH!! This is not a Rossi-friendly fic. I have tried to explain why he responds the way he does, but it does come off as Rossi bashing, so if you reallllly love him and think he was a great friend to Hotch... skip on this one.

Trigger Warnings: dissociation, aftermath of torture, a slight reference to suicide and child death, canon-typical violence, cases involving kidnappings and murder, blood, dark themes, other canon-typical darkness, hallucinations

read on ao3!

He cannot close his eyes.

Because when he closes his eyes, he sees one of them, falling to the ground as the light leaves their eyes and the life leaves their body because his worst fear has never been his own death. It has always been the death of the family he is meant to protect- whether that was Sean, or Haley or the team.

He hears the fear in JJ's voice as Spencer, her little brother, the boy that has always been too young, the man that he has never succeeded in saving, falls to the ground, eyes never opening again.

He tastes the horrifying and coppery tang of blood as Derek is shot right in front of his eyes, the blood splattering onto his cheek and every sentence Reid has ever spoken about the bacteria and pathogens in blood springing to the forefront of his mind.

He smells the bitter and disgusting sage that Peter Lewis uses to torment people and turn them into brutal murderers that cannot stand the sight of their own hands or wrap their heads around their actions because they had always been normal and good, and it hurts because he's already a killer, never once normal or good.

He touches the knife that was slid towards him, the metal cool against his warm hand and the weight a comforting thing that make him feel like he could regain control of the situation he was in, despite the thoughts of George Foyet that fill his mind, and he wonders whether Scratch is impotent.

He closes his eyes and he no longer knows what is real.

It is why he is returning to work only ten days after the case. He had wanted to take the usual five, terrified even of that small number because he couldn't trust himself. The doctors that assessed him in the hospital wanted him to take thirty. Ten, and a passed psychological evaluation, had been the compromise.

He wonders if the team knows how he lied. They must do. They aren't stupid. He wonders if anyone will call him out on it, or if they'll once again be so terrified of the humanity he wants nothing more than to cling to that they will simply watch and wait until he shatters again.

The steady ticking of the clock is the only noise in the otherwise silent apartment. When he flicks the light on, he sees there are still five hours until he needs to wake up. For a single moment, he closes his eyes, contemplating whether or not attempting to sleep is a pointless exercise. He swears he can still taste sage and opens his eyes again.

A silent house is not necessarily a bad thing. It means Jack is sleeping through the night, no nightmares about the gunshots haunting him. And it means the extra locks on the door, the obsessive way he checks every window is locked as soon as the sun goes down, are doing their job at keeping the monsters out of the only home Jack has real memories of.

Aaron creeps out of bed, grabbing the jumper that was folded at the foot of his bed. Once he's put it on, he sighs to himself and counts to five. For each number, he tells himself a fact that cannot be disputed. That grounds him.

His name is Aaron Hotchner.

He is forty-four years old.

He is standing inside his bedroom, in his apartment, which is located in Virginia.

The windows of that apartment are locked from the inside.

Just down the hallway, his son is sleeping peacefully, untouched by the monsters that strangle his father every single day.

He creeps down that hallway, taking comfort when the same floorboard that always creaks does just that. Normally he would avoid it. But lately he's been finding every opportunity to do something that Peter Lewis would have no knowledge of, if only so he can convince himself he's fine.

Jack's door is slightly open, allowing some light to enter. Aaron nudges it gently, making sure he doesn't wake Jack. The door doesn't make a sound, and his son carries on sleeping. He never looks so similar to his mother as he does when he sleeps. Haley slept on her left side, a slight smile on her face, and Jack does the same, unless he has a bad dream.

But even then, he is so much like his mother that his tears can be turned into something beautiful. Aaron was the exception of their little family, having always expressed his emotions so honestly, the few times he let himself do that, that there was no way it could be anything but ugly and human.

He's too big for the chair in front of Jack's desk, but he sits in it anyways, turning it so he can face Jack's bed. On the table is his latest art project- a collage of things that remind him of the people he loves- and Aaron finds it difficult to look at. Because his son has painted his mother as a perfect angel, and his father a superhero.

One day, Jack will realise his father is the furthest thing from the superhero and he will hate him for destroying his childhood and taking his mother from him before he was old enough to understand that people were mortal. Aaron is mentally preparing for that day- there are already so many letters that will never excuse or justify what he did hidden in his office drawer- but until then. he will allow himself this one good thing.

He will allow himself to sit, and take comfort in the steady rise and fall of Jack's chest. He ends up staying there until sunlight starts to stream through the window, and then he takes his leave.

Seeing Jack, sleeping so calmly and normally, reminds him of why he's going back to work. Because if he hurts the wrong person there, the team won't hesitate and they'll do it. If he hurts Jack- and he knows he's weaker than the man that refused to harm his son, knows that it will be Jack- there will be nobody there to end his pain and suffering. He'll be forced to live with it.

A minute before his alarm is set to go, he turns it off, and then he goes about morning like it is any other day.

He doesn't feel like himself till he puts the watch Dave got him when became lead profiler on, tightening the strap till it mirrors the feeling of holding the knife. And he wonders whether the team are discussing his return to duty the same way they had six years ago.

They are. Aaron's absence meant more paperwork for the rest of them, as there is no way the team are going to let him handle it when he comes back, so every single one of them are in an hour earlier. It also means his return will be as smooth as it can be.

Even if they don't all approve.

"It's only been ten days," Derek says. "He needs more time."

"Does he? He came back thirty-four days after George Foyet stabbed him in his apartment and his wife and son were sent into Witness Protection, and he was fine. This is like child's play compared to that," Dave says, fiddling with a paperclip.

"Ex-wife," Reid corrects quietly.

The three of them are sitting in the bullpen, looking towards the elevator every few minutes. Kate pretends she's not listening, and Derek pretends he believes her.

"Was he fine? He looked us in the eye and asked why a man that had lost his wife and child was still alive. He walked into a hostage situation unarmed. We all pretended he was fine because we needed Foyet to strike, but I'm not making that mistake again. Not after what happened when he did end up striking," Derek snaps.

Spencer swallows. Dave just raises an eyebrow. It's almost funny. Spencer views Aaron as a father, Dave as a son. Either way, they both believe he is perfect. Able to come back from anything and everything with nothing more than a broken ego. But Derek remembers what Foyet's body looked like, and he remembers how Aaron had shattered in his arms for those few seconds.

"If you want to ruin his first day back, then be my guest. But you need to trust him the same way he trusts us. After all, you care more about him than you do your job," Dave says, annoyance bleeding into his tone.

And Derek gets it. He really does. He had wanted to believe Gideon was invincible when he came back after Boston. Everyone had. So they hadn't done anything, and he had just gotten more and more reckless with his actions until innocent people ended up dead and Hotch got suspended. And then he ran.

He isn't going to let that happen again.

"This isn't about not trusting him. This is about keeping him safe. And you're right. I do care about him more, because the last time I didn't, he almost retired. So we either do the opposite of what we did last time, or we let history repeat itself."

"Derek, you can't force him into anything. He passed his psych eval, so Cruz can't do anything either," Spencer says.

Derek softens as he turns to him. "I know pretty boy. It's not about forcing him into anything. It's about making sure he knows that we're here if he needs more time, or if he needs a break. And don't get me started on that psych eval. I saw his answers. They're too perfect. He's lying."

"So what are you going to do?" Dave challenges, and not for the first time, Derek wonders how Aaron kept his sanity working with him, Jason Gideon and Max Ryan at the same time without any of the other members to meet his eyes with the same exasperated look every time one of them reverted to the old fashioned way of doing things.

"Be the friend he trusts me to be," Derek says. It's his own challenge. Dave prides himself on being the only one to call him Aaron. To people outside the team, Rossi seems to be the only one that Aaron trusts enough to be vulnerable with.

But Derek knows better. Aaron will never be completely open with anyone, but he still feels like he has a duty to be the hopeful and undamaged boy that thought he could save the world that Dave recruited. He still has a duty to be the father that Spencer never had and thought he'd found in Gideon. It is only with Derek that he allows himself to do his own type of falling apart: one that is contained and messy and ugly. Somehow both terrifying and anticlimactic

It was Derek that stopped him from running into a burning building all those years ago. It was Derek that was voluntarily told about Haley leaving. It was Derek that stepped up as Unit Chief and pulled him off Foyet's dead body. Not Dave and certainly not Spencer. So he won't let them influence his actions. Not this time.

Hotch does blink. But only when he thinks nobody will see him do it.

Dave keeps eye contact for a few more moments, but this time, Derek does not break it. Eventually the older man turns around and heads to his office. Derek sighs, knowing fully well that Aaron is going to end up doing the paperwork anyways.

"Is he going to be okay?" Spencer asks, sounding so painfully young that Derek has to look at him to remember he wasn't the new recruit anymore.

"Dave? Yeah, he'll be annoyed, we'll get a case and then everything will be fine," Derek says, smiling so Reid doesn't worry.

"No I meant Hotch. Will he be okay?"

Derek can't tell him the truth. "Of course he will. He's Hotch."

"Why are you lying to me?"

He knows there's no point in trying to deny it. "I'm not trying to patronise you or keep you in the dark. It's not that. It's just- I don't know. It's stupid, but I want to shield you from his mortality and flaws and imperfections for as long as is humanly possible. You are always going to have a different relationship with Hotch because of how much younger you are, and I just don't want to be the one that ruins it."

"So you want to protect me?"

Derek nods. "I guess."

"Thank you. Nobody ever did that when I was younger," Spencer says.

Kate breaks the ensuing silence by asking for Spencer's opinion on her consult, and Derek starts watching the elevator doors again. They don't open until precisely nine, when Hotch steps off, dressed in the same suit and tie he wears every second Monday of the month, carrying his briefcase and acting like nothing happened.

He gives them a slight smile as he passes them in the bullpen, and even those few seconds are enough for Derek to see that he hasn't been sleeping.

When Aaron sets his briefcase down, Spencer looks to him, nervous. Derek gives him a small smile, even though they all saw him as he entered. It's only been ten days since they last saw him, but his suits seem to hang from him more than before. Dave looks out at them, and Derek starts to count.

He counts to three hundred, and is immediately struck by just how fast time can go. Three hundred seconds is five minutes, and yet it feels like no time has passed. But when Hotch looks out at them, as he always does, everyday, without fail, ten days feels like a lifetime.

He is terrified as he stands, but he fights through the fear and goes up to his friend's office. The door is open, so he walks in without knocking. When Hotch looks at him, he closes both the door and the blinds. Hotch swallows as the sound of them closing fills the air.

"I don't want them profiling this conversation," he explains.

Aaron just nods. "Thank you."

"You don't need to pretend with me," Derek says.

Aaron looks away, and Foyet's presence, usually contained to the self-deprecating voice in his head telling him he's no better than his father, seems to fill the room. They both know why he doesn't pretend anymore.

"I don't know what you want me to say."

"You don't need to say anything. I don't expect you to tell me the truth, because I wouldn't, if I was you. I'd be too terrified. But I remember what it was like seeing Spencer and Emily. So if you do want to talk, then I'm here. Always. And I won't flinch."

Aaron knows this to be true. When they finally got back to Quantico after Jason's death, Derek found him sobbing in the men's bathroom, the barriers he had spent so long piecing together completely breaking when he opened his drawer and found a photo from the early days, where Jason looked happy and hopeful. He hadn't said anything. Just sat beside him, and offered a tissue.

"I know you won't."

Derek sighs, not sure what he's meant to do. "Aaron-" he starts, not sure what he's going to see next.

"I can't trust myself. I- I don't know what's real, and I keep trying to do the grounding things that the bureau therapist said I need to, but I don't know if they're working. I have post-it notes all over the apartment and I have my five facts, and I have things I can touch, but Scratch knew so much, I can't- I feel like he's everywhere and he knows everything."

It is so honestly vulnerable that Derek wants nothing more than to flee, if only so he can cling to the Aaron that existed when he first joined the unit for just one more moment. But he made a promise. And he has no idea how he's meant to keep it, but he's going to.

He holds his hand out. When Aaron doesn't take it, he leans over the desk, gently linking their fingers. "I'm here. With you. Scratch can't get our body temperatures perfect. He can't know that I'm always slightly warmer and you're always colder. He can't know that twelve years ago, I called you darling because I didn't realise it was you."

Aaron chuckles slightly. "Derek."

"You don't need to say anything. I messed up after Foyet. I won't do that again."

He shakes his head, finally meeting his eyes, and the fire in them is almost enough to convince Derek that everything is going to be fine. Almost.

"You did everything you could after Foyet. If you had tried to do more, I would have stopped you. We both know that. You did everything right, everything perfectly right and you cannot feel like you failed because you didn't. Do you understand me?"

Derek swallows. “Yes. But you need to understand that if you need anything- and I mean anything, whether it’s for me to take the reins for a bit, an unofficial firearms certification, or even just to do the grounding techniques with you, I will.”

Aaron nods. “I know Derek. I know. Thank you.”

Derek gives him the most convincing smile he can, leaving the door open because Aaron hated having it closed. As he exits. Dave steps in, and he sees as Aaron morphs back into Hotch to be the man that Dave needs him to be. It hurts to see, but he understands why it happens.

He doesn’t believe in God. He hasn’t for a while. But he needs to do something other than stare at dead bodies, so he prays that the team remain grounded for a few days. Not for too long because then Aaron will get suspicious and realise that Derek had been forging Rossi’s signature in order to transfer their out of state cases to other teams, but long enough for him to get settled once more.

Or as settled as he would ever be.

It’s probably why, only minutes after Dave leaves Hotch’s office, smiling, whilst the other man just looks exhausted, JJ comes rushing into the bullpen. There are five files in her arms, and she looks frantic.

“No,” Derek says.

“I’m sorry, but we need to go on this one. It came directly to me. It’s- just look.”

He doesn’t want to, but as JJ goes to give the files to Dave and Aaron, he does, if only so he can gauge how much support he will need. And as he opens it, he understands exactly why they’re going on this case. Why, even if JJ had tried to hide it from Hotch, he would’ve said they had a duty.

They have four victims. All blonde women. All mothers. All divorced. Killed by a single gunshot to the head. No evidence of sexual assault, but they were held captive and tortured for three days before being dumped in their home. All found by their ex-husbands, who were only there to drop the child off.

Hotch does not show an ounce of humanity during the journey there. It terrifies Derek. Hotch only refuses to show how human he is when he’s close to falling apart. Too close for anyone to feel comfortable. Instead, he keeps his tone detached and professional. Derek pretends to not notice the way Aaron pushes down on his stomach, over the biggest scar Foyet left. Aaron pretends he doesn’t see Derek watching him.

When they get to the station, Derek knows it’s going to be a long case. Him and Reid are sent to the coroner’s office, whilst JJ and Kate are tasked with searching through their victims history. Which means Hotch and Rossi are left to interview the husbands. JJ and Derek- the most attuned to Hotch and the thought behind his actions- make a silent agreement that they will do whatever it takes to make sure Rossi doesn’t go too far. Whatever that means.

They fail because they don’t get the chance to speak to him before they leave the precinct.

And when they return, Dave is nowhere to be seen, and Aaron is sat in the conference room, clenching his jaw and hyper focused on the details in the case files.

“Did you get anything from the husbands?” JJ asks, tone gentle.

Hotch shakes his head. “They’re grieving, and terrified for their children. But they’re not guilty. They all loved their wives.”

Nobody bothers to point out all four couples were divorced.

"Where's Rossi?" Reid asks.

The tension in Aaron's shoulders increases.

"Hotch," Kate says, the only one that can.

"He accused one of the father's of committing the crime," Hotch says.

JJ and Morgan give each other identical looks. Kate looks horrified, and Spencer is stunned speechless.

"What happened after?" she prompts.

Hotch doesn't speak. Kate sighs, then leads JJ away. As she passes Spencer, she asks him to follow her because Hotch and Morgan need to speak alone. He nods and leaves without another word.

"Aaron," Derek says.

"I ended the interrogation and dragged him out of the room. And then I punched him in the face because those women remind me of Haley and those fathers remind me of myself and every accusation he made reminded me of the months after her death and I couldn't do it."

Derek wants to punch Dave himself. He must have known what he was doing, and in some strange and obscure way thought his actions would help the situation. Clearly he couldn't have been more wrong.

"You didn't cause Haley's death," he says, for lack of any other words.

"I did. Maybe I didn't put the gun to her head and pull the trigger, but I did cause it. That's not what I'm scared about though."

"What are you scared of then?" Derek asks, well aware that they're in the middle of a police station where anyone could hear them, but needing to take advantage of Aaron's vulnerability before he let his mask slip back into place.

"Scratch. I punched Dave and it felt like Scratch was laughing at me, egging me on to hurt him more. The worst part is that I almost did. Punching him felt good, and then I panicked and now I don't know- I don't know whether the only thing I did was punch him or if I did something more."

Derek curses under his breath. "How long have you been feeling like that?"

Hotch shrugs. "I couldn't- I forgot what time it was when I stumbled back here. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," he says, the words almost reflexive because of every apology Aaron has ever given him. "We just need to ground you."

He takes Aaron's hands, noting that the muscles are moving the way they should be. It's a small thing, but it's a good thing, because it means he's wearing the wrist support when he needs them and doing the physical therapy.

“Look at me,” he commands softly.

Aaron does so willingly. “Derek, we’re in a conference room.”

“That’s good. Can you give me four other facts that prove you’re here, in this moment with me?”

"My name is Aaron Hotchner. I am forty-four years old. We are in a police station. You are Derek Morgan. There is a door behind you and a window behind me- the window is locked, but the door is wide open. We can both see if someone walks in."

"Show off," Derek teases.

Aaron manages to smile slightly. “Thank you,” he whispers after a moment.

“You have nothing to thank me for,” Derek says. He means it.

This time, Aaron’s laugh is self-deprecating. “I’m a horrible person to look after.”

“Not to me you’re not. How do you feel now?”

He shrugs. “Better, I guess.”

“Drink some water. Slowly. I’ll go check on Dave.”

“Do you think he’s going to hate me?” Aaron asks.

“You’re the closest thing he has to a friend. Of course not,” Derek says. He keeps his tone light, but deep down he’s afraid that Dave will. Not forever, he could never do that, but for long enough that something else goes wrong.

He finds Dave in the bathroom.

“Hotch told me what happened,” he says.

“And what? You’re here to tell me that I shouldn’t have pushed because he’s fragile and hurting? Did you tell him that he shouldn’t have fucking punched me in the face because of something I said to a suspect?”

“Those men were not suspects and you know that,” Derek snaps. He sighs. “I wasn’t coming here to tell you that you shouldn’t have pushed. I came to see whether or not you were okay.”

Dave raises an eyebrow. Derek sighs, again.

“He saw Scratch when he punched you. Now he’s worried. And he’s falling back into old patterns. I told him he didn’t kill Haley and not only did he not believe me, he flat out disagreed and said he did.”

“What do you want me to do?” Dave asks. He doesn’t sound angry, just tired. Derek wants to shout at him. He may be tired after this one event, but he’s not been the one picking up the pieces and gluing their fragile leader back together for the past few years. Dave doesn’t get to be tired. Not whilst Derek is still the only one able to do anything.

“I don’t know Dave. You’ve known him the longest. It was you that found him in the immediate aftermath. You took the gun from him- rather poetic given the last time an unsub targeted him, you told him to take yours- and got him to speak.”

Dave blinks a few times. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I thought being hard on him would bring him back, but I was wrong.”

“It’s okay. You just need to correct yourself now,” Derek says, for lack of any other words.

“I just want him to be the boy he was when he first joined the unit,” Dave whispers.

Derek did not know the boy his friend was then, but he does know the Aaron that existed before Boston. The Aaron that held a baby Jack in their arms like that one small child was enough to remove every piece of darkness to exist. The Aaron that had grabbed Haley’s hand and taken her dancing so they could spend a bit of time together.

"We all do. But he's gone now. The only thing we can do is try to save whatever pieces of him live in the Aaron that is sat in the conference room, beating himself up over something that was not his fault because of your misplaced comment," Derek says. They have a killer to catch. There's no time to entertain this.

"I know. Thank you. For doing what the rest of us are too afraid to," Dave replies. Derek shifts uncomfortably under the weight of his gaze.

Something about the dynamic between the two men has changed, and everybody has noticed.

"Somebody has to," is all he can say, before he leaves Rossi to wash his hands and search for the man that had promised Aaron everything he could ever want, all those years ago when he first recruited him for the BAU.

There's an empty glass of water beside Hotch when Derek returns, and he's silently thankful that for once in his life, Aaron listened. He's deep in conversation with one of the police officers, so he refrains from making any comments, but when Aaron turns back towards the table, he goes over without a second thought.

He tells himself it's because he wants to know what happened just then. Because he wants to know whether or not they have any more information that can be used to their advantage. He tells himself it has nothing to do with the fact that learning about the case means he doesn't have to focus on the minute tremble of Hotch's hands. Doesn't have to see the hollow look in his eyes- a look of a man so defeated that he has no reason to try anymore.

The problem with being a profiler is that you rarely fall for anyone's bullshit- including your own.

“Did the officer have some additional information?” Derek asks.

Hotch hears him, obviously, but does not respond.

“Hotch,” he repeats.

“No. He didn’t. He wanted to know why you were holding my hands.”

Derek rolls his eyes. “And what did you say?”

“That ten days a man that managed to turn people that would never dare hurt another person into horrific killers drugged me, causing me to hallucinate the deaths of the same people that are solving his case for him, and as a result, I cannot always tell when things are real,” Aaron deadpans.

For a moment, Derek honestly can’t tell whether or not he’s joking. Then Aaron gives him the smallest smile, and he relaxes slightly. The last thing they need happening is officers spreading even more rumours about the types of cases the BAU work on.

He starts to reply with a joke of his own, then sees Aaron’s smile fade away like it was never there. He wonders how instinctive the action is- how many times was that little boy told he was too much, and how many times did he fade into the background like he didn’t even exist?

Without turning, he knows it’s Dave.

“I’m going to see if Spencer needs any help,” Derek says.

For a moment, it seems like Aaron is going to beg him to stay. But like most of his displays of humanity, it passes in a second, and then he simply nods, not even trying to fight.

“Aaron,” Dave says, walking over with purpose.

“Rossi don’t. Please,” Aaron pleads.

“What you did was stupid. But my actions were also uncalled for,” he says. It’s the closest he’ll ever get to a proper apology. Aaron accepts it because there’s not much else he can do. Dave pretends it’s going to fix everything because it’s the only thing that will get him through the case.

“Do you seriously think the fathers are to blame?” Hotch asks.

Rossi shakes his head. “Not anymore. I just needed to be sure.” He also needed to be sure that Aaron was fine, and given his response to Rossi’s accusation, he can’t say he’s convinced.

"Good," Aaron says, and the smile he gives Dave is so small and subtle, but so full of love, that for a single moment, the older profiler is able to convince himself that the fragile collection of skin and bones in front of him is still the hopeful boy that joined the unit. But then the moment passes and he's left feeling worse than before.

When the team come back, picking up on the cues that both Hotch and Rossi laid down, they go back to acting like nothing is wrong. Like the women in the photos are victims that deserve justice, and not the mirror of the same light they failed to save five years ago.

There are no breaks in the case, and they return to the hotel defeated and miserable. Budget problems mean they're doubling up. Part of Derek wants to switch rooms with Dave so he can keep an eye on Aaron, but the bigger part of him knows it would be a terrible idea, so he texts him saying that if he needs anything, no matter what time it is, he'll be available.

Aaron mouths the words thank you once he's read the message. Derek counts it as a win, and he tries to remain calm when Dave texts him saying that when he entered the shower- after Hotch- although the water dial was set to be normal, the water ran hot. Too hot.

He refrains from commenting the next morning, when Aaron clasps his glass of freezing water like a lifeline. In some ways, it is. And he knows what it's a sign of. He isn't sure whether it's caused by something in particular, or if he's just overwhelmed, but the hotel dining area- where Kate and Spencer would both hear- isn't the place to ask.

They get to the precinct, and it becomes clear that nobody there has slept. Another woman was found dead a few minutes before they got there. The father and son are sitting in the same conference room the BAU were working out of. For a moment, Aaron looks like he's going to kill the person that sent them there. The lead on the case quickly intercepts, saying they moved the boards and evidence files, and he relaxes slightly.

But before anyone can sleep, he removes his blazer and tie, before unbuttoning his top button and rolling his sleeves up. And then he walks into the conference room. Derek blinks, then it clicks. Aaron looks like a father. Someone both people sat in the room can trust. JJ hands him the information on the file, and his breathing stops for a moment.

The father and son could have been Aaron and Jack. If Aaron's eyes were darker and Jack's hair lighter, they would be the boys smiling in the photo provided with the file. He wants to take over the conversation Hotch must be having, but he finds himself rooted to the spot. How many cases are going to hit too close to home before Aaron gives up? Before it feels like every victim wears Haley's face?

How many more times can Aaron Hotchner look into the darkest parts of humanity before his hands stop going cold at crime scenes and Derek Morgan needs to take his place in some weird parallel of the events that occurred after Boston?

When the father and son leave the room, he jumps out of his chair and runs over.

"We will catch this man. And if you need anything, please don't hesitate to contact me," he hears Aaron say.

He sighs to himself.

The father shakes his hand and leaves, guiding his son with nothing more than a gentle hand to the back of his head. He sees Aaron swallow.

"You know you can't promise things like that," he chastises, not truly meaning it.

"It wasn't a promise. It was a guarantee," Hotch snaps.

Morgan simply raises an eyebrow.

"I'm sorry."

"Want to tell me about it?"

"I told him about Haley, and how I found her. And about how Jack was just down the hallway in my office- the one place in our home that my work touched, even if he never found it- so now he can't be alone on New Years or Independence Day. I only said it because he told me I didn't understand what it was like. To have to do that."

No amount of surgery is ever going to fix the hole in Aaron's heart that Haley's death created. They could plant seeds of love and watch them blossom into flowers of acceptance and fearlessness in every other part of his body, but that one area could never be touched.

Derek knows this. He's seen it before.So he doesn't offer any words, because there are none. Instead, he takes Aaron's arm and he squeezes the elbow. It is Aaron's non-verbal method of saying thank you. So in that moment, it can also be his.

Aaron isn't entirely sure why Derek is thanking him, but he learnt long ago that when someone said something, you didn't push. You accepted their words- whether they were kind declarations of love or as sharp as knives- and you moved on.

When Derek lets go of him, he walks back over to the team, feeling slightly lighter and infinitely more grounded.

Kate tells him another woman had been taken, and the weight he thought he'd been able to let go off settles on his chest like a death threat. There is a single moment where she worries that this will be the thing that causes him to fall off the edge of the cliff he's been standing on for far too long, but then he stands up properly and it's like nothing ever happened.

He doesn't sleep, instead pouring over the case file whilst Rossi gently snores beside him. If Jason had been with the team. he would've somehow realised that Hotch was still awake, and told him to go to sleep. And Hotch would've obeyed. But Jason wasn't with the team. He was dead. And sometimes that knowledge knocked Aaron off guard, so he stopped focusing on that and started concentrating on the woman.

Their break comes the next morning.

Garcia hasn't slept either, and between the two of them, they have a name and a location. Everyone piles into the cars, vests on and weapons ready, because even though nobody had said it, there was no way this is ending without at least one shot being fired.

The door to the building is unlocked, and they have their unsub surrounded within seconds. Hotch suddenly feels like a bucket of ice has been poured over him, causing him to freeze, and the blood to start pounding in his ears. Nothing feels real to him. He tightens the grip on his gun.

His name is Aaron Hotchner.

He is forty-four years old.

He is holding a gun because he is on a case.

The unsub is holding a knife to a woman's throat.

The woman looks just like Haley- no. He cannot think that. Not now.

"Let her go," JJ commands softly.

"No," their unsub says.

What is his name? And why can Aaron not remember his name?

"If you put that knife down, and let her go, we can tell the courts that you cooperated with us. That'll be nice, won't it?" Kate adds. Her tone is completely level. Calming in a way that it shouldn't be.

The unsub grins, then presses the knife even closer to his victim's throat. She lets out a terrified whimper and closes her eyes. He yanks her hair, forcing her to open then, and he seems pleased with himself.

"I don't care about the courts. I care about the man I'm doing all of this for. He's going to be great, and he's going to make me great too. Just you wait and see."

This wasn't part of the profile. There was never meant to be a more dominant partner. The control Aaron has been clinging to in order to get through this case is slowly slipping away with each piece of information he either cannot remember or is introduced to him.

"He? Who is he?" Spencer asks.

The man cocks his head. "Is it not obvious?"

Spencer shakes his head. "We're not like you. We need you to explain."

He nicks the skin slightly. Blood pools at the tip of the blade. Another digression from the previous pattern. No knives were ever used to cut the skin. The kills had been quick and clean. Why was everything changing?"

"I won't."

"The only way you get out of this alive is if you explain everything to us. Because this man, he won't make you great. Whoever he is, he only cares about himself. Not you. Certainly not your life. But we care about you. Just set the knife down," Derek says.

Aaron knows he needs to contribute, but he just can't do it. His tongue is like a useless knot in his mouth that he can't undo because his brain is twisted too.

"No," the man says, bringing it dangerously close to the woman's pulse.

"Aaron!" Derek shouts. "You're the only one with a clear shot. You need to take it. Or do something. Do you hear me? You are the only one that can do this. If he moves that knife, take the shot."

Aaron turns in the sound of the voice. Derek is telling him that he needs to take the shot, and he can see why. With the way they're stood, he is the only one that can possibly avoid hitting either the woman or another team member.

He raises his hands, ignoring how they tremble. Front sight. Trigger press. Follow through. Three steps that he has been following since his days at the Academy. Three steps that mean he has never missed. Never failed.

The man smirks.

Aaron turns to make sure nobody else will get hurt, or can take the shot. But when he looks at Derek, it's not Derek.

It's Peter Lewis.

"No," he whispers, but in the silence of the room, he may as well have shouted at the top of his voice.

He turns to look at the man, and he sees that he is about to shoot Derek Morgan. The one person that has never been afraid of him. The one man that is still good and undamaged by his hands. The one man that can and has led the team without any sort of assistance with him.

"Aaron!" Derek's voice exclaims, but he still wears Mr Scratch's face.

Aaron does not know what is real anymore, but he knows he needs to minimise the damage. The gun falls from his hands, with the safety off. It lands on the floor with a clatter that is too loud to his ears.

Their unsub laughs, once, and slits the woman's throat. She falls to the ground, dead by the time she hits the ground. Derek- real Derek, whose hands have always been warmer than his- fires his gun once. The unsub also falls to the ground with a shout.

Aaron closes his eyes.

He hears his name.

He tastes copper.

He touches his own hand, startled by the coldness.

He sees Derek's terrified face.

He smells sage.

He smells sage. And then the world goes black.

When he comes round, he does not know where he is. He does not know where the team is. He cannot ground himself in the moment or come up with five facts that prove his surroundings are real.

He opens his eyes. The team is gone.

And he is covered in blood.

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stargaze-issei · 4 years ago

Text

ᴅᴀʏ 𝟼; ғᴀᴠᴏʀɪᴛᴇ ʙʟᴏᴄᴋᴇʀ

-> tsukishima kei.

𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐭; same tattoo, shared dreams, soulmates!au.

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬; none.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭; 1.8k

𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞; fluff.

𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐡𝐨𝐫'𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞; the way i want to make a series out of everything in this challenge sigh.

↳ main masterlist

"what does it mean, tsukki?" yamaguchi asked by his side, looking with curiosity the needle leaving marks on his friend's skin.

tsukishima wanted to get a tattoo through his complete adolescence, his parents never allowed it, not until he could pay it by himself, at least. and there he was, eighteen years old, watching in amazement how one of his few dreams became true. being honest, he wasn't sure what it meant, but he had dreamed about those numbers a lot. since he was thirteen, the same number appeared not only in his dreams, but was everywhere else too, everytime he checked the hour, the number of his locker, even his volleyball shirt. of course it took him a while to figure it out, but once he saw it, he couldn't stop. it became his luck number.

"are you sure you just want that?" the artist wondered for the third time.

"yeah, it's important to me" the smile on tsukishima's face was completely different to all the others yamaguchi had seen since they knew each other.

*.✧☆ﾟ.*･｡✧*⊰⊹ฺ

"please, come see me play, you're always busy!" your friend, koganegawa, could be a pain in the ass if he wanted to. he could be one withouth wanting too. your job as an assistant teacher kept you occupied half of the day, add the hours at college and how much you had to study, to say it was hard to make room in your life was an understatement. which was why you never went to kogane's games after highschool.

"i told you i can't! i have... work"

"you don't work at nights, idiot! come see me play" he was so annoyingly persistent, that you had to accept, earning a excited hug from him.

after he left your appartment, only because you made him, you let yourself drop onto the couch, sighing. in fact, you were tired, but going to see kogane, one of your only friends, was something you could do. he was always so supportive, in his own unique way, it was the least you could do for him. you scratched your collarbone, unconciously going over your tattoo with your fingers, like checking if it was still there. somehow, that piece of inked skin gave you strengths when you felt like you were at your limit. the memory of a well known dream came to your mind, making you giggle.

*.✧☆ﾟ.*･｡✧*⊰⊹ฺ

you knew koganegawa's team was a professional team, but you never expected them to have a cheering squad, and local tv cameras and periodists focusing on them. it was your first time at the gym where they were playing, a little anxiety growing in your chest not knowing where to go. you tried calling him to help you, but all you got was a text saying he had sent somebody to your rescue.

"hi, are you kogane-kun's friend?" said a short blonde girl, touching your shoulder. she seemed really kind, making you feel more comfortable instantly.

you mumbled a positive respond, and she quickly grabbed your hand to take you to the bleachers like she knew the place by hand. she introduced herself as yachi hitoka, and said the game was about to start. she was also a friend of one of the players, but met some others, like koga, in highschool.

in the exact moment that you and yachi sat, the starting whistle blowed, starting with the power serve of a bleached haired guy.

yachi guide you through the game, explaining the basics to you, but you couldn't take your eyes off of the blond man with glasses, he looked so familiar, though you were sure it was the first time you saw him. he intrigued you, a lot. you were too shy to ask yachi for his name, hoping to catch it on through the speakers at some point, or trying to remember if kogane had said something about him. the game went on, points were made by everyone, and every single one the setter did, he looked at you, searching for a reassurance smile.

when it finished, a crushing victory from the frogs, you and your new friend went to wait for them outside of the compound, yachi felt the need to warn you before you met everyone.

"see, kyoutani can be a little... intense, some times, but he's really nice, and tsuk-"

"y/n! did you see me!? did you see my points!? we were so great!" she was interrupted by an overly excited koganegawa walking towards you, along with two ther blondes. your cheeks burned at the sight of whom you had glared so hard just minutes ago, wondering if he had noticed. his face was buried on his phone, too busy to look up, disappointing you a little.

"i saw you, dumbface, that's what i came to do" he pouted at your fake insult, proceeding to shout to kyoutani by his side how awesome you were for going to his game. you introduced yourself, one of they boys said to be kyoutani kentaro, the one of your interest didnt't even reply.

tsukishima had heard your voice many times before, but for the first time, he was awake. his eyes opened wide, a soft hum of confusion left his mout. it couldn't be you, you were just a made up person from his dreams, someone who he had never seen, less say heard talking, to recognize that fast. although it was you. those eyes, that voice, that hair, it was you. he had dreamed about you for so long, in his mind, at the beginning you were his same age, growing up as he did. you were exactly like that woman.

"...tsukki!" he came back to earth thanks to kogane, who was frenetically moving him from his shoulders trying to get his attention.

"get off" was all tsukishima answered.

"where's yamaguchi?" asked yachi. you didn't know what they were talking about, but you had witnessed the glasses boy, whom's name appears to be tsukki, go through a complete life crisis in the last minute.

"he's joining us at the restaurant" he said, starting to walk away by his own, followed by kyoutani and yachi, later by kogane pulling you from your arm to walk.

yachi and koga talked enough to fill the uncomfortable aire in the table once everybody ordered. a man named yamaguchi arrived a few minutes earlier, still in office clothes. he congratulated the guys on their victory and greeted you nicely, presenting himself as "tsukki's friend".

the minutes became hours, everyone, except you and tsukki, was drunk, even kyoutani had that red color on his cheeks because of the alcohol. yachi, who had stated that she was just a little tipsy, sober up when she saw how late it was.

"i have to work tomorrow! we all have to! oh go, i can't believe i let kogane- tsukishima, could you please take y/n home while i get these three an uber?" despite being so small, the girl seemed to be completely in charge of everything, probably because of her years as manager in highschool, you thought.

"are you sure you don't need help with them?" you asked, a bit curious about how was she going to handle two giants and a man with rabies by herself.

"don't worry, i've been doing this since highschool, i'm more worried about you arriving safe"

"i'll take her, you stay at yamaguchi's and text me when you're there" intervined tsukishima, he had been quiet most of the night, even though he couldn't look less interested in being there, he still refused to leave. sometimes, he would stare at you when you weren't paying attention, without knowing that you actually felt his look on you. the girl agreed to his proposal, kissing your cheek goodbye and giving her friend a small hug before you took your things and got out of the place, followed by the tall man.

the walk was silence after you told him you lived near enough to walk, him just nodding to your words. you didn't feel uncomfortable, though, and you wanted to believe neither did he. both of you were at a really short distance, and he didn't seem to care, but you smell of strawberry shortcake coming out of him. you giggled, thinking how funny it was that such an intimidating guy smelled like cake. tsukishima glared at you, disconcerted by your sudden laugh at no apparent reason.

"i used to go to this coffee house in highschool, they had the best strawberry cake i have ever eaten" your random fact caught tsukishima off guard, because he went to a coffee house with a really good strawberry cake since highschool too. he stayed silence, affraid to keep finding more shared details betweent the two of you. "i mean, don't think i talk about cake when- you smell like- i'm sorry" had you just made the situation hundred times worse? yes, you had.

the rest of the walk was as silent as the first half, now, tsukishima was uncomfortable, so much that you could tell, but still, he choose to stay close to you instead of making distance. despite being a autumn night, you felt hot, your multiples layers of clothing were now making you sweat. without giving it much thought, you took off your jacket and sweater, leaving at sight you tattoo in you collarbone. tsukki tried, he really did, to not look at you, stripping like it was nothing, so when he did, and saw his exact same tattoo in your body, he stopped walking. his jaw barely hit the floor, you could swear he saw a ghost.

"are you okay? d-do you...? what are you doing?" he got over his shocked, and in a light of boldness, he started to take off his coat and sweater, not only that, but lifting his shirt until you could see his nipple and ribs. it was then when you saw it too, your tatto, the exact same details, were on his skin, like it was printed of the same printer. you hadn't chose a design from an artist, you drew one on your own, wanting to be the only of its kind, yet, there you were.

like someone had opened a door in your mind, memories of lost dreams came back, you remembered from where tsukishima seemed so familiar. that damned dream you had for years, of him, who you thought was a creation from your subconscious, was now standing right in front of you, in flesh and bones. not you nor tsukishima knew how to react, maybe, fearing that the other would run away. a strange urge to cry invaded you, and for some reason, a intense desire to feel the blonde closer.

"i want to take you on a date, if that's okay with you"

"yes" you said not a second late, almost begging him to be with you from that day to your last.

"and i wanna kiss you right now" he didn't even let you answered before jumping to your lips, leaning a bit. you sighed in the middle of the kiss, relieved to feel him and his warm arms around you, your lips moving at synch.

his lips tasted like strawberry too.

⌙ 𝟐𝟎𝟎 𝐟𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐨𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐥 🥳

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dracosaurusrex · 4 years ago

Text

Palace

Summary: In which you discover a new love in the midst of your heartbreak.

Prompt: “with you, I thought I knew love. but maybe I still don’t” A/N: Hi y’all! So this is my take on the @minty-malfoy ‘s 300 writing challenge :) (Congratulations my friend! You’re amazing!) I have to admit, writing angst is not my strong suit, and I had to do some research to grasp what it was. Within my findings, something that caught my attention in particular was the fact that angst is defined as going through the character’s emotional workings, topped with a newfound sense of strength. There might be some holes present, but overall this piece is molded on that understanding, and I hope it reaches out to you in whatever way that resonates the most.

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Throughout her years at Hogwarts, Y/N had been able to pick up a number of skills. She may not have been as good at studying as Hermione Granger, or as athletic as Ginny Weasely, or even as creative as Luna Lovegood--no. You were an average girl who didn’t have much to show for except your ability to hide behind a thick mask.

You were typically known for your kindness, which was complimented by a pair of sparkling e/c eyes, a warm smile, and a nurturing personality. Additionally, you were graced with a good sense of humor and an infectious laugh. To all of your friends, you were the embodiment of the sun; a girl whose being was commonly associated with terms such as, “beautiful”, “genuine”, and “loving”. A girl who never seemed to show any indication of internal conflict, who had everything under control.

These perceptions always came in handy, for they molded into the shape of a mask when times became rough for you. Because of this, you were capable of fooling everyone into thinking that you were okay.

You felt your consciousness resurfacing from sleep as the morning lulled your body awake. Your eyes fluttered open to the ceiling with your fingers interlaced over your chest. Meanwhile, rays of early light infiltrated random crevices of the dorm, and birds were singing rather loudly outside of your window. Allowing yourself to lay in the stillness, you treasured the moment, took deep breaths, and basked in what felt like peace.

Your surroundings were blissful--and you were grateful--but waking up now equated to reuniting with the recurring tightness that gripped your heart. Memories of a love that had once initiated butterflies had transformed into needles that prickled your chest. A love that once caressed you now felt like a ghostly presence.

‘Where did it all go wrong?’ You found asking yourself as of late. As you laid in bed, you allowed old scenes of your time with Draco Malfoy to play in your head, recalling the feelings attached to each.

You remembered the rush of adrenaline that you felt the first time you had confessed. You remembered the relief combined with excitement when the feelings were confirmed to be mutual.

You remembered the feeling of your heart skipping when his fingers first slipped into yours, hands intertwined like a glove.

You remembered the temporary sense of confidence that overcame when you initiated the first kiss and the shock that appeared on both your faces after realizing what you did.

The first “I love you”.

You remembered your first time with him--the sweet whispers, the moans, the laughing, the feeling of pleasure as you came onto one another. You remembered the way his fingers stroked your hair as you laid on top of him with his free arm wrapped around your waist.

You recalled memories of exchanges of comforting words during moments where either one of you felt doubt or unease.

You remembered the inside jokes you made, the goofy side of him that he only showed to you.

You remembered the plans you both have made, the exhilarating thought of sharing a future with him. The way he gripped your hands and looked into your eyes as he made promises that ended up being broken.

You remembered the thrill of it all--the palace you had built with him, and how you’ve done so fearlessly until it came crashing down.

You recalled all the love you had ever given him, all of yourself you had devoted to him, all the dreams, the hopes, the what-could’ve-beens in the moment the words fell out of his lips:

“With you, I thought I knew love. But maybe I still don’t.” Draco uttered in a bare whisper.

He kept his hands clasped on his lap as he avoided looking at you. You had found yourselves sitting on the edge of his bed with the moonlight illuminating his dorm.

Just a couple weeks ago you were in his arms, sharing kisses without any thought that this would happen--you were on top of the world--but when it did, you felt knots forming over your chest and your stomach. A sob had dared to come up, but you gulped it back down into your throat. Your mind was racing and your eyes were tearing, but you wouldn’t allow your tears to fall. You couldn’t.

Instead, you grabbed both sides of his face and smiled weakly.

“Draco, I’ll always love you. I’ll always care for you…” Your lips started to tremble as you looked straight into Draco’s eyes. They were filled with so much guilt.

Breathing in and out slowly, you continued, “I just hope the next girl will be able to make you even happier and take care of you much better than I did.”

Your lips were pursed into a tight line as you tried to give a convincing smile of reassurance. Your throat started to sting because of the resistance you made towards crying. In doing so, a tear had found a way to roll down your cheek. He grabbed your wrists as you continued to hold his face, his eyes glazed over with regret. His lips trembled as he witnessed your efforts to be strong.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry! I never wanted to hurt you at all! I-” You hushed his frantic whispers.

“Don’t worry about me, my love. I promise you everything will be okay.” It was at this point that Draco let out the gasp of despair he held in. He proceeded to reach out to wipe your tears. You closed your eyes and allowed them to fall at this point, leaning into his touch for the very last time. Once you opened them, you did the same and wiped the tears that had stained his porcelain skin. Draco sat there stunned at how much you were holding in.

You whispered, “We’ll be okay. Okay?” He could only nod. You remembered the last time you leaned forward to kiss his lips. To your dismay, he didn’t respond. As you drew yourself away from him, you stood up straight and attempted in giving one of your signature smiles.

“I guess I’ll see you around Malfoy.”

You recall feeling dead upon arriving at your dorm. Your eyes were puffy, and you thought you finished crying, but as you tucked yourself to bed, the tears you had kept began to fall.

You broke away from the memory as you silently wiped the tears that had formed in your eyes. It has been about a month since your break up. You hadn’t talked to the boy since then. Instead, you made it a priority to reconstruct your life. Your friends would constantly try to comfort you by saying things like, “Go show him what he lost” or “He doesn’t deserve you, Y/N!” You appreciated their efforts, but Merlin knows that it’ll take a while for you to heal. You couldn’t bring it upon yourself to be angry at him. While the moment left a bitter taste in your mouth, you knew deep inside that the love you shared for one another was never a waste of time.

With a huff, you jolted from your bed, grabbed your uniform, and dragged your legs to the bathroom to get ready for the new school day. The way you handled yourself now was done more carefully than how you used to. Every motion--buttoning your shirt, tucking it into your skirt, tying your tie, and throwing your jumper over your body--was done with more caution. You brushed your hair straight, running your fingers through any tangles, and clamped it into a simple half-do. As you stared into the mirror, you took notice of your appearance. The red tint that lined the edges of your eyes as a result of the tears you shed earlier. You notice the bags that have formed, the slight peeling of your lips. You began to fix your face by applying a light amount of foundation and mascara, followed by a thin layer of tinted chapstick. Slowly, the indications of your sadness dissipated as you put on your makeup. You weren’t really the type to praise yourself, but as you stared at yourself in the mirror once more, you had to admit that you felt a bit pretty. ‘It’s a step forward. Here’s to another day’ You smiled slightly at your reflection, and made your way to the Great Hall.

So far, you managed to show what you considered to be your normal self to your friends whenever they were in your presence. Not wanting them to worry, you did your best to seem energized every time you were joined in their conversations, inserting laughs, and adding on to the fun when needed. You felt obligated to show everyone, including Draco, that you were okay. It’s been like that ever since things ended. The entire student body was aware of the fall. Both you and the boy looked very off the day after it happened. However, slowly but surely, you had reverted back to your sunny self, surprising many of those around you. Only you knew that it was a facade though, and that deep down inside, you still pined for the ghost of your relationship.

Your thoughts often drifted to him. He was sat in the Slytherin table with his usual group of friends. As you took small glances at him, you wondered what went on in his mind, how he felt about you, and whether or not he misses what you had shared with him. You wondered if he took notice of the energy you conveyed, if he noticed the smile that was plastered on your face now that you weren’t together. Was he convinced with your little charade?

You broke your gaze from him the moment he turned his focus to your direction. Not wanting to get caught, you chimed into their conversation once more, a convincing smile of enjoyment on your lips. Once you felt that enough time had passed, you discretely glance at him again, only to have your eyes meet ever so slightly. The time for your classes to start was drawing near. Wanting to be alone in your own thoughts, you left them to walk around.

The hallways you roamed in taunted you as you began to recall, once again, figures of your memories. A warm feeling rose in your chest as you relished the small moments of laughter, playful kisses, and the heart-racing sensation of the back hugs he gave. It was ironic, but reminiscing helped you cope. Perhaps it was the thought of another chance. At the same time, however, you couldn’t deny that it might’ve been the result of the fear of moving on. You sighed, allowing your mind to push away the harshness of the latter. ‘Today will be a good day. I’ll make sure of it.’ With the feeling of encouragement overcoming you once again, you set off to your first class with a new sense of optimism. You weren’t sure about how long the feeling would last, but now that you had it, there was no point in taking it for granted. After all, as long as you were alive, the Earth would still continue to turn, and your commitment to reconstructing your life blazed on.

The fluctuation between sadness and inspiration was a common occurrence in this point of your life. There were nights that felt completely agonizing, but there were also moments where you felt as though you were slowly falling in love with your life and the potential that it holds. It was then that you felt such enlightenment had brought you raw joy and peace. No masks or facades. No fake smiles. These were found in very minuscule fragments throughout the day. It took the form of the sense of concentration that you had when you studied, the feeling of achievement when you understood a difficult concept. It also embodied the scent of rain when it pours, the cold air that accompanies the sunrise, the sight of bookshelves in the library, the blissful feeling of getting lost in muggle literature. Joy was found in the sounds of the crackling fire, a satisfied belly after a good dinner, as well as the company of friends who have seen you at your worst. You were enchanted by the thought of filling your life with these wholesome moments--to take control and be the artist as you paint such details into your canvas. Sometimes such joy became so overwhelming that the heartache you felt seemed nonexistent.

‘How nice would it be to share it with you, though.’ You thought of him.

And perhaps you would be able to one day; but for now, within the sadness you were beginning to embrace this new love. A love that surpassed the borders of romantic affections.

Draco’s words would ring in your mind whenever you thought of this. You would create scenarios in your head, formulating what you would’ve said to him that night with all the newfound wisdom you had now.

“I thought I knew what love was when I was with you also. However, I can now see the pieces of my true love. How it surrounds me whether you’re by my side or not.” You said to yourself, wrapping yourself in hope as you amount to build your own palace once again.

A/N: I might make a second part to this to show Draco’s view on Y/N’s growth, but we’ll see hehe! I hope that moments of peace and bits of joy make their way to you no matter how hard life may become. You’re all deserving of love <3 Thank you so much for reading, and I hope you have a great day!

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagines #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco malfoy x you #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #hogwarts #slytherin

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440mxs-wife · 4 years ago

Text

Lost and Found

"You want me to work this case with who?" Arthur Ketch asked.

"Relax, Ketch, she's had field experience before, she just hasn't been in the field much lately. Trust me, she'll be perfect for this," Dean assured him.

"This is not a training op, a learn-as-you-go thing, this is a serious case, Dean. I need an experienced hunter to carry off the cover story and perform her duty. I don't think she fits the part, and she's not my type anyway," Ketch complained.

As if on cue, you walked through the War Room on your way to the main living area. You had a book in one hand, which you were reading as you walked. A cup of cocoa occupied your other hand. You reached the living room and settled into a corner of the couch with your favorite quilt.

Dean cleared his throat behind you. Without looking up from your book, you asked, "What do you need, Dean?"

"So, we have a case right now that requires your unique....talents," he started.

You closed your book in annoyance and narrowly gazed at Dean. "To what 'unique talents' are you referring? What exactly do you want me to do?" you asked.

Dean rubbed the back of his neck, something he tended to do when he was nervous or about to do something he didn't want to do. "This is Arthur Ketch, former British Man of Letters. There's a case involving a vampire, named Simon Foster. He's hosting a formal party by invitation only. Your cover would involve you posing as a couple with Ketch," he explained.

You knew this wasn't the whole story, so you waited for Dean to finish. "And....you have to dress up, like evening-gown type dressing up," he added.

You took a few moments to assess your potential hunting partner's attributes. You knew that in the past, he had been a ruthless killer for the British Men of Letters. However, you also remembered how he rescued Gabriel from Asmodeus, at great risk to his own safety. He was working with the Winchesters from time to time as a free-lance operative.

Aside from the professional evaluation, you had to admire his broad chest and tall, confident stature. He had sparkling blue-green eyes that you knew had to hold a certain amount of mischief every now and then. He had just enough of a beard to be considered ruggedly handsome and sexy. And that accent made you a little weak in the knees, if you were being truly honest with yourself.

Ketch interpreted your silence to mean that you were refusing to work with him on the case. "As I told you, Dean, she's not right for this mission," he retorted.

"Mr. Ketch, you don't know me very well. And I only know of you what I've heard in the tales of your exploits from Sam and Dean. Maybe it's time we got our assumptions about each other out of the way, and work this case? Hmm?" you replied as you rose from the couch.

Ketch walked over to where you were standing and said, "Well, my dear, since you have dropped the gauntlet, I accept your challenge. Oh, by the way, I do hope you have something appropriate to wear. Flannel and jeans won't fly in this instance, darling," he smirked.

You took one step towards Ketch, close enough so that you could detect the scent of his aftershave. With more calm in your voice than you currently felt, you looked deep into his eyes. "There's more to me than flannel and jeans. Buckle up, Mr. Ketch. It's going to be a fun ride," you replied, making a show of adjusting his tie before walking out of the room.

Ketch looked over at Dean, who was alternating between shock at your actions and outright laughter at Ketch's expense. He turned on his heel and went to his room, which was fortunately in the opposite direction of yours.

You spent the next week and a half preparing for the upcoming hunt with Ketch. Most of the time was occupied doing research, looking through books and poking around on the internet. Otherwise, you could easily be found at the firing range. You felt you were a little rusty, and the extra range time would help increase your accuracy. You also didn't want to give Ketch one single reason to regret partnering with you.

"Research days" were long ones. You made sure to take plenty of breaks to stretch your legs. If you made yourself a snack, you brought one back for Ketch also. Where you had hot cocoa or coffee, you made tea for Ketch. He never asked you for anything, but for you, it was almost automatic to share in your hospitality. It was in these little ways that you were trying to show Mr. Ketch that his assumptions about you may not be accurate.

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

Ketch stared at the glass of milk you brought to him, along with three chocolate chip cookies you had baked the day before. Today, it was muffins at breakfast, cookies in the afternoon and pie with dinner. The woman certainly has her talents, he thought. Maybe she can pull this off after all.

As you nibbled on your cookie, Ketch took a moment to study you. You had greenish-hazel eyes, one of which had a small dark mark in the iris. Your medium length chestnut locks couldn't keep themselves from falling in your face. On more than one occasion, Ketch found himself wanting to reach over and tuck the wayward curls behind your ear. As you searched through the reference books, he could see the look of deep concentration on your face. He had to admit, you may just have the determination to get the job done.

He had followed you one day to the shooting range to see how you handled a firearm. He watched as you carefully loaded the rounds into the clip for your .380 pistol, and inserted the clip. When the weapon was ready, you raised it into position, took aim and systematically emptied the clip. You left the target hanging on the range, so as soon as you left, Ketch went over to check your results. He was amazed to find that all rounds except one hit center mass, just like they were supposed to do. The only one that didn't hit center mass was a head shot.

From what he'd seen, you were more than capable of performing your part in this case. You had already demonstrated to him that you could handle a firearm. This skill likely translated to other weapons as well, so Ketch wasn't worried about that.

You'd also shown him your sensitive side. It was in the way you took care of everyone in the bunker, including him, despite his initial dismissive attitude towards you. It occurred to him that it was partially because of you that the Winchesters' hunting operation was so successful. You made sure everyone was fed well, had clean clothes and injuries were patched. Not just the physical injuries either, but the emotional ones as well that can take their toll on a hunter.

One night, he had a nightmare that left him calling out in his sleep. In his nightmare, he was put on trial by the British Men of Letters. All of the people he had killed were brought in as witnesses against him, and of course, he was found guilty. His punishment was that each victim got a chance to kill him, causing him to experience his own death several times over.

He jerked awake to find you had crept into his room and were sitting on the edge of his bed. You gently laid a hand on his arm to assure him that he was safe and that it was only a nightmare, not real. He tried to be the tough guy, rather than let you see how upset the nightmare had made him. He didn't want you to think he was soft or didn't have the guts to carry out the mission.

You never asked what his nightmare was about, probably figuring that he wouldn't want to tell you. You simply stated that all hunters had nightmares from what they've seen and done, so he was no different, that even you had them. In fact, you'd had one that night as well, and were having trouble getting back to sleep from it.

Ketch couldn't believe that someone so kind and compassionate as you would have anything to fear or regret about what you'd done in the course of hunting. You told him that some of your nightmares were about loved ones being tortured or killed while you were forced to watch. Most of them, though, were about the people you couldn't save, in addition to all of the guilt and helplessness you felt about the outcomes.

When it appeared to you that Ketch was uninterested in the comfort you came to offer, you awkwardly stood up from the bed. You mumbled that if he needed anything, you were down at the end of the hall, then you made your way to the door. As your hand was on the doorknob, ready to leave, he asked you to stay so that he could comfort you. He assured you he meant no funny business, that he was only offering a way for you both to get back to sleep. You looked at him, a little skeptical at first, then relented with a shy smile.

Ketch held up the blanket for you to slip into bed beside him. You started out at the far edge of the bed, your back to him as you laid your head on the pillow. He reached over to drape an arm around your midsection and pulled you closer to him. He accidentally nuzzled your neck with his stubbly chin and breathed in the scent of strawberries from your shampoo. When he exhaled, his breath was warm against your skin, but you seemed to shiver a bit in response. In a shaky voice, you whispered, "Goodnight, Arthur," took his hand in yours and closed your eyes. He whispered "goodnight" and also closed his eyes, a smile etched on his face.

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

Ketch was putting the last minute touches on his tux while he waited for you to get ready. He made sure he had the invitation listing both of your names. He also made sure he had his sharpest machete ready, along with some dead man's blood. He was about ready to call out to you to see how much longer you'd be, when he heard the unmistakable sound of high-heeled shoes on the tile floor.

You were dressed in a midnight blue, floor-length gown, with a slit halfway up your left thigh. The A-line gown had a criss-cross bodice that hugged your curves, and featured wide straps that crossed in the back. Embedded in the fabric were tiny crystals that sparkled as they hit the light, reminding Ketch of the stars in the night sky. You wore your silver sparkly pumps to finish your wardrobe.

You chose to sweep your hair up in a French twist. You kept your makeup simple, mostly earth tones, with pink lipstick. You chose white crystal stud earrings and a velvet cameo choker to complete your jewelry selection.

When he saw you, his mouth ran dry, and for a moment, he had lost the ability to form a coherent thought. You noticed that his bow tie needed a little work, so you set your small handbag on the table and proceeded to fix his tie. "There," you said. "Now it's perfect. You look very dashing this evening, Mr. Ketch," you remarked.

"I must say, you look absolutely stunning, my dear," Ketch finally said. "This dress certainly suits you and definitely brings out your eyes," he murmured, so softly that only you could hear him.

"Thank you," you said quietly, a blush rising on your cheeks. At that moment, Dean walked in on the two of you and whistled. "Whoa! Lookin' good, you two!" he declared. "'Specially you in the dress," he said as he winked at you. You looked at Ketch, rolled your eyes and jerked your head in Dean's direction. He chuckled softly at your dismissal of Dean's compliment.

You looked at the delicate watch on your wrist and noticed the time. "We should get to the party, so that we don't miss our chance to take out the host," you remarked.

"Agreed. Shall we, my dear?" Ketch asked as he held out his arm to you. You slipped your hand through his arm, and he tucked it close to his side as you ascended the spiral staircase together. As you left, Dean sent up a silent plea for a successful hunt, with everything going according to plan.

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

You and Ketch walked into the party, hand in hand. Ketch let go of your hand long enough to retrieve your invitation and hand it to the bouncer at the door. You felt Ketch's hand on the small of your back, guiding you through the room. When you reached the dance floor, Ketch skillfully turned you around so that you were in his arms, ready to dance.

"We don't have time for this," you hissed.

"We have to blend in, Love. If we don't, we'll be in some deep trouble before we've had a chance to ID our objective," Ketch firmly but softly stated. "Now, let's dance," he commanded.

You settled into the waltz, allowing Ketch to lead you all around the dance floor. He was an amazing dancer, probably part of his training with the British Men of Letters. Fortunately for him, you had also taken dancing lessons, so you weren't completely clumsy. As you moved across the floor, you kept trying to find your host, the vampire.

"Relax, darling, I've already spotted him," Ketch assured you. "When this song is over, you are going to slap me as if we've just had an argument. After that, go to the bar for a drink. Don't worry, our host the vampire will seek you out. He'll see a beautiful but heartbroken woman. Let him convince you to go somewhere private where he can 'console' you. I'll keep my eye on you both and wait for the opportunity to take him out."

"You want me to slap you, then walk away as if we've had a fight about something? Okay," you shrugged, doing as you were ordered. "JERK!!" you spat out as you turned on your heel and went towards the bar. Ketch stood there, staring after you and holding his cheek. He was left wondering if maybe you enjoyed your part a little too much.

You perched yourself on a barstool and ordered a drink. As you sipped it, you felt a powerful presence approach you on your left side. It's him, you thought. Where the hell is Ketch? you wondered as a slight panic set in. You didn't dare turn around, though, as that may blow your cover story.

"A little trouble in love, hmm?" a deep voice rumbled.

You turned towards the source. "Pardon me?" you asked.

"Oh, where are my manners? My name is Simon Foster, and I'm the host of this soirée. But I'm sure you already knew that, didn't you?" he purred, his hand lightly brushing your arm.

You fought the instinct to pull your arm away in disgust. "Of course I know you. Simon Foster: CEO of Foster Industries, head of the second largest shipping company in the world. Desperately clawing his way to being the first largest shipping company in the world. Offices spread out all over the globe, such as in New York, Liverpool, Rio de Janeiro, Sydney, Marseille," you finished.

"Well, I'm impressed. You've certainly done your homework, my dear. But enough business talk. Let's get a little more personal," he suggested.

"I really should be getting back to---" Simon put a finger to your lips. "Let him suffer a bit first. Besides, my sister Cynthia seems to be occupying him," he snickered.

You turned your attention towards where you'd left Ketch. You were shocked to see him with his arms around a gorgeous, leggy blonde woman in a red sequined dress. Simon turned your face back to him, so that you were looking into his eyes. "Come, my darling, let's go somewhere a little more private, and get to know each other better," he coaxed.

You gave him a quick smile and slid down from the barstool. You had only had the one drink and sipped it at that. However, you felt a bit unsteady on your feet, as if you'd had more like four drinks. Simon offered you his arm to support you as he led you away from the bar area to one of the private rooms. Ketch, you silently pleaded. Don't leave me, please.

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

No sooner had you left to go to the bar, that a blonde-haired woman in a red sequined dress came up to Ketch and asked him to dance. Ever the gentleman, he obliged, but did not lose sight of you. The blonde woman introduced herself as Cynthia Foster, sister of your host, Simon Foster. He engaged Cynthia in conversation, maintaining his cover, while trying to learn anything he could about her brother. The next time he turned his attention towards the bar, you were gone and so was Simon.

You and Simon stumbled into his private study area, where he closed the door and locked it behind him. In one swift move, he backed you up against his desk and started kissing you. As you stuck out your hand behind you to keep from falling over, you cut your finger on a letter opener.

When you examined the cut and the blood dripping from it, you could see the pupils in Simon's eyes grow wide. He took your finger in his mouth and tasted the blood. "Oh, darling. You taste so sweet, just like I knew you would," he growled as his fangs came into view. He pushed your head to the side and sank his fangs into your neck.

You knew you had to do something before you fell unconscious from losing too much blood. You carefully slid your hand down your thigh under your dress to release one of the syringes of dead man's blood you had hidden. Unfortunately, Simon caught on to what you were doing and wrenched it from your hand. "YOU!! You're a hunter!!" he screeched, throwing you to the floor and causing you to hit your head on a table in the process.

From the blood loss and possible concussion, you were finding it hard to remain conscious, let alone fight back. Fortunately, Ketch had burst through the door, wielding his machete. He took two long strides towards the vampire and skillfully sliced off Simon's head. With the mission objective met, Ketch turned his attention towards you. He noticed the bite marks on your neck and placed his handkerchief over it. He told you to hold it there to try and stop the blood loss.

"Ketch....Ketch....Arthur...." you whispered. He turned to look into your eyes. "I'm sorry. I should've....should....should've paid better attention," you remarked softly.

"Shh, try not to talk now, Love. Let's get you back to the bunker and patched up, good as new. I just hope to bloody hell Dean doesn't kill me for this," Ketch muttered. He placed you in the front seat of the car, buckled you in and then he ran around to the driver's side. He turned the key in the ignition and the engine roared to life. Ketch threw the car into gear and sped off into the night, headed back to the bunker.

"I'm so tired, Arthur," you replied as you drifted in and out of consciousness.

"Hold on, Love, hold on. We'll be there soon, just stay with me. Keep holding that kerchief up to your neck, darling," he soothed. When he didn't hear you respond, he looked over to see that you had fallen unconscious. He mashed down the accelerator in response, and soon the bunker was in his sights.

Once in the garage, he parked the car and ran around to the passenger side to get you. He scooped you up into his arms and pounded on the bunker door. Sam answered and quickly ushered you both in, then called out for Dean to help.

"What the hell happened, Ketch?!? You were supposed to look out for her. Is that what this looks like??" Dean thundered.

Ketch didn't say anything as he carried you to the infirmary to care for your wounds. You had bite marks on your neck from Simon, and a gash on your forehead where you'd hit the table. He placed you gently on the bed and went to the cabinet for what he would need to clean you up. Dean snatched the suture kit out of Ketch's hands and pushed him aside.

"Now see here, mate--" Ketch started angrily. "No, you see here. I'll take care of her. Been patching her up long before you came along, and I'll be doing it long after you leave," Dean retorted.

"Dean," you mumbled, opening your eyes. "Knock it off. It wasn't his fault," you muttered, sitting up a little. "He took out the vamp and his sister, mission accomplished," you said as you fell back onto the bed. "Arthur?" you called softly.

"Right here, Love," he said as he sat beside the bed and took your hand in his.

"Can you please stitch this up?" you asked, pointing at your neck and forehead.

Dean reluctantly handed him the suture kit and then stepped aside. "As you wish, darling," said Ketch. "Can someone please bring me a basin of warm water and a washcloth? I'll need to clean up some of this blood to see where I need to stitch," he explained. Sam left to go get the basin and washcloth.

Ketch looked at you with guilt in his eyes. You could tell that he felt responsible for what happened to you after having lost sight of you at the party. "Arthur, stop it. This wasn't your fault. I know how to take care of myself. It's just that this damn dress is so confining, which is why I'm a jeans-and-flannel kind of girl," you joked. He chuckled and you could see the relief in his eyes to know you would be all right.

"Well then, once we clean you up, we'll let you slip into something, shall we say, less confining and more comfortable?" he teased. By this time, Sam had returned with the basin and washcloth, as requested.

Ketch gently cleaned and dried your wounds. Turns out, the one on your forehead just needed those sterile tape strips to hold it closed, no stitches needed. Your neck was another story, though. Ketch took great care in making the stitches small to minimize the scar you were inevitably going to have. Dean brought back your pajamas so you would have something comfortable to change into. The guys then left the infirmary to give you some privacy as you changed.

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

Weeks went by with no new cases or missions, which gave you time for your wounds to heal. You also felt yourself getting a little closer to Ketch, but you weren't sure if he felt the same way. He would always call you "Love" or "Darling". While not necessarily meant in a romantic way, it made you feel special each time he said it.

One afternoon, you were reading your book when you heard an argument in the hallway between Dean and Ketch. You heard sharp tones in the voices of both men, so you went to investigate.

"So you're just going to leave? Without even saying 'goodbye' to anyone, especially her?" Dean snapped. "After everything that's happened?"

"Dean, you know as well as I do, relationships and hunting don't pair well together. As far as any relationship I may have with her, it would be foolish to entertain such an idea. So you see--" he stopped.

"What's going on here? Arthur, what are you talking about?" you asked.

"He says he's found a case and after he's finished, he won't be coming back to live here," Dean retorted.

You felt the blood drain from your face. "Arthur, is this true? I thought....never mind what I thought," you muttered.

"Oh, let me guess. You thought that there were 'special feelings' between us? Darling, trust me, you don't want to get mixed up with someone like me. Not after the things that I've done," he finished.

"You still don't get it, do you?" you snapped in a rare flash of anger. "I don't care what you've done in the past! That isn't the man you are today, and he's the man that I....I love. There, I've said it. I love you, Arthur Ketch. And if you can't see that love is a gift and that it's worth fighting for....then maybe you should go," you choked out.

Ketch picked up his bag. "Well, I guess that's it then. Nothing more to say, I suppose, except goodbye," he said.

Tears in your eyes, you watched him walk up the spiral staircase and out to the garage. You jumped when the bunker door slammed shut, then you ran to your room and closed the door.

"Damn you, Ketch," Dean muttered.

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

Soon after Ketch left, Sam and Dean started finding some new cases to work. You mostly stayed behind to do much-needed research for them. You were still heartbroken that Ketch decided to leave even after you declared your love for him. However, you tried to keep up a brave face for Sam and Dean. You smiled even when you didn't feel like it, just to keep them from asking if you were okay.

One night after a particularly dicey werewolf hunt, you were relieved when the boys finally came through the bunker door. Only this time, they weren't alone, they had someone with them. The man was injured and seemed to be drifting in and out of consciousness. You told them to bring him to the infirmary while you went to get the water basin and a washcloth.

"Okay, fellas, tell me what happened," you said. As you started to assess your patient, you gasped to see that it was none other than Arthur Ketch. The man to whom you had given your heart, but who didn't seem to want it.

"We found him locked in battle with that werewolf. He was holding his own until the werewolf slashed him across his stomach with its claws," Sam explained.

"A-all right. Let's get him cleaned up then I can see where he needs stitches. Dean, hand me a few suture kits, Sam help me get his jacket and shirt off," you ordered.

"Are you going to be okay with this? I mean, after what happened the last time he was here?" Dean asked.

"Dean, I'll be fine. Strictly professional, just the way he likes things. The sooner he gets well, the sooner he'll be free to leave me again," you said, your vision a little blurry from unshed tears. Dean squeezed your shoulder in support, and you gave him a small smile. Then you dipped the washcloth in warm water and started to clean Ketch's wounds.

After you had stitched him up, you dressed him in a clean T-shirt you had found in his bag. You left briefly to get your book so that you had something to do while you kept an eye on him.

Little did you know, Ketch was aware of what was going on the entire time. He heard the pain in your voice when you mentioned how he'd be free to leave you again once he was healed. Right then, he made up his mind that he wasn't going to make the same mistake twice. He just had to figure out how to show you that.

As you kept watch over your patient, you noticed that he had started mumbling in his sleep again. You drew your chair next to his bed and took his hand in yours. "I must be out of my damn mind, going down this path again," you muttered to yourself.

All of a sudden, you heard him say your name, and how he was sorry he'd hurt you. Then he said the words you longed to hear, "I love you, and I'm not leaving you again". He's asleep, he doesn't know what he's saying, you told yourself. You looked down and saw that he had opened his blue-green eyes and was searching your face for some sign of your feelings for him.

"Arthur? How are you feeling?" you asked gently.

He reached up with his free hand and cupped your cheek. "I've been better. The werewolf tore up my stomach, but I'm also hurting in my heart. You see, there was this wonderful woman I got to work with a while back.

“She's kind, considerate of others and is the most beautiful creature I've ever met. She sort of wiggled her way into my heart, and well, she never really left. But I left. Like a coward, I left her, which I never should've done," he confessed.

"What are you saying, Arthur?" you whispered.

"I'm saying that I was a fool to ever have left you, my love. I'm hoping that someday you can forgive me. You've helped me to see that love is a gift and it's definitely worth fighting for. I love you," he replied, pulling your face down to mesh his lips with yours. They were as soft as you'd imagined they would be, but firm, as he took charge of the kiss like he did with everything else in his life.

"I'm so glad you came back. I love you, Arthur Ketch," you said softly.

#ketch #arthur ketch #arthur ketch x reader #ketch x reader #spn imagine #spn fluff #supernatural

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sidecarghost · 4 years ago

Text

My Reaction to Destiel in Spn 15x18 to 15x20

Notes: this will contain spoilers for up to series finale 15x20.

I am in LGBTQ+, and this is my personal opinion on the treatment of Destiel, Dean, and Castiel in episodes 15x18-15x20. The LGBTQ+ community is complex and varied, just like any community, so I do not intend for my views to be seen as representative. I think any reaction is just as valid as mine.

Castiel’s Declaration and Dean’s Response

I personally thought Misha Collins’ performance of Castiel’s declaration of love was earnest and authentic. It was beautiful, and I loved every word of it. What bothered me about 15x18 was Dean not reciprocating. I understand that love doesn’t always work out, but this is a LGBTQ+ relationship. There are so few LGBTQ+ relationships on tv, so it’s difficult to understand why anyone would see the need to add an unfulfilled LGBTQ+ relationship that leaves the queer character unloved. LGBTQ+ are just as worthy to be loved as cishet. Before this viewers could use their imagination, but now it’s pretty final that Dean never thought of Cas as more than a friend, and that Dean is vaguely to deeply disturbed by his BFF being in love with him.

I think 15x20 tried to firmly establish Dean as cishet (retconning any prior subtextual queer coding) by having Dean show more affection to his car joining him in Heaven then he had to his LGBTQ+ friend near death. I hate that Dean is so cold to Cas during that declaration scene, and then no other insight into Dean’s feelings is ever shown. So we can only infer Dean’s feelings from that scene and the reaction reads confused, disturbed, shocked, and disbelieving. And I feel second hand crushed for Castiel. That would not be a happy moment for me at all. Just because Dean doesn’t feel any attraction to Castiel I don’t think that excuses his coldness during the declaration. This was a heartless way to react to a close queer friends admittance to an attraction, and the cold shoulder reaction seems really OOC for Dean.

Dean is typically much more sensitive about other people’s feelings. I know he is often painted as tough and unfeeling, but that’s really when his own feelings are in question. Usually he seems very in tune when someone else needs emotional support, and here he is just like mentally checking out. Dean appears to be thinking “Oh my BFF is confessing his love, I will just gawk at him like he is some kind of crazy.” Then Dean’s last words to Castiel are “Don’t do this, Cas,” because he’d like his final message to be invalidating. And then there is HUGE problem that Dean was so disturbed by Cas’s declaration that he never mentions it over the course of 15x19 and 15x20. Even though his friend gave his life for him.

Bad Representation more Harmful than No Representtion

I could be wrong, but I feel like the inclusion of Destiel this late in the game just to make it unrequited was malicious. And that’s because Destiel is a big thing for fandom and especially LGBTQ+ in fandom. Even non-Spn fandom LGBTQ+ know all about Destiel. I never dreamed the ship would go canon, and that was fine because the show could play out and I could read and write fic. Destiel was a fun ship, because the characters had wonderful development from the show, and the actors had great chemistry and were good looking and talented. Dean and Cas were complex and multi-dimensional and ready to run a coffeehouse or become pop star wannabes in a televised singing contest.

The show never told fans Dean and Cas wouldn’t love each other, so it was so easy for me to imagine they would love each other. That has changed since I watched the finale. I personally can’t ship Destiel anymore because all I remember now is the angel giving the hunter his heart, and Dean being so cold and uncaring. Dean stays so far away from Cas like he can’t stand to be close to him. When the two characters used to be in each other’s personal space all the time. It’s like the show wanted me to know how wrong I was to ever read a romance there. As though I had personally offended Dean Winchester. I always thought Dean could be bi, but now he is canon cishet to me. Because if he was going to be attracted to a guy it’d be Cas, because he is the most badass character on show. I’m okay with explanation that Dean was shell shocked in 15x18, but Dean’s continued indifference in 15x20 makes it more likely to me that the show intended for Dean to just not feel that way about Cas.

LGBTQ+ Character Erased

The show ended 10 days ago, but many LGBTQ+ spn fandom members are still reeling from Castiel’s erasure from the story as soon as he came out. There was so much hope that the show was giving LGBTQ+ fandom a ship they never expected in 15x18. The way everything seemed to signal that Dean and Cas would be brought back together in 15x20. And theories abounded on possible scenarios. My personal favorite was Dean rescuing Castiel from the Empty in 15x20 as a reverse of Castiel rescuing Dean from Hell in 4x01. This felt historic to see an actual fandom mlm ship finally get validated on the show, like LGBTQ+ were being seen and told we were just as valid as cishet by the show we loved.

But in the end, the LGBTQ+ relationship was just a tease. A queer angel declared his love and died. Then Dean died so he’d never get chance to process his feelings (if he had any). Dean and the viewers learned Cas had been saved, but Dean never bothered to pray to Cas or make any other attempt to reconnect with him. Had Cas escaped before Dean’s death? Had Cas just let Dean die? We never find out. Whether intentional or not, Castiel no longer had any significance in the life or death of the man he loved so strongly. If you related to Cas the exemption was a gut punch. I saw Cas as important and he was my voice and my story, and then 15x20 had Castiel as unimportant to the story and he was silenced.

The Bury your Gay trope

Cas had come out, and now his last scene was his death. Castiel was written out of the show, and no one seemed willing to give him more than a passing thought. The series regular and reoccurring character of 12 years was treated like he was never very important to Dean or Sam. This wasn’t historic, this is the “bury your gay” trope and a real problem for LGBTQ+ representation in movies and shows.

Negative impact of teasing LGBTQ+ romance in movies and shows

15x18 didn’t just feature Cas coming out, his coming out could have been handled just like Chuck’s in season 11 by dialogue stating he liked guys too. Castiel’s coming out was part of a declaration of love to his best friend. This teased a possible LGBTQ+ romance between two male leads with no intention of follow through. Heteronormative fans can state my perspective was invalid, but I’d like to challenge them to see LGBTQ+ as just as valid and normal as cishet romance.

If unintentional:

this was insensitive and bad representation

If intentional:

at best queer baiting (Dean was cishet so any fans that thought reciprocation was possible were wrong. Never mind all the subtextual queer coding of Dean that non-heteronormative viewers had observed.)

at worst outright homophobia (if you read Dean as a closeted bisexual that is fridged before he has chance to come out)

The Intention of C* Spn?

I have to wonder what the LGBTQ+ in Spn fandom ever did to make the show runners so mad at us. I would really like to get the perspective of the show runners, because without that, it is just too easy to believe the worst.

Perceiving the Finale Message of We don’t Belong

And the worst is heart wrenching. The marginalized members of fandom that related to the outcast angel were excluded from the Winchester’s ending. Even though we cared about them so much over the years. Many members of fandom had found families, and were validated by the reoccurring theme that family doesn’t end in blood.

But the finale retconned that message. Castiel was queer, and he was erased. He wasn’t a part of Sam and Dean’s ending. Fandom that related to Castiel could see our affection for the brothers wasn’t reciprocated. We just helped when we were useful but in the end unworthy of love. Family actually did end in blood, and we were naive for believing otherwise.

Spn queer baited LGBTQ+ one last time to drive up viewership, so the marginalized part of the audience could bear witness to Castiel’s exclusion from the Winchester’s finale. We never belonged. This wasn’t our story. This was the story of cishet white brothers, Sam and Dean, that were the product of their cishet white parents, John and Mary, that lived up the road in their Heaven. The queer angel of the lord was not going to intrude in their story any longer, despite his devotion to them over the past 12 years. We didn’t belong, because Castiel didn’t belong.

Other Views are Valid

I just want to reiterate that everything I’m saying is just my own opinion. If other LGBTQ+ thought the episodes were perfect that is also very valid. If you are not a LGBTQ+ then I appreciate your support, and ask that you check any biases before disagreeing with my opinion. Cishet will never be made to feel marginalized, inferior, or abnormal because of their sexuality or gender. And if you want to save LGBTQ+ lives you can try to change your view to see queer as normal and become a LGBTQ+ ally.

TLDR;

Misha’s performance was amazing. Bobo Beren’s writing was brilliant. After 15x18, the romance was like a puzzle that had all the pieces carefully together except the last one. Then 15x20 took that beautiful, nearly complete puzzle and dumped it in a metal trash bin, soaked it in lighter fluid, and burned it to ash. I blame the showrunners. They should never have had a LGBTQ+ come out to have his love unrequited, die, and then get erased from the story. Bad representation is worse than no representation.

#spn #Destiel #my spn thoughts #spn ending #spn 15x18 #spn 15x20 #spn season 15 #supernatural #deancas #Andrew Dabb

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sanders-sides-rebloger · 4 years ago

Text

Cabin in the Woods

Tis the season to be frightening! Fa la la la la, la la la la!

Here’s a fanfic for your liking! La la la la la, la la la la!

A/N: As it is the spooky season I’ve decided make a Vampire Virgil fic. Because we deserve it and he’s amazing.

Thank you so much @ironwoman359 for beta editing for me! This could've turned out so much worst without your help XD

Word Count: 3,252

Summary: Roman stays in a fairly big Cabin in the woods for vacation that was owned by his Aunt Patty. He's aloud to stay as long as he wants. She figured he needed it after being in a slump from being rejected by one of the most awarding movie studios.

Not only that’s, It’s isolated with nothing but trees and woods surrounding the building and a narrow dirt path that’s an hour away from civilization. What could possibly go wrong?

Tw: drug mention, slight swearing (If there's anything i should add feel free to let me know!)

Roman stays in a fairly big Cabin in the woods for vacation that was owned by his Aunt Patty. He's aloud to stay as long as he wants. She figured he needed it after being in a slump from being rejected by one of the most awarding movie studios.

It’s even isolated with nothing but trees and woods surrounding the building and a narrow dirt path that’s an hour away from civilization.

There’s already plenty of food and water prepared for him already but it’s annoying at times to have to get groceries where the nearest store is an hour and half away but he got used to it. An experience like this is a challenge on Romans part.

Living somewhere that’s completely out of his comfort zone is new and exciting. The place even miraculously has internet and cable so that's a plus for him.

One day he decided to go out for a walk at sunset, enjoying the quietness of nature. The sun seemed to almost set.

Its been about fifteen minutes of walking when Roman hears hushed voices and the sounds of other men talking. He grew confused, close to no one should be around here. The area was secluded.

It turned out to be a drug trade going on, and Romans just stupidly walked in the middle of it.

Every inch of his body filled with regret. He should’ve known what he was getting himself into.

They see him and immediately jumped him. Roman was able to put up a good fight for a while until more of them showed up. For a hopeful second he was able to run away. He fled to the direction of his car so that none of them could know where he lives and try to get the hell away from them as soon as possible.

It was short lived as one guy grabbed him by the back collar of his letterman jacket and pulled him back. He threatens him and tells Roman other nonsense he could care less about.

The tears were pouring down before he realizes it. Tired, beaten, and defeated he could only struggle against the attackers arm around Romans neck and shoulders and beg for mercy.

As soon as he believes this could be the end, the thug’s grip was surprisingly pulled away and he was violently dragged far away from Roman. His screams of bloody murder echo behind him the further away he was.

The prince like man stumbles forward and turns around in fright mixed with confusion, and his eyes widen in terror, the thug disappeared as soon as it happened like no one was ever there. Romans eyes widen.

Who in the hell just did that? There’s no way the bandit possibly fled on his own. Someone else has to be here. Romans eyes quickly land on the three suspicious men, from before, coming into view.

They look at Roman like he was crazy, believing he was the one who possibly killed their friend. The three looked like they were about to attack him when suddenly something came flying into view. A blur of a human shape came knocking the attackers out within seconds, as if he was flying.

Roman stood frozen. Paralyzed with confusion.

Soon he realizes how odd the newcomers clothing is. It was hard to see but his clothing looked like it could’ve been from the Victorian era and his skin is completely pale white. It was all Roman could see since the man was moving too fast, he had the hood of his cape covering his eyes.

Before he realizes what’s happening, he feels something cotton grab his wrist that quickly takes Romans hand and drags them far away to the safety of his Cabin.

Romans mind is reeling at this point. He sighed to himself in relief.

Then it got worse, his heart dropped at the sight of what looked like long sharp fangs curving out of this guy's head. It made Roman want to run inside, lock his doors and windows, and get as far away from this thing as possible.

He was only able to incoherently mumble questions and frightened gasps. With its fangs still out and hissed towards Roman whenever he struggled against his grip. The stranger then grasps Roman and whispers in his ear in a low growl.

“I don’t know who you are, but the only reason I saved your sorry ass was so I didn’t have to deal with a dead body in my territory. Tell anyone about this, my fangs will be digging so deep in your neck, you’ll be completely deflated.”

It made goose bumps grow all over Romans neck. His heart felt like it was beating out of his ribcage. What made this action ten times worse was how the hooded man's voice had a deep dark echo to it.

And with that, the stranger shoved the man in front of him to the ground and disappeared into the night. Roman laid there for several minutes trying to control his breathing as his growing fear in his mind replayed everything that happened in one night.

He went away back to his apartment for a while. The poor guy couldn’t sleep properly for days and left immediately after. He told no one of his experience, he knew they would think he’s crazy for believing in something that sounded so made up.

The Princely character had time to think about his situation over and over. He wasn’t sure whether it was the fight he had been in or the meeting with the pale stranger that terrified him the most. A shiver went down Romans spine from just thinking of him.

He remembers the way the man's breath grazed his earlobe as he talked in that chilling low tone of his. His grip on the man's arms below his shoulders felt overwhelmingly too tight for a normal person.

The creature wasn’t exactly hiding who he was either. Even the very act of saving Roman in the first place to later on threaten him afterwards was beyond him. He could’ve just left him to die by those thugs, and it wouldn’t have been the man's problem either. He could’ve just carried on with his life without Roman in it.

But he didn’t. Instead he knocked every single one there was and dragged them away in the blink of an eye. Roman hoped the creature at least had some morals to not want to mess with him again.

A good few weeks went by for Roman to gain some courage to go back and retrieve his essentials. He was currently finishing with the last of carrying his boxes to the trunk of his car with no issue until he heard a very loud sudden cry.

It was a deep cry, like someone was in pain. It happened only for a second before Roman did his best to brush it off.

He soon heard it again, but this time it was much louder and echoed effectively through the trees around him. From what Roman had heard so far, it didn’t sound familiar and he started to genuinely worry. Someone could be out there who could be hurt or worse. It wouldn’t be noble at all to walk away from any injured human being.

He wasn’t stupid of course, he remembered his last incident in these woods. He brought his samurai sword out with him that he kept inside the cabin as decoration and wished himself luck. He had a lot of spare time on his hands when he was younger.

Little Roman practically begged his Uncle to teach him, saying he wanted to fight like a real prince. His Uncle eventually agreed and helped train him on how to attack with a sword, little by little until the young man today was an expert.

The deeper into the woods Roman was, the more he heard pants and groans of desperation. He was walking for a good five minutes until he finally reached the mysterious injured being.

Roman became stunned in place to see the unworldly stranger from before, back against a thick oak tree, breathing heavily and barely moving. Only the deep rise and fall of his chest indicating any signs of life. He could recognize that clothing anywhere, his most recognizable clothing being his deep purple gloves and darkly stitched black and silk red embedded hood. Yeah, it was definitely him.

He lowered his sword but still held it tightly in his hands. Roman slowly went in front of the stranger and knelt down on one knee, putting distance between them, and examined him more closely. His eyes were closed and he looked to be unconscious. His mouth was slightly agape, showing his impressively sharp fangs.

Oddly enough Roman can’t deny that the man is surprisingly attractive looking from physical appearance alone. His pale skin brought out the dark circles around his eyes as well as his red lips.

A sudden chill went down the back of his neck at the thought of the color being as red as blood. Roman didn’t know and chose to keep it that way.

Without touching him, Roman inspected what he could and found no injuries on the man. There’s no one else in sight except them, so that loud groan had to have been from the now silent man in front of him.

Thinking about it now, he doesn’t know why he’s still here after what this person did! He’s the same one who bared his teeth at him and threatened Roman with his life. The stranger even somehow knows where he lives and could easily kill him if he wanted to. Could he have been stalking him as his prey for the two weeks Roman’s been here?

Romans grip tightened on the handle of his sword he forgot he was holding. His eyes traveled towards the blade.

He could kill this thing. He could do so with no witnesses. The hooded figure isn’t even human, who knows what he’s capable of. It would be so easy...

Roman stood weakly and lifted the end of his sword above his knees and pointed it to the creature's neck.

However this was also the same person who saved him from those dealers. Someone who entered the picture right when Roman needed help most. There was no way this person couldn’t have seen what was happening except from watching afar.

And right now, the closer he inspected the faded purple haired figure he could see how torn he looked. He was currently immobile, his cries were loud just a moment ago and...he looked much skinnier than he previously did? Romans eyes could be tricking him, since there’s excess clothing covering the creature from head to toe, so he couldn’t tell.

Even though the thought of more of them being out there terrified him to death, throughout the miles and miles of woods beyond Romans cabin, who knows, he could have a family somewhere out there.

And Roman was just going to kill him with the only excuse being his fear, even though it’s completely reasonable fear right? And when was the last time Romans seen his own family?

Nevertheless, no matter what circumstances there were, he is grateful for what it did. He wouldn’t be standing here today without the creature's help.

Roman tossed the sword aside and ran his fingers through his hair nervously. He slumped his body to the ground, feeling stupid for not doing the only rational thing a person should do. He doesn’t want to hurt it though. Not after seeing more closely how it pathetically slumped against the tree trunk like dead weight.

The being didn’t even touch him, well- harass him in any way.

The only time he’d touched him was after he dragged Roman straight to his cabin. Also being what he is, he couldn’t have seen another human in years, so it sort of makes sense as to why the stranger threatened him the way he did. It still begs the question to why he helped Roman in the first place.

Instead, he sits on his knees and hesitantly shakes the others shoulder gently to wake him. He doesn’t move, but he’s now taking shallow breaths in contrast to his previous heavy breathing.

Roman moves his hand to the strangers chest. Are creatures like this even alive? The one in front of him surely doesn’t look like it. Not only is he as pale as a corpse, but he’s ice cold to the touch. To confirm himself that if the figure was indeed alive, Roman moves his hand to its wrist, neck or anywhere to indicate any sort of pulse.

From what the man could tell he was beginning to lose hope. Nothing about the scene in front of him was indicating any source of life.

Roman slowly drew his hand back, going over his options for what to do in a situation like this. Roman moves his hand to the strangers skin at his bare neck for good measure.

However he was pulled from his thoughts when Roman yelped loudly in terror at two hands tightly grabbing his shoulders and pinned him, sitting, against the thick tree trunk with the stranger on top of his lap. The weight on him felt like a ton of bricks.

Romans wrists were tightly grasped together over his head with one of the stranger's hands. He winced loudly in pain. The strong grip around his wrists squeezed, barely not cutting off circulation. The other arm pushed horizontally across Romans chest, trapping him even more.

He's almost nose to nose with the stranger in front of him, he stares straight into the eyes of the one who put him in his now captive state, frozen in place.

Roman could widely see the creatures distinct facial features. How it formed a wicked smirk, with its claw-like fangs poking out of its mouth, how the pools of brown looked into Roman with dark unknown intentions.

Roman could feel his heart drop to his stomach at that moment, eyes tightly shut and body trembling as his mind conjured different scenarios of his ultimate demise.

It all made sense now. How the creature defeated the dealers to stop them from getting to Roman. The way he knew the exact route to get to his cabin. He knew where Roman would be in due time and just waited for the right moment to strike in his vulnerable state.

Romans mind drew a blank, and he could barely function at that moment.

He kicked, screamed, and pushed away with all his might but nobody came. The stranger's incredible power which held him down did nothing for him. It only leaned back only a little and watched with a calm expression of pity on the prey's pathetic attempt of escape.

Roman panted heavily, out of breath and worn out. He needs to kill this thing. He should’ve done so when he had the chance.

That's when Romans eyes slowly drifted to his sharp sword in front of him, glinting in the moonlight. He longed for it to magically appear in his hand to help him attack this creature.

His breath hitched as the figure moved forward and toward Romans ear.

“I wouldn’t think about it if I were you~” The creature warned. He said lowly, sniffing Romans neck a little and smiling brightly.

Roman turns his head away the best he can as he whimpers, feeling vulnerable it's touch. He felt completely and utterly violated.

Soon though, Romans face pales and his dread grew when he saw those familiar sharp fangs at the corner of his eye and they were pointed right at his neck.

“Tell anyone about this, my fangs will dig so deep in your neck, you’ll be completely deflated.”

Roman could feel his tears pricking in his eyes, on the verge of streaming down his cheeks. He’s going to die here. He’s never going to live to meet his dreams of becoming a professional actor. He’s never gonna see any of his friends again.

The creature wanted him all to itself, and he was gonna be eaten alive. Roman hoped it would be a fast death at least.

“Please...” Roman whimpers again, his voice quivering as he pushed the back of his head against the tree in an attempt to further himself from the creature. Which only caused him a strong stinging pain in his head against the bark. He prepared himself for the sharp pang to dig painfully deep into his neck.

...

Except, nothing happened.

After what felt like forever, nothing was done to Romans body. He was still pinned against the bark like a prisoner, but no actual damage was done to him. He was confused and afraid to open his eyes, yet he was wondering what the hold up was after the creature stated exactly what he wanted to do to him.

Roman opens his eyes painfully slow. He regains his vision and he could see how the pale man perked up and leaned further away from him. In a flow of emotions its face went from confused to shocked to sympathetic in mere seconds. Roman didn’t understand.

That’s when the figure throws the pinned man aside to the dirt and backs away with almost a tremble in his step. He looks down at his hands with wide eyes, pondering his actions.

He stands up with distance between himself and his victim, running a gloved hand through his hair.

“Did I just...“ The man mumbles to himself.

He grew silent, looking to be in deep thought. He continued to speak softly to himself but it was incoherent from where Roman sat. The silent ring of crickets can be heard with the rustling of the trees.

Roman can see the man from his side view, standing there. It was like he completely forgot that he was there in the first place. Right now, Roman had no idea what to do.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s still pretty damn terrified. But just now, he thinks, the man looked so... scared. Like he didn’t know what he was doing.

Should he say something? Do something to break the ice?

That’s when the man finally noticed Romans presence. His gaze slowly drifts to the man's tense filled body on the ground, looking up at him with a wide stare. His eyes once looked so menacingly. A type of stare that would make anyone regret they were born. Now though the man looks at him with lidded eyes, a light in them that’s shown full of regret. It was astounding. Roman didn’t know what to think.

Roman gets up on his own. He decided it’d be better to say something rather than nothing at all.

“I don’t know what’s going on, what or who you are, but I need an explanation for what happened just now.“ He continued to ramble on about everything else, wanting an explanation, pacing as he spoke.

Roman didn’t notice but the pale man rubs the bridge of his nose in a somewhat annoyed manner. He couldn’t blame him though.

Roman turns again, this time facing him this time.

The man being interrogated slowly walks towards Roman. He sees this and his words slowly die out in this throat, staring at him questionably.

His breath was quite literally stolen from him when the man places a gloved hand over Romans mouth, effectively shutting him up.

“Listen, I know you don’t exactly trust me right now. But my name is Virgil, and I need your help.”

#sanders sides #vampire virgil #fanfiction #reblogger posts #prinxiety #roman sanders #virgil sanders #slowburn prinxiety #roman x virgil #Cabin in the Woods #slight angst #ts roman #ts virgil #i may continue this #I may not #depends on how much time and willpower I have lol

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