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thefanbasewhore · 4 years ago

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Can you do a soulmate Stucky x reader? I feel like you would write that so well, especially how you portrayed bucky in "are you mad at me" was so soft. The soulmate version would be so cute

Summary || Bucky and Steve meet their soulmate, which they had no idea existed.

Warning/content || fluff, a small explicit scene, fighting. Soulmate AU.

Paring || Bucky Barnes x reader x Steve rogers

I got a little carried away, but enjoy ❤️ not edited or beta read but I'm sleepy 😴

Bucky and Steve have had each other from the moment they have met. Imaging their surprise, being two little boys from Brooklyn seeing colors, something the two agreed to hide, pending the time period.

It was different now, a different time. They were accepted and while both of them loved each other, so very much, especially through the mind control, fighting each other, then for each other. They always knew something was missing.

A color, maybe even two, three. A part of them missing but they both collectively came to the conclusion that it was just that. Some missing colors, it happens sometimes.

It happens when they least expect it.

After Thanos, after Tony finally deciding to leave that kind of life behind, buying a small two bedroom house on the outskirts of the city. A home to grow old in, be together for the first time since before the war started but only one thing prevented that.

The house was a disaster, gutted to the foundations, no running water, green moss outside covered the whole house, the lawn completely out of control. For Bucky it was a hard no, it was a dump but the moment Steve fluttered those ridiculously long lashes, how could he say no?

So here they are, sweating on this 90 degree day, putting up new dry wall with no air-conditioning.

"What color should it be?" Steve asks, glancing to his dark haired lover, taking notice of his now shirtless appearance. Bucky let out a sigh, wiping the sweat from his forehead.

"Maybe we should get all of the walls up first."

Steve clicks his tongue, "I like the color green, like a nice pastel mint green."

"Whatever you want, honey." Bucky wasn't too picky, besides whatever made Steve happy, made him happy.

"Hello?" A sweet, feminine voice came from the kitchen. The doors left open because of the heat, there was nothing much in here anyways.

Steve pulls away from his task, pulling his shirt over his head to wipe his forehead with it. "Come in, we are in the kitchen."

Bucky wasn't too alarmed, Steve had told him previously that he hired a someone to make up the yard, nothing too fancy but the both of them were completely clueless when it came to plants, or gardens period.

"Quite a project you have going on here, Mr. Rogers." No doubt taking in the half gutted house along the way. While they have never met, they spoke on the phone briefly about his wants.

"You have no idea, Hun."

The woman looks around the kitchen first, noticing the freshly painted cabinet, the smell a dead giveaway, half eaten burgers thrown to the side on a small, make shift table with barely enough room to fit.

At first glance towards the man she notices the sharp jawline, defined but soft feature of the blonde as she greets him with a smile which soon drops in confusion as small dots of color appear. Stormy blue eyes with a full beard, Steve's mouth dropping agape as he notices the splirts of color - the missing colors for 106 years finally appear.

Bucky notices the tension in the room, shifting his attention from the wall to Steve, noticing how intensely he's staring, Bucky follows the line of vision and meets sweet eyes.

She's hit with another line of color, different from Steve's but now there's no more gray hue, bright yellows and blues. The outside is suddenly so bright and Bucky mouth drops.

This cannot be happening.

They sit there and stare for what seems like hours.

"I - ugh.." she starts, "What is happening?"

***

Sometimes life just throws curve balls, like finding out that your soulmate or in this cause soulmates are two, one hundred year old super soldiers who have already been in love with each other for over a decade.

The pull is already strong, nature intended for these souls to be together until death due part and honestly Bucky could feel it. With Steve he was used to the urge of wanting to have him close, kiss him every free minute he has but with the woman in front of him, it's new.

He doesn't even know her name, watches the way she nervously flickers from Steve's gaze to his own. She's beautiful.

Strong but delicate features, the curve of her nose is cute, cupid lips are so full... kissable. He can't stop staring, even with Steve and her in the mist of conversation. The make shift table cleared of all prior mess, Buck and Steve have to share a chair, which is quite comical, seeing two giant supersoldier try to share a small, old, dinning room seat.

Bucky's metal fingers twitch, metal plate click and whirl to life as he tights to urge to map her face out with his fingers. His heart is beating so fast, filled with so much... Love? Joy?

No matter how much Steve and Bucky try to hide it.. deep down they always knew, something was missing and in this case, someone.

"You're beautiful." The words catch both her and Steve off guard, Bucky blushes red something terrible but the sweet smile defuses the fire.

Well until she says something back, "You are too."

His whole face is hot and Steve reaches over to affectionately rub the back of his shoulder. Of course Steve was calm, he always is.

He handles things with lots of thought and understanding, while Buck is more hot headed, acts on the moment.

***

"It doesn't feel right." Bucky comments, watching from the window to insure she safely gets into the car. Steve sighs, by the time they're done talking darkness has filled the house. Steve affectionately squeezes the brunette's bicep, pressing a kiss to his hair.

"I know Bucky. This is a lot for her, for us. She needs to take time and reflect on this. She'll come to us when she's ready."

Bucky knows nothing then her name, and love for plants but chews at his bottom lip nervously. She's too far, the bond pulls at his heart strings. Now bonded forever. "What if she never comes back?"

"She will."

***

A few days pass, the kitchen is finally done, new appliances, new china and kitchen fully stocked. Steve is making something for Dinner - it smells amazing while Bucky starts painting the walls of the lifeless living room.

It's bare, not even something to sit on but no doubt with the stamina of two super soldiers it will be done by next week.

The knock on the front door is unexpected, but Bucky replies quickly. "I got it, Stevie!"

He expects some older, much wrinkly neighbor to be complaining about the noise of the nail gone or something this late at night. His mouth drops, a little shocked at the sight of her.

A very formal sitting dress, long and black, dips into a sweetheart neckline, the valley of her breasts easily visible. Hair is thrown into a neat updo, sexy and sleek.

Bucky clears his throat. "Hi." He squeaks out, feeling like a total idiot as he watches her nervously shift her weight from one heel to the other.

"Hi, I was in the area. A wedding for one my clients, thought I'd come say hello." Bucky wants to shake his head in disbelief that something so beautiful, just like Steve is made for him.

The universe sculpted and made two beautiful, breath taking human beings to be his and it's overwhelming. She's so pretty it's alarming.

It was a good excuse, the truth but not the real reason she stopped by. How could she tell them that they have been on her mind none stop? It physically hurts to be away for so long.

"Who is it, Buck?" Steve mumbles, interrupting the thick tension between the two.

"Come in, doll." Bucky's helps her with the jacket that lays over his shoulders, mentioning his head towards the direction of the kitchen, where his other lover is.

Steve is stunned none the less, he at least expected a few more days. Also, feeling much like Bucky, amazed by the radiating beauty.

He decides to play it cool, dimples forming with a breath taking smile. "Do you like spaghetti?"

Hours pass, time moves so fast with conversation, and adding wine to the mix surely didn't help.

The trio once again in the kitchen, but this time each have a chair, a new, more comfortable dinning set.

"You got this done fast. It's beautiful." She comments, "Colors are beautiful, I guess I have you two to thank for that."

Bucky shifts in his seat, the glass of wine is useless but still finds himself sipping from it. Her eyes are red, watery with a slight buzz.

"Do you feel it?" The question has both Bucky and Steve look at each other, watching her teary eyes as she presses a hand to sooth the ache in her chest. "It hurts, it hurts to be away. All week."

"It's normal." Steve answers just above a whisper, his next words make Bucky's bottom lip quiver. "I felt it every day for the last 5 years, Bucky was gone."

Bucky had never thought about it - there hasn't been enough time to. It's only been a month later since the return and it never occurred to him what Steve has gone through.

"Steve.." He starts, tears kiss his waterline as his fingers run through the blonde's hair. "I'm sorry sweetheart, I didn't know, I -."

"Couldn't prevent it Buck. It happened but you're here now and.." Steve turns his attention towards the girl, tears slip past her eyelids. It's for Steve, for Bucky.. all the pain and suffering they've been through. "Hey, don't cry, it's alright beautiful."

It's feels right, despite barely knowing the man, nothing feel more right then being pulled into his chest as a large metal hand comforts her in a different way, rubbing the loose strands of hair as he murmurs. "We've got you now, you're our other half."

***

Months have past from that day. The house is finally done, everything they could have imagined with the additional of an extra tooth brush in the cup that sits on the bathroom sink, a pile of fuzzy blankets at the bottom of the bed and a five year old chocolate lab. Steve didn't mind much, he's always loved dogs, Bucky on the other hand...

"Alright, alright, Maverick." Bucky huffs, grocery bags in hand as the dog excitedly nuzzles his legs, following him throughout the house like it wasn't only an hour ago he's seen him. Once putting the bags down, hears the whine, big brown eyes staring up at him. Bucky sighs, dropping to a knee before petting the pup's head. "Alright you mutt, don't tell anyone about this."

"Too late, pal." Bucky jumps, hearing the amusement in Steve's voice, followed by the giggle of the woman that peers out from behind him. Wrapping her arms around Steve before testing her head against his shoulder.

"Caught you red handed, you love Mav." Bucky grumbles at her words, feeling two smaller hands wrap around his waist as a head falls into his chest. He presses a soft kiss into her hair before taking in the blonde that barely fits through the doorway he leans against.

Bucky's free hand reaches out, mentioning him closer but as she's soon finds herself in the middle of a super soldier sandwich. "Hi, baby." Bucky presses a kiss to the blonde's lips.

"Hi, pal."

***

"It's only one mission. That's it, we will be in and out." Steve promises, not liking the way his girls face twist into a worried expression.

Heavy eyes, lower lip sticking out to pout. "What if something happens? If you get hurt? Or if they find you, Bucky?"

"I told you, Hydra is gone, honey." Bucky's large hands sooth over her tight shoulders, pressing soft kisses to the back of her upper traps.

"No. You still have nightmares at least three times a week. This can't be good for you. And you." She turns her attention back towards Steve, "Barely sleep four hours a night. You carry the fault on your shoulders, you don't need anymore. I don't want you two to go."

"We don't have a choice. They were my family once, I owe this to them." Steve didn't miss the way her lips moves to form a snarl, not sparing another glance as she makes a b-line for the stairs.

Bucky sighs, leaning against the wall. "She's going to be mad at us." Rubbing his chest with hopes to ease the burn.

The bond pulls at their hearts, a slow, painful punishment for their actions.

They return two weeks later, tired, just wanting to see their girl. The moment they walk into the house they look at each other with will wild eyes, heart pumping as they fear the worse. The dog, the annoying wiggling tail that would bark is one where to be found, something is wrong.

It's alarming. "Where is that freaking mutt?"

Steve calls her name, but there is no answer. Bucky and him are searching the house, ascending the stairs, opening the bedroom door with a deep sigh of relief.

The stupid dog takes up half of the bed, but is cuddled into his owner. Arm draped around the ball of fur, amount as long as her.

The dog lifts his head, a little tail waggle as Steve stretches his ears, lowering to his knees and laying his top half over the bed to press loud, audible kisses to his ears. "Good boy, protecting our girl while we are gone."

When morning comes she notices the dog is still pressed against her, licking small stripes against her cheeks. "Have to go out, buddy?"

She barely makes it five steps before tripping over two rather large bodies, sleeping on a makeshift bed on the floor. Bucky groans and Steve's eyes flicker open.

"Why are you on the floor?"

"Wanted you to sleep pretty girl. Mav was taking up all the room and you looked like an angel." Bucky hums in agreement despite his eyes being closed.

"Mmm, well it's all free now." It's short, simple but the sarcastic tone has Bucky's eyes flickering to meet his boyfriend's. They both sigh, staring up at the ceiling, knowing it's going to be a long day.

And it is. She's does whatever she can to get away from them, only answers with short replies to the point Bucky can't take it anymore.

"Sweetheart," Bucky tries again but she doesn't acknowledge him, eyes stayed glued to the book. He gets fed up, metal plates click as artificial appendages run over the binding and pull it from her grasp.

"Give it back, James."

He cringes at the name, a displeased frown wears his face. "No, you have to talk to us."

"No."

"You're bring a brat." Bucky starts, watching her expression change from annoyed to anger, wrinkles of frustration pinch between her eyebrows.

"Buck - don't say that to her." Steve comments, it's his fault, he's the one who said yes without confiding in her first.

"She is, it's over with now. She has no right to be this mad."

"No right?" Her chest fills with emotion as a humourless chuckle causes both men to stiffen. "No right? Huh Buck? I sat here for two full weeks, no communication, nothing while the two of you are out there fighting God knows what after you swore, promised you would always be with me. Don't promise me forever if you're just going to throw yourself in danger! You're going to die and leave me, or worse! Both of you will."

No one says a word, only watch as her chest rises and falls with deep, heavy pants despite the tears that rolls past her eyes lashes.

"Honey, I'm sorry -."

"I don't want to hear it James, and you." She turns towards Steve, fire in her soul. "I thought you would understand, more then him, considering it has happened to you."

She leaves the room without another word, Buck turns towards Steve, watching the way he fights the tears that gather. The pain of loosing Bucky is still so fresh, "She's right Buck, we fucked up."

"I know, I know." He mumbles into Steve's shoulder, pulling him close.

***

"You're so good to me, sweet girl." Bucky moans as she shifts her hips against him, the blunt end of his cock hitting the spot inside her that makes her squeal for more.

Large hands squeeze her hips as Steve leans over to find his boyfriend's lips, kissing him through the gasps and whines of their girl's name as she circles her hips around Bucky.

Steve's hands pull at his hair, lips trailing from his lips, down his cheeks before nipping at his jaw.

"How does he feel honey?"

"So good, Stevie." For a second he's in a trance, watching the way her face contours with pleasure and the pain of her third orgasm well on its way.

Steve lays next to Buck, hand wrapping around his own heaviness between his legs as he stokes it, switching between her face of pleasure to Bucky's, who bites his lip to suppress a moan.

It's short lived as hips stutter against her own, coating her walls with his warm cum.

Steve barely gives her time to recover, positioning her on his hands and knees before hovering over her ear and nibbling on it. "My turn, honey."

***

Her hands nervously shake, the kitchen table is all set up, dinner is ready but at the moment she doesn't have an appetite.

Between this morning sickness, the overall change her body is under going, food makes her sick. The opening of the front door makes her sit up straight, sucking in a deep breath.

Two voices conversationing in the hall, "I thought I said for you to lock the door when we leave." Buck is clearly annoyed, it's been a long day but Steve rubs his shoulders, mumbling something incoherent.

Upon entering the kitchen, they both grow worried. Face drained of color, red blotchy eyes with shaky hands.

"Hey, hey." Steve drops to his knees in front of her seat in an instant, hands curling around her wrist as worried steel blue eyes follow his stance, reaching over to stroke her cheek. "What is it? What happened?"

"I'm pregnant." She pauses, "I'm scared, I'm scared. What if someone comes for you? How are we supposed to raise a baby? What if it has the serum, will it ever be safe?"

The questions fill Bucky with dread, how much though put into every sentence, every word is like a new hit of pain to his body but he stays strong. For his girl, he leans forward, wiping the tears away from discolored cheeks. "Everything is going to be fine babydoll, you're going to be fine, our baby is going to be fine."

#bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky x you #bucky fluff #fatws bucky #bucky x y/n #bucky fic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers #steve x bucky #steve x reader #stucky x you #stucky x y/n #stucky x reader #stucky

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twtd11 · 2 years ago

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I just found out that you can stream Where on Earth is Carmen Sandiego on Paramount+ which is really just fueling my current desire to read all of the Ivy/Carmen fic. Like, the Netflix version was cool and all, but it completely revamped all of the characters and I’m quite emotionally attached to the 1994 characters. So, my plans for the week clearly involve watching old episodes and possibly writing fic. Because the world need more fic about a 20 year old cartoon.

The idea:

By this point, Ivy would be in her 40s and Carmen would be in her 60s (roughly) and maybe Carmen retired from pulling off random heists some time ago because eventually, it stopped amusing her. But the widespread theory is that surveillance technology just got too good and too pervasive for her to avoid. No one has seen Carmen Sandiego in a decade. She’s fucked off to her island in the South Pacific and contented herself with scuba diving and maybe writing detective novels (idk). And Ivy’s moved on from being a detective and she owns her own CrossFit gym or something where she never talks about her time chasing after Carmen. Not catching Carmen was her one regret and she doesn’t like revisiting it.

But Carmen sees all of the “you can’t wear anything with a rainbow on it to a World Cup match” bullshit (no really, they’ve been stopping people because the Qatari government is freaked out by gay people or something) and she decides to steal the World Cup trophy. She succeeds, of course, and leaves one of the One Love armbands the Europeans were going to wear but got forbidden from wearing (cf Qatar hating gay people) in its place along with a calling card.

Zack, who made a fortune with an app he developed, gets asked to consult with the police to catch Carmen. Ivy burned some bridges when she left Acme, so she doesn’t get a call. But Zach says he might have been the brains, but that Ivy was always the one who really understood how Carmen thought, so the police reluctantly ask Ivy for help. She says fuck that because ACAB, it’s no longer 1994, and she’s not that naive, but the lead detective has dirt on her of some sort, so she reluctantly agrees. And part of her is still trying to prove that she’s good enough to catch Carmen.

Cue lots of chasing Carmen around and almost catching her and flirting while they’re doing it. And Ivy feeling very reluctant to actually catch Carmen. But the detective is constantly looking over Ivy’s shoulder so she has to do what he wants. Ivy keeps getting closer, but Carmen keeps evading her at the last second. It feels kinda like old times, except the flirting becomes obvious and Ivy can’t ignore it or ignore how good Carmen still looks.

They end up in a small room together and Carmen asks Ivy why she’s doing this when she seems conflicted and Ivy admits that the detective is basically blackmailing her. Carmen isn’t all about that because if they’re going to play this game, then it’s going to be because they both want to play. Carmen devises a dramatic way to make the detective stop.

She launches her plan. The detective is thwarted. But in the process, Ivy catches her. Carmen says something about getting caught being worth it as she’s hauled off.

Ivy thinks that Carmen only got caught because she was trying to help her, and that doesn’t seem fair. She concocts a plan to break Carmen out of jail. Zack figures out what’s going on and offers to help Ivy. She accepts his help and they break Carmen out of jail. They’re about to go their separate ways when Ivy demands to know why Carmen helped her. Carmen says she’s kept an eye on Ivy for years, just to make sure she was ok (and it comes across as sweet more than stalker-y) and she couldn’t let Ivy be blackmailed by that creep. Ivy impulsively kisses Carmen. They get interrupted and have to flee in different directions.

Ivy goes back home to her gym and is bummed but there’s nothing she can do about it because no one knows where Carmen has gone and it seems like she’s about to drop off of the map entirely again. But one day, about a month later, Ivy is coming into the gym super early to open up and Carmen is there inside waiting on her. Ivy is surprised because she thought she’d never see Carmen again. Carmen says something about not being able to stay away. They kiss again. The end.

We’ll see if I ever actually write it.

#where on earth is carmen sandiego #Carmen/Ivy

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gopeachllama · 3 years ago

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Cuban Cigars and Cardinal Kisses

a.n/: ... ok in my defense, its still nessian month somewhere....

This fic was inspired by the mv of suit & tie by justin timberlake (the source of this AMAZING gif). its honestly one of my favourite mvs of all time. i watched again recently and it just screamed nessian to me so i wrote this. if you wanna get into the vibesTM of the fic then i highly recommend watching the mv before you read it!

reblogs and comment are highly appreciated!

Fandom: A Court Thorns and Rose by Sarah J Maas

Relationship: Nesta Archeron & Cassain

Warnings: Explicit sexual content

Word Count: 5500

Ao3

~~~

Like most other nights at Velaris Lounge, there was already a drink waiting for the man at his arrival. Picked from their finest, and most expensive collection; a finger of Lagavulin’s sixteen years-old single malt scotch whiskey in a crystal tumbler, as so directed by the gentleman. Cassian Khan, six feet and two inches of fine grooming and tailored suit, strode inside through the exclusive entrance way. Liquor in hand, he stood for a moment, lazily scanning the scene before him with deep inhale. He welcomed the soft ambience lighting, the sharp scent of spiced tobacco smoke and the quiet chatter of wealthy men and women overlayed by the sensual drawl of jazz instruments. Cassian’s blood thrummed in time with the low rhythmic thump of the bass. Day light did not reach this place. The place where night – its sole ruler – became something wholly living, pulsating, breathing. This was Cassian’s home. His fucking castle. Sending a roguish smile and a wink to the waitress still standing-by, he headed for his preferred seat by the foot of the stage.

He spotted Rhysand before he sat down. His childhood friend was draped elegantly over his throne of cushioned velvet, one leg crossed over the other, and taking long drags from the joint between his lips. Wicked delight glinted in Rhys’ dark eyes as he watched his friend unbutton his jacket and drop into his own lounge chair across from him. There were no strobe lights directly over the area where they sat; the darkness surrounding Rhys wore him just as finely as his thousand-dollar suit.

Rhys picked up his own, amber-coloured drink and tipped it in Cassian’s direction, “brother,” He greeted. Opaque slivers of smoke curled out and around his teeth and dissolved into the air as he spoke. “Just in time.”

So, it seemed. Their other friend, Azriel, was nowhere to be seen. Cassian’s gestures mirrored Rhys’ as he toasted his friend and took sip from his drink. The liquor ran down his throat, smooth as honey, and he sprawled against the back of his seat. He reached into the inside pocket of his suit jacket and fished out two slim packages, handing one to Rhys and working on the other. Once the plastic wrapping was removed, he brought it to his faced and dragged the length of it under his nose as he inhaled. The aroma of spice and rich wood flooded his senses and he let out a low, satisfied hum. With an eager smirk, Cassian prepared the crisp Cuban Montecristo No.2 with sturdy, brown fingers. When he was done, he raised the lit cigar to his mouth and took a deep breath. Coating his tongue, expanding his lungs, and coursing through his veins, he allowed the heady fumes to fill him. And he came alive.

Cassian scrutinised his companion through the tendrils of smoke as he exhaled, “looking a little eager tonight, Rhys. A special night?”

“Isn’t it always?” Rhys drawled as he watched the sinuous bodies on stage from the corner of his eye.

Cassian couldn’t argue with that. Nights at Velaris Lounge seemed to exist in an entirely different space and time.

Cassian and Rhys’ continued talking, and there was no shortage of subject matters, with Cassian being the head of security for Rhys’ company. They usually avoided mixing work and pleasure, though Rhys’ often proclaimed that both could be the same thing under the right circumstances. Cassian was inclined to agree.

Soon, the conversation was swallowed up by a lull in the music and a dim of the lights. Cassian readied himself by settling further into his chair. The music quickened in tempo, and anticipation charged through air as trumpets beckoned the start of the performance. His arrival was announced through the speakers, in a sweeping, grandiose declaration.

His best friend since childhood, and the remaining member of their trio; Azriel glided onto centre-stage with hard forged confidence. A lit joint in one hand, and a crystal tumbler in the other, Azriel sang. Smoothing, melodic sounds as he moved around the mic stand with loose limbs and an easy smile on his face. It always warmed Cassian, seeing his friend like that. Seeing how he changed when he was on his stage. So different to the man he was outside of this place. To how he used to be. It was a gentle, endearing reminder to Cassian, of their struggles, their triumphs. Of how far they’ve come – how far he’scome and never looked back.

The bass thrummed, trumpets shrilled, and drums pounded. The timbre of Azriel’s voice streamed effortlessly alongside the various overlaying pitches of the backup singers. The song was all jazzy and funky at the same time, that had Cassian idly tapping his foot in time with the beat. This performance was unfamiliar to his ears. Usually, Azriel made the effort to rehearse his potential performances with his brothers present. And though this wasn’t the first time, it still occurred rarely enough that it had him slightly arching his eyebrows up in surprise.

Before he could think anything more of it, the tempo of the music changed, lowering in pitch and slowing to a steady beat, the rhythmic thump of the bass vibrated the ground at his very feet. The lights flashed before going out completely, blanketing everything under darkness. There was a charge of bated breath in the air, but Cassian was never afraid of the dark. Blood thrummed through his veins in anticipation.

A single spotlight turned on and landed on centre stage. Revealing Azriel’s silent retreat, as if he had melted into the very shadows. But she stood there, in his place. Cassian’s breath hitched at the unfamiliar figure. Burnished gold hair spilling down her back, long legs clad in thigh-high stockings and stiletto heels. And black laced lingerie, covering across her generous breasts, her perky ass, and a garter belt strung around her at the dips of her waist. Piercing steel-grey eyes.

She stood for a breath. One, two, three. And then shemoved.

Cassian catalogued it all. Every flick of her fingers, every sway of her hips, every arch of her back. The gleam of her pearly-white teeth anytime she smiled just wide enough. And Cassian knew, that even when this was all over, she would continue to haunt him every time he closed his eyes.

The pale strobe light casted over her in black and white. Highlighting the curves of her body, with shadows mingling in every dip. The valley of her breast, the ridge down the middle of her toned, flat stomach, the notches of her spine. Cassian felt the phantom press of marble on the tips of his fingers, and they flexed uselessly on the arm of his chair. He wondered if it would feel just as cold if he caressed her unblemished skin. Every now and then, her skin would shimmer; it was beads of moisture that got caught under the spotlight. Perhaps it was droplets of her perfume, that he could smell the barest hints of this close to the stage. Or maybe it was her sweat. Cassian couldn’t tell the difference with the scent. Not that he cared one single bit.

He blinked, and in the next moment, she was on the ground, hands and knees on either side of the turned over mic stand. She dipped low, her cleavage only a breath away from the cool surface of the stage. Then, she reached down her body, and thrusted the mic stand through her splayed open legs. Cassian bit down on an audible groan. She was steel forged in fire and melded under the steady beat of a synth bass drum. It was a brutal, devastating kind of beauty. Cassian may have been a little bit in love. And undeniably rock-fucking-hard in his pants.

In on final turn, she was on her back and propped up on an elbow. Then, so slowly, in time with the bass, much like his own thundering heartbeat, she raised one leg. It stopped for a beat when it was perpendicular to the ground. And she waited, like she knew there was not a single breath being drawn in the room. Like she knew all eyes were latched onto her. The movement was slower, again, when it continued. She stretched herself, and Cassian lost the battle to look away from the thin strip of black lace nestled between her thighs. Her leg eventually rested on her shoulder, held there with a single finger twirled around the heel of her stiletto. The music dropped out completely, and silence consumed the Lounge. The air went heavy, a tangible taste in Cassian’s mouth. And then she tipped her head back, hair flowing to the floor in golden waves, and basking the length of her neck to the single spotlight above. The corners of her mouth curled, oh so slowly. Her cardinal red lips standing out on her pale skin, like blood spilt on pristine marble. She smiled, shamelessly, secretly. The sight of her wide open to the patrons of the Lounge and filthy promise stained on her lips; so debauched, Cassian could hear Rhys shifting in his seat breaking through the silence. He felt the burn in his lungs from the lack of air, but he didn’t dare to move in the slightest. Afraid he would shatter the moment completely. But before Cassian could think to greedily take in every inch of her, the stages plunged into darkness once again. And when light returned, she was gone, and Azriel was there. The mic stand up righted, and a casting knowing smirk. At him.

The music went back to its previous tempo, as strobe lights flashed and soft chatter resumed within the audience. But it was all a dull noise in his ears.

“Who is she?” Cassian sounded a little breathless.

Rhys continued to watch the space she had just vacated. “She showed up a week ago, asking for a job. We told her that we weren’t looking for any new dancers… And she just stripped right there, down to her under-things and started moving. She didn’t even wait for the band,” He turned back to Cassian, and that wicked smile was back in full force, “Az hired her before she even finished her piece.”

“Why didn’t you tell me about her?” There was a slight edge in his voice, but Cassian never got his answer. The music ebbed, cueing the end of Azriel’s performance. As usual, He didn’t linger for the moderate applause. Grabbing a glass of liquor off a tray waiting for him at the base of the stage, he stepped off, and headed straight for his two friends.

“Spectacular as always, Az,” Rhys remarked as Azriel loosened his tie and dropped into the remaining empty seat. Cassian saluted the arrival his friend with a tip of his drink in his direction before upending in one swig and signalling for another one. He pulled out a fresh, new Cuban from his pocket and passed it to Azriel. The latter knowingly took his time. Getting it ready with deft, scarred fingers before finally bringing it up to his lips before, again, taking a slow drag from it. Cassian’s whole body thrummed with question; the words mingled on his tongue along with the sharp aftertaste of expensive whiskey. But Azriel beat him to it.

“So, Cass. How do you like your birthday present?” flicking an eyebrow upwards, he smirked around the cigar propped in the corner of his mouth.

Cassian tensed and waited a moment, carefully choosing his words. “My birthday is in July, jackass.” But Cassian was never the careful type.

Rhys gave a short laughed before replying, “we’ll take that as a thank you.”

“Hello, boys,” A sweet voice came from behind Cassian’s ear. It was once of their long-time waitstaff-turned-dancers. A gorgeous, lithe, little thing. Dressed in sleek, black slacks and a sheer-laced bralette. And even though they smiled politely at both Cassian and Azriel, and placed a new drink in front of the former, Cassian knew the real reason for their appearance.

“Doll,” strobe lights glittered in Rhys’ eyes as he reached for their hand and pressed a kiss onto delicate fingers, “you were absolutely exquisite tonight.”

The dancer melted as they dropped into the space under the man’s arm. And even Cassian marvelled at the way the ambient light made their black skin glow like obsidian.

Azriel sent a soft smile in their direction, “Tarquin,” he greeted with a slight nod. They went to answer, but words were all for naught when Rhys began ghosting his lips along the crook of their neck and shoulder.

Cassian went back to the important matter at hand, “her name?”

Toying with the lace at the edge of Tarquin’s bralette, Rhys didn’t bother to look Cassian’s way as his smile turned feline, “Narcissus.”

He waited for more but when his friend didn’t go to elaborate – more interested with tracing his tongue in the hollow of Tarquin’s collarbone – Azriel did it for him. “It’s an alias, of course. But she had that look in her eyes, you know? Like she was one of us. It didn’t matter to me what her name was.”

Narcissus. The word struck a chord deep within Cassian. And even though he didn’t know her real name, he had to have her. He may go mad if he didn’t. Perhaps he already had. One of the staff girls melted from the shadows and spoked into Azriel’s ear. His gaze shifted to behind Rhys’ head and Cassian followed it with his own to a couple sitting a few tables down from them. She was halfway on her partner’s lap, rubbing idle circles into his splayed thigh and giggling at whatever he was whispering into her hair, while he met Azriel’s stare from the corner of his eye with wicked promise. Azriel’s lips tipped up lazily from one corner when he returned his heavy gaze back to his friends.

“The couple over there would like to express their praises,” He just said.

Cassian scoffed and Rhys waved an idle hand, “I’ll see you in the morning then, brother.”

Azriel stood and drained the rest of his drink before meeting Cassian eye with a slight tug of his mouth and flicking his chin in the general direction of the bar behind him. Cassian jerked his head over his shoulder and scanned the length of the bar. His attention snagged on a familiar small back, and stockings and stiletto clad legs hooked around the leg of a bar stool. He almost lurched from his seat as he looked back to the two men with him. But Azriel was gone. Already at the other table, one hand placed on the man’s shoulder and pressing a kiss onto the woman’s cheek. Tarquin was straddling Rhys. His friend lightly caressed a single finger up and down their spine while his other hand remained draped across the back of the lounge as the pair traded deep kisses that would have been inappropriate in any other public setting. Cassian and his two closest and longest friends; well, they never made the habit of saying goodbye to each other. He left the sitting area and headed for the bar.

Cassian stepped up to the bar just in time to hear a low voice ask the bartender, “scotch. Neat.”

He didn’t miss a beat. “From the finest bottle for the lady. And make it a double.”

The lady did not move to face the newcomer. Only with a slight tip of her chin, she watched him with piercing, unreadable eyes as he watched her. All of her: loose golden hair, long neck, straight back, legs crossed, one hand on her knee. She sat on that bar stool like it was her throne. She wore a slim black dress now, hiding nothing Cassian hadn’t already seen for himself when she was on that stage. He flexed his hand at his side and sent her a cool, suave smile.

“On the house,” he said as he settled into the stool next to the dancer. “For your captivating opening performance at the Lounge.”

When both drinks were handed to them, Cassian tipped his toward the woman and took a generous swig. “I’m-”

“I know who you are. Mister Khan,” she cut him off, luscious lips in a straight line and manicured nails rapping on the bar surface.

Cassian was thankful that he had already sat down, for he would have been rendered to his knees at the mere sound of her voice had he not. It was the slight curl of her tongue, and a curve of her lips, that gave it a breathy, raspy sound. She had a faint accent. French. If Cassian hadn’t already decided to take her to his bed, he most certainly did now. He wanted to know how his name would sound from those sinful lips. He wanted to know what her moans sounded like. Her cries of extasy. Her laugh.

“You are my boss, no?” She asked, peering over the rim of the crystal glass at her mouth.

I am if you want me to be. “Technically.” Along with Rhysand and Azriel, they all own equal shares of Velaris Lounge. “But I prefer the term benefactor.”

There it finally was. A small tug at the corner of her mouth. And Cassian relaxed, satisfied at the sight of it. She eyed the Cuban cigar that was still between Cassian’s fingers. Without any further prompt, he offered the unlit end to her. She took hold of it between two lithe fingers and brought it to her mouth. And Cassian watched in utter reverence. As if the scene unfolded before him in slow motion. Her lips wrapped around the thick end of the cigar. And Cassian’s hand curled hard around the edge of the table. shadows swarmed into the hollow of her cheeks, as she inhaled. And Cassian stopped breathing entirely. Her eyes flashed as she watched him the whole time. As if she could see. Somehow, in the dim, ambient lighting. The cinch in his jaw. The sudden, unbearable tightness in his pants. As if she could hear. Somehow, over the entrancing melody of jazz instruments. The depraved thoughts going through his mind. Of the way he ached to know what her lipstick would look like smudge all over his cock. And then, as if she knew. She curled her lips slightly around the cigar, before removing it from her mouth. Leaving behind a perfect imprint of her cardinal stained lips. Teeth grinding together, Cassian had to physically force down a groan.

Doing anything at all to wade through the thick haze of arousal clouding his mind, he rasped, “so how has the lounge been treating you so far.”

“This place is called the city of dreams, no?” she said, “I never believed that, until I came here. That it could be this simple.”

Cassian couldn’t help the pride that bloomed in his chest. One of us. Azriel had said. “What do you dream of?”

Her eyes wandered behind them to the stage, remained there for a heartbeat, then returned to him. Resolve glinted in them. “To have everything I’ve ever wanted.”

A dangerous smile overtook his features, “well, Velaris is the kind of place where getting everything you want is just the beginning.”

She turned in her seat to fully face him. The slit of her dress shifted in the process, exposing the entire length of her thigh and the laced hem of her thigh-high stockings around it. Cassian’s eyes dropped to it instantly. And like some compulsion, his idle hand went to ghost a single finger over it. She didn’t move away.

“And what is it that you want, mister Khan?” those words ran smooth from her lips, like the expensive scotch she held in her hand.

Cassian wanted to be set ablaze by the heat in her ember eyes.

“I want to know your real name, sweetheart.”

The woman blinked slowly. “Why should I tell you?” she breathed. Her voice now barely over a whisper. The casual glances to his lips occurred far more frequently.

“Because,” Cassian’s words turned heavy as the atmosphere became sharp, like a kindle before a flame, “I need to be able to remind you what it is when I’m fucking you so hard that you won’t remember it.”

If she was flustered at his crude language, she hadn’t shown it. Cassian had no doubt that a woman such as herself was used to receiving such propositions from all kinds of people. She only regarded him; one second, two seconds. Then, her eyelids fluttered, and her lips curved slowly. She smiled; that same secret smile she had given earlier. To no one in particular, on that stage where no one could take their eyes off her. She brought the cigar back to her mouth and took a long drag. The glowing end that illuminated the space between them was nothing compared to the inferno of desire raging within Cassian. Pinning him with an unwavering glaze, she leaned forward, as delicate tendrils of smoke curled around her blood-red lips like silver flames. The last of it danced along Cassian’s cheek when she drew close enough to whisper his damnation.

“Nesta.”

***

The first time he fucked her that night, they barely made it to the couch just beyond the foyer of his penthouse apartment. Cassian took Nesta as she was when he first laid eyes on her. Midnight laced lingerie, garter belt, thigh-high stockings, stilettos, and all. Her dress and coat, and his tie and suit jacket were promptly discarded somewhere by the front door, as he pushed her down on knees and elbows, and pressed her face firmly into the soft, cool surface. Cassian was enthralled, possessed, savaged. And he barely had half the mind to rip open a condom and roll it onto his cock, as he moved aside the damp slit of her panties to reveal a swollen, throbbing cunt. Nesta was ready for him. He had made sure of that when he spent the better part of the drive home with his hand up her dress, as cunning fingers rubbed at her clit over the rough material of her panties. He was pretty sure there would soon be a speeding ticket with his name on it. But he couldn’t bring his self to give a fuck. He only hoped that the image taken by the speeding camera; of Nesta moaning and writhing in the passenger seat of his European sports car, would dissuade the cops from sending it. Cassian wound his hand around the back of Nesta’s garter belt and fisted the other into her hair, as he fucked her in ruthless, powerful thrusts. He came, harder than he ever had in his life. Spilling into the condom inside of her with bruising fingertips and clenched teeth. And Nesta followed not seconds later, with Cassian groaning and uttering filthy fucking promises into her skin.

He fulfilled those promises, just moments later. When Nesta was barely over the throws of her earth-shattering orgasm. Her ruined panties and stilettoes were gone, and her lace bra was push down beneath the curve of her breasts. Her sensitive nipples puckered from the earlier onslaught of Cassian’s tongue and teeth. She mewled at the feeling of the heated skin of her ass pressing onto the cool granite surface when Cassian lifted her onto his dining table. Anticipation pooled in her eyes like molten silver when two rough hands spread her knees wide apart. Cassian never considered himself a religious man. But there was something so unequivocally holy in that moment; Nesta’s gasping and moaning her pleas in abandon, while Cassian knelt and worshipped her flesh. Fingers and tongue worked in expert harmony, as he tasted every inch of her sopping cunt.

When they finally made it to the bed, Nesta was bare down to only her stockings – at Cassian’s adamant insistence. Her soaked panties were left with his thousand-dollar suit; crumpled on the dining area floor. Her bra and garter belt were practically torn off and dumped along the way of their frantic journey to his bedroom. Her long, burnished gold hair was spread generously over his charcoal bed sheets, like golden silk on molten rock. Briefly, Cassian wondered if those lavish strands were long enough to brush against the plush carpet on the floor, while her head was tipped over the edge of his bed, and his hard length plunged deep into her awaiting mouth. Cassian banished the thought instantly, lest their latest coupling end far too soon for his liking. One stocking clad leg was thrown over his shoulder. While the other, was pressed into the memory foam mattress, held down hard by a large, muscled hand. Cassian was drunk on the sight of Nesta like this. She was wholly stretched out by him; beyond anything he has ever attempted before with anyone else. And he silently thanked whatever depraved God watching over them, for her lithe, dancer’s body that could take it, and then some.

The blush that began at her cheeks, slowly made its way down her neck and to her chest. Mascara was smudged around her glazed eyes; faint tracks of it running down her face and into her hairline. The sleek lines of her dark red lipstick were nothing but whispers of what it once was on those beautiful, luscious lips. Perfect, cock-sucking lips. No doubt Cassian would find the rest of it imprinted on his plush, Italian leather couch. At that point in the night, Nesta’s mouth was open in a constant ‘O’ shape. Her pink, wet tongue periodically coming out to tangle with his. She was a sight of pure debauchery. And it was nothing short of a masterpiece. With each powerful thrust, Nesta body jerked with the force of it, her supple breasts bouncing in tandem. And Cassian was hypnotised by the rhythmic movement of her hardened nipples.

Cassian had taken many women to his Californian king-size bed. Beautiful women. Exquisite women. Some of them shy, some of them playful. And most were downright sinful. But Nesta. Nesta, Nesta. Cassian Khan felt like one of the greats. Like fucking Michelangelo, like Sandro Botticelli. Seeing how he was making her writhe beneath him like that; manicured fingers twisted in the bed sheets, arched back, neck bared, skin painted in the soft glow of the spectrum of city lights glittering through the floor to ceiling windows. Seeing how she was open completely, and unyieldingly to him. Taunt flesh rippling under the pearly skin of her flat stomach. Her soddened, swollen cunt, stretched deliciously around his considerable girth. She was priceless renaissance painting that belonged in a museum for the world to see. The Dance of Narcissus, he would call it.

With a guttered groan, Cassian broke through the moans, the pants, and the slick sounds of rock-hard flesh rubbing against soft, wet flesh. “Sweetheart, your pussy is perfect. Like it was made for me.” He couldn’t look away. At Nesta stretched out before him. A precious oasis to a dying, dehydrated man. He would do anything. Give anything – his cock, his time, his money – to keep her coming back to his bed.

“One day, I’m going to fuck you raw. Would you like that, sweetheart?” Nesta could only whimper in response. Which spurred Cassian to go faster, deeper. Harder. “I’ll fuck you so hard. Stuff you so full of my cum, you won’t walk properly for a week.”

Cassian snaked his free hand up her body, fingers caressing over her sensitive skin along the way. He drove it into her hair and gripped harshly onto the strands at the back of her head. “You’ll get up on that stage, and dance for all those filthy-minded men. But it’ll be me dripping out of your tight, little pussy and down your gorgeous legs.”

“Cass!” Nesta cried out. Desperate to touch him, she reached out, digging her sharp nails into his tensed bicep. Cassian welcomed the pain.

“Fuck Nesta. So, fucking perfect for me.” He knew he was close to his release, but he wanted her clenching around him before that. With hard tug of her hair, he made Nesta look him in the eye. Cassian felt the muscles of her thigh trembling at her impending climax beneath the hand that held down her leg to the mattress. “One more time, sweetheart. Come for me, I know you can.”

Nesta shattered around him, just like that. Never taking her eyes from him the entire time, as she gasped and thrashed beneath him. Incoherent words spilt in between each heaved breath. Cassian could only comprehend a word here and there; it was mostly in French. And he didn’t stop. Even as she cried out, begging for reprieve. Begging for more. Cassian pushed her legs even further apart, driving deeper into her limp, pliant body, brushing against places that had never been touched. A bead of sweat rolled down the length of his forehead and nose, before landing in the valley of Nesta’s breasts. Cassian breath stuttered as his cock tightened. And there were barely seconds for him to pull out completely from her over-sensitive flesh. Nesta choked at the sudden loss, but Cassian ignored her muffled protests. In one swift motion, he ripped the condom from his throbbing cock, and pumped the exposed length, once, twice, thrice. And Cassian came undone. He shouted Nesta’s name as ribbons of cum painted her breasts and stomach. Nesta. Nesta. Nesta. He chanted her name over and, and over again. Until he was nothing. Until her name was but an imprint forever in his memory. A promise.

***

They had fucked one more time. Hours later, in the watery, grey light of dawn. Cassian awoke to soft mounds pressed against his back. To tongue and teeth dragging along the stubble on his jawline, and a delicate hand wrapped firmly around his erection. There was nothing separating their skin from head to toe. Nesta’s stocking were nowhere in sight. Not that Cassian cared to look anywhere beyond what was right in front of him at that moment. They shifted in unison, and she straddled him. Somehow, in all their lazy moments, Nesta had already rolled a condom it onto his shaft, while his eyelids were still heavy with sleep. And before he had the chance to touch her, she wordlessly sank onto him, teeth embedded into her bottom lip. Nesta waited, impaled on Cassian’s cock. Adjusting to his sheer size despite already having him twice before. Her flush was gone, but her skin was littered with the evidence of their carnal frenzy from merely hours ago. The first light of day, lit hair up like a golden vail spilling over her shoulders. She was breathtaking, so he told her. But she had not paid attention to his adorations. No, for the first time since they met the previous night. Nesta drank the entirely bare, magnificent sight of him. Her eyes ran over his rich brown skin. Every mountain and valley of muscle in his arms and abdomen. The notch of his throat. The sharp, brutal planes of his face. His molten, hazel eyes. The intricate black lines of ink that spanned his pectorals and biceps.

“Homme exquis.” Nesta murmured softly, as she lifted her hips.

Bodies, supple and hard, moved together. Deeply, and slowly with the rising sun. Chasing any lingering tastes of Cuban cigars and single-malt scotch. Once more. Cassian would want to have her once more, to match the frantic, carnal passion from the previous night. But he restrained himself. Being too content with that moment in the silence of an early morning. With Nesta tracing his tattoo with fingertips and tongue, and Cassian’s nosed buried into her damp hair. She must have showered while he slept. And he was consumed with the scent of him on her. He thought of her using his shampoo, his soap, his towel, and something small and warm burrowed deep within his chest.

They found their releases with each other, Nesta right after Cassian. And when Cassian emerged from his bathroom fifteen minutes later. A towel wrapped low around his sore hips, and tendrils of steam following his steps. Nesta was gone with the final shades of night. But promises of her remained, littered all over his apartment. Stockings draped over the bathroom rack next to a damp towel. A lace bra, hanging off his bedroom doorknob. Black panties laid out on his granite dining table. A garter belt slung over the back of the leather couch stained with cardinal lipstick kisses. Cassian kept them all with a secret smile on his face. Later, when the night would return in all its magnificent beauty. He would put on a fresh, expensive suit. And He would return to his castle. To his friends. To Nesta. And he would do it all over again.

#acotar #acotar fic #nessian #nessian fanfiction #nessian fic #nessian smut #nessian modern au #nessian month

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middlefletcher · 1 year ago

Text

Ian looked over at Ethan when he said it was uncomfortable when his schoolmates would tease him about birds. Definitely not the same as Ian’s mother trying to set him up with his tutors in very obvious ways, but Ian appreciated Ethan trying to relate it to something that happened to normal people. And he appreciated Ethan sharing about something that hadn’t been fun for him either. Ian gave him a grateful smile and shrugged. “I’ve considered telling her I’m not even into birds, but then I think she’d just start trying to get me to hit on the blokes instead, at least the ones that aren’t interested in her. Which is all of them except this one idiot that Cal fired. Either that or she’d see me as competition, which might actually be worse. Not something I want to test out either way.” Birds was safest, at least there was zero chance of anything happening for him there ever. Though up until a few days ago Ian would have said there was zero chance of anything happening for him with anyone. Now there was a specific someone that maybe he might want to take a chance on. And that specific someone was in his bedroom right now. Thankfully they were talking about homework which was enough to stop Ian from panicking too much. And much better than talking about Patricia. Ian laughed at Ethan’s assessment of Hogwarts schooling. “They did tell me that, but I always sort of wondered if they were just trying to make me feel better. Guess they weren’t kidding. Which sucks for you, being in a fancy magic castle and having to sit and write essays.” Ian made a face; that was so lame. Of course adults found a way to make magic school sort of lame, even if Ian still very much wished he could have gone and written essays in a magic castle like his siblings did.

Luckily he was once again distracted, laughing at Ethan’s retort to his comment about bringing him vacuums. “Nah, if I had a vacuum shop I would have just hired you after the third vacuum, or at least tried to cut a deal or somethin’,” he answered with a chuckle. This was good. They were joking around, laughing. Normal. Except Ethan was still standing in his bedroom at his house and they were completely alone and thinking about it made Ian’s heart start speeding up again and his hands felt kind of sweaty. “Um.” Probably a cue it was time to just get out of here and go to Al’s. Instead of suggesting that, Ian went a different direction. “Everyone’s excited to meet you. You’re the first friend of mine they’ve ever met, other than Leo. And—well Leo’s great but that was more necessity, you know, ‘cause of Dirk joining Seb for tutoring.” Ian wasn’t sure why that mattered, but it felt like it did matter, and he felt like Ethan should know that. This was special. Ethan was special. “Um. I’m excited too, for you to meet them all,” he added with a bashful smile. “It’ll be cool.”

Inviting Ethan along to Al’s shouldn’t have felt like such a big deal. Al was always telling them to bring their friends along, especially this year now that the kids couldn’t see their friends at school anymore. Granted there had been a lot of reasons they never took Al up on that offer: the fact that Patty often liked to invite herself along, the fact that they didn’t want to impose on Al’s generosity, not to mention it was only the younger kids who even had that many friends they’d invite in the first place. But Cal had invited Wil along a few times so it only felt fair that Ian could invite Ethan this time. He’d tried to be casual about it, but it had been a relief when Sadie and Seb decided to bring friends along as well. It wasn’t just Ian shaking things up now. Ian was a little surprised Seb brought along Dirk instead of one of his other Gryffindor mates from school, but the pair did seem like they’d become fast friends and it had to be good for Dirk to be around people who didn’t remember him as the kid who went missing from Hogwarts. Hopefully it wouldn’t be too weird for Ethan. As if Ian’s whole family situation wasn’t weird enough. That stuff wasn’t Dirk’s fault though, so Ian was glad he was coming along to hang with some kids his own age. Henry coming too would be even better, the kids could all hang out together and no one would pay attention to him and Ethan.

Except Ian was quite certain Mac would be paying attention, and probably Cal because Mac had probably told Cal about their conversation. Probably waited to do it while Ian was at work so he wouldn’t overhear them. But it would be fine. Ethan had sounded like he was curious about meeting Al and his siblings and Ian didn’t see a reason not to bring him ‘round, at least once he knew Patricia wouldn’t be there. Ian just wished he didn’t feel so nervous about seeing Ethan. Which was stupid. There was nothing to be nervous about. Ethan was great and they were mates and it just so happened that Ethan fancied Ian and Ian fancied Ethan back and had no idea how to proceed with that information except that after talking about it with Mac he was pretty sure he wanted to be more than just friends with Ethan. He just wasn’t sure what that looked like or how to get there. Other than talking to Ethan about it, probably. But that felt like a big conversation to have right before introducing Ethan to his whole family. Maybe they could talk after.

With that settled, Ian felt a little bit less nervous as he biked to the shop, grinning when he saw Ethan waiting there with his own bike. “Hey,” Ian greeted him with a wave as he stopped his bike. For a second he considered getting off and giving Ethan a hug or something, which was weird because he usually didn’t think about what he was doing when he touched Ethan. Or did anything with Ethan. Everything felt a little off-kilter now. Except there was still that warm happy feeling he felt when he saw Ethan. “You all set?” He said with a smile, waiting for Ethan’s confirmation before he nodded and led the way back to his house. This wasn’t the first time he’d had a friend to the house, since Leo had ended up coming over to get Dirk set up to tutor here. But bringing Ethan over—because Ethan was interested in seeing the house—felt a lot different than Leo coming by with his brother. Still, Patricia had been gone already before Ian left, and they’d just be stopping in on the way to Al’s. This was fine. “Here we are,” he said when they got to the house. “Come on, we can leave our bikes in the broom shed.” He hopped off his bike and walked it around to the backyard, pulling open the broom shed for them and showing Ethan where he could park his bike. “This is the best part of the house, really,” he added as they stepped back out into the backyard.

#ethan #ugh i know that feel #it's so frustrating when you're tired and then can't sleep well like WHY #hang in there #here's some more stuff for ethan to find a friends explanation for xP

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imaginativeamateur · 3 years ago

Note

can you do 30 with kakashi and a fem reader pls 🥺🤲 I love your work and am so happy for you regarding your follower milestone, congrats !!

[Kakashi Hatake X Reader] The Power of Love

|200 Followers Event|

Prompt: 30 — "I mean it."

Pairing: Kakashi Hatake x fem!Reader

Note: Aloha, I'm back!!! Thanks for the request and the cheers😝 Okay, this one is AHHH, the title :DD This one is very sentimental but playful at the same time. There's like some serious talk but also entertaining moments, too. Without further ado, please enjoy!

Constant requests that you get married were sent in your way for the past several months. Your parents were tired of having to wait to see you bring a man home, but you had no intention to comply. The topic would come up to the table during dinner every now and then, with your mother furrowing in her brows and your father sighing in distress. On your part, you played cool, soothing them that you just found a guy and dismissing the matter with a feigned grin.

Everything would be ordinary, much to your own liking until your parents secretly signed you up for a match-matching service. You had a big argument that night but they smugly smiled and ensured that you would fall in love with him immediately. It was ridiculous.

“You’d be head over heels in no time, Y/N,” your mother said.

“Like she knows who he is,” you mumbled, scoffing on your way back to your apartment.

Though you completely shut the door to the new romance—the guy that you presumably knew nothing about—you woke up earlier than usual, earlier than you should. You blamed it on your neighbor’s child crying but you discerned that you were being irrational. The whole situation was aberrant. You purposefully threw on a pair of jeans and a shirt that was too worn out for a first date. Still, you could not be any more careless, the last thing you wanted was to get the man to generate some form of adoration for you. You checked yourself in the mirror and made sure that you looked representable nonetheless.

The sun was already high up in the sky when you locked your door and tiredly dropped the keys into your handbag, storming to the destination with angry steps. It was your day off and you could have spent your time on something much more meaningful, training, for example. Kakashi-senpai said you still needed to hone your close combat skills. You pursed your lips at the thought of the Hatake, feeling even more enraged and annoyed. The said Shinobi was a nice guy, he was gentle and mannered with everyone but you. He treated you like his kid, bossing you around, requesting you to dig through the shelves of bookstores to find the limited edition of Icha Icha that was recently published. But you did not quit being his subordinate. Kakashi had everything that you needed to harness, from his skills to knowledge, and you would never let such a golden opportunity go wasted.

Being with him for two long years brought you many benefits and visible improvements, one of them being your patience. You were short-tempered and Kakashi was just the perfect tame to your boiling climate. The silver-haired veteran knew you were cantankerous on some days, like today, when you were having an involuntary sunbathing session, and would always be later than he usually would. Over the drenching months, you grew indifferent to his tardiness, adapted to his peculiar conscience of time, and no longer rambled when he arrived. He would come up with the most bizarre excuses to get away with it, and at first, you were furious about it, but you found them somewhat adorable now.

You smiled, wondering why you were recalling your moments with Kakashi when you were waiting for your date to come. You bit the inner side of your cheek when you realized your patience was running thin—it reminded you of your silver-haired senpai. Releasing a shaky breath, you calmed yourself down, assuring that you would apologize to the man that it was merely a misunderstanding with your parents that they signed you up for today. You rubbed the surface of the table with your fingers and let your thoughts carried you away at the moment, unconsciously drumming the rhythm of your favorite song—his favorite song that you grew accustomed to after years of the very special silver-haired occupying your day.

“You seem nervous.”

Your head perked at the unexpectedly familiar voice, “Kakashi-senpai?”

The silver-haired settled himself in the opposite seat with ease, “Good morning, Y/N.”

“What are you doing here?” You did not bother to greet him back properly due to the tremendous shock being registered into your system.

“What are you doing here?”

“I’m here to… to,” you came to a halt, fumbling with the hem of your shirt when you found it impossible to continue. It was embarrassing.

“Blind date?” He questioned, quirking a brow.

Your cheeks heated up in modesty, unable to answer his beseech.

“That seems like a yes,” Kakashi leaned back, enjoying your flustered state, “I’m here for a blind date, too.”

“A what?”

“A blind date,” he repeated without failing to lose his composure.

It took you several seconds to comprehend the whole situation, then you shifted in your chair, propping your elbows onto the table to hide your blush, “This is such an… interesting encounter. But I won’t change my mind.”

You were fairly absolute with the plan to turn the whole thing down, despite whoever was your date, despite it being Kakashi Hatake. You did not want to risk the bond that took you so long to form with him and the trust that he enlisted you upon. You could not.

“I also came resolute,” he made a simple, yet down-to-earth statement. Kakashi caught your eyes and challenged, “What do you want to do after a coffee date?”

“No,” you jerked away, “what are you saying? Are you okay, senpai?”

“We’re on a date and you still call me senpai?”

“Look, we’re not going to do this, we can’t, Kakashi,” you tried to explain but to no avail.

The silver-haired smugly smiled, “Good, Kakashi sounds much nicer.”

“I’m not joking,” you cleared your throat and glared at him.

“Neither am I, Y/N. I mean it.”

Your lips fell apart as the coherence in your mind shattered into bits and pieces. Kakashi silently observed the fleeting expressions that you made, waiting for your response.

“I don’t know,” you stuttered. You knew who Kakashi was and the tragedy of your occupation. The two of you did not deserve anyone’s love, for once that you held the chance of breaking their heart. You looked away from his eyes to conceal the wavering of your emotions, “I never thought about life in that way. I don’t need a man in my life, that’s what I’d like to believe. I don’t want anyone to feel battered when I’m gone.”

“I hate it to see those I love cry and mourn, too,” he mumbled. You listened attentively as though it was yourself confessing to the dark. Kakashi continued, “I only live for a certain amount of time but I have been constantly filling it with despair and loneliness. There were things that I want to do and people that I want to love, but because of my fear of hurting them, I didn’t. But after the massive loss that I’ve experienced, everything was different, I understood how painful regret actually is.”

Tears began to well in your eyes the more his words dropped. You balled your fists, blinking profusely to prevent the warm droplets from escaping. Kakashi noticed your quiet sobs, running his fingers over your trembling hands, loosening your grip, and interlacing your fingers with his. You released a heavy sigh and pulled both your hands back, wiping away your tears as quickly as when they fell and dampened the fabric of your jeans.

“You’re not at the bottom of agony when you lose someone important,” Kakashi breathed, “it’s when you feel empty after they’ve left and mourning on what you could’ve done when they were still with you.”

Your sobs eventually assuaged as you chewed on his words. The silver-haired distracted himself by stirring the liquid of his drink, but he was in no state to enjoy its taste. He already said everything he wanted to say, and the decision was now fully on your shoulders. But by your lack of response, he was sure that you did not see your relationship taking another form—the way that he wished. He abruptly stood up from his seat, fleeting on his feet, “Let’s forget about what’s happened. I mean I still respect you as my teammate, Y/N. Don’t forget our meeting tomorrow.”

“No-no, Kakashi-senpai, wait,” you moved, hastily shoving your hands in his direction, gripping his wrist like a vice. You hung your head low to avoid his investigating gaze as you spoke, “I do.”

His gears in his head turned, and Kakashi smiled with satisfaction, “You do what?”

Your heart was beating frantically in your chest, so fast that you felt its rapid pumps in your throat. You stuttered out, voice growing quieter the more you expressed, “I-I want to go out with you, senpai—”

“Drop the ‘senpai’ already,” he playfully hissed and you grinned, certain that you just made the best choice of your life. Kakashi leaned down and rested his chin on your shoulder blade, snuggling his face into your neck, “Thank you, Y/N. Thank you for letting me love you.”

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Taglist: @dai-tsukki-desu @thenightfallingstar @iam-gaaras-loveintrest @animepickle7 @tirzamisu @rinnegankakashi

#kakashi hatake x you #kakashi hatake x reader #kakashi x y/n #kakashi x reader #kakashi x you #kakashi hatake #kakashi hatake x y/n #hatake kakashi x you #hatake kakashi x reader #kakashi hatake imagine #naruto x reader #kakashi imagines #kakashi fluff #kakashi fanfiction

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shotofire · 4 years ago

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It Felt So Real

Levi Ackerman x Reader

request from @i-like-2d-men (you’re very sweet and i’m glad you enjoy my fics :p have a great day)

Overview: Levi has nightmares and you’re always there to comfort him

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of blood and gore, angst, mentions of death

Season: Not specified, spoilers for the ova called “no regrets”

The sky twists into a deep red with dark clouds rolling by. Screams rip through the air and pierce the ears of anyone or anything nearby. The ground is wet, but not with rain, with blood. Loud and heavy footsteps shake the trees that are surrounding, limbs crashing to the ground. Limbs of trees? No, people.

Levi stood, frozen in fear, watching as titans devoured humans like starved children. He was lost, separated from his squad, and couldn’t find his friends Isabel and Furlan. It seems like everywhere he looks it’s the exact same, blood and dismembered bodies. A shiver of fear runs through him and he prays, to whatever is listening, to just get his damn feet to move.

“Fuck,” he yells and his feet finally move from their position and he begins to run. Where? He has no clue, but in a way he does. It’s like everything is familiar to him, as if a distant memory with different events leading up to something. Giant hands swoop for him but he’s quick to move around them.

A heartbeat can be heard in his ears and felt throughout his entire body. Voices cry out his name back to back and it has his body shaking. He can’t save them all but still feels responsible for their deaths. Even if he wanted to stop something wasn’t letting him. He has to keep moving for some reason, it wasn’t even the possibility of death that kept him going.

He finally stops in his tracks, the feeling of fear once again taking him over. Infront of him is a titan on all fours, hair in its face and eyes red as the sky above him. It’s chewing on something- no, someone. That someone’s body comes crashing to the ground as they let out a final breath.

Levi nearly throws up when he realizes that body is his friend Furlan. All bloody and torn in half, dropped to the ground like nothing. Like trash. He falls to his knees and tears begin to stream down his face. His vision blurs and he adverts his gaze to the ground to see anything but his dead friend. But it only gets worse once he looks away. Isabel’s head lays at his knees, eyes rolled to the back of her head and blood splattered across her features.

“Levi, help!” He knows that voice. His body spins fast in the direction of his name, tears dried to his face already. That’s when he sees you in the tight grasp of a titan. He wastes no time to run for you, feet carrying him faster than he’s ever gone. His hands reach for his blades and he’s getting ready to fly through the air with his gear, but nothing is there. His waist is bare, not odm gear in sight.

There’s nothing he can do. Your arm reaches out for him and you feel so far. The tears come back even harder, falling onto the grass below him. His heart drops as the titan throws you into its mouth, jaw slamming shut with a loud snap. It’s like his whole reason for living is gone now and he has nothing left. No one to love, no one to hold, no one to protect. His purpose has been taken away.

The titan smiles, causing his stomach to turn. It’s starts to move towards him slowly, hands already open and ready to scoop him up. He has no energy to move, no every to run. This is the end, his life is finally being cut short.

Levi sits up in a flash, panting loudly with sweat dripping down his temples. He looks around frantically and confused. It’s a room, dark and cool with the faint light of the moon through the window. He’s in his room, he’s in his bed. Your hands startle him as you place each onto his hot back. “Breath,” you whisper into his ear, “Close your eyes and breath, my love.”

Fingers scratch slowly at his scalp, and you press light feathery kisses to his shoulder blade. His eyes are closed and he’s just trying to breath at a steady pace. His body shakes, still in shock from his nightmare. You’re always here to calm him down when things like this happen, and they’ve been happening a lot. He’s told you the reoccurring dream with every detail. No wonder he wakes up so confused and shook up, who wouldn’t?

“You’re safe, I promise. I’m here, okay? Lay down for me.” He does as you say, laying back down onto his pillow. You’re facing one another and his eyes are still closed. “It felt so real.” His voice is shaky and completely broken, on the verge of tears. It breaks you to see him like this. “I know, I know. But it wasn’t, okay? I’m here and we’re both okay.”

Levi moves closer to you with his body still slightly shaking. “Hold me, please.” He pulls himself on top of you and wraps his arms around your waist. Hair nuzzles into the crook of your neck, his heavy breaths fan over your chest. Your fingers find their way into his hair again, scratching at him soothingly. “Go back to sleep love, i’ve got you.”

The man has no idea where his mind would be without you. You keep him strong, and you keep him from giving up. That’s why the dream is so intense. He’s had time to mourn the loss of his dear friends, and not dwell on the sad matter. But the feeling he got watching you die in his nightmare hit a different part of him. It felt like he was being punched in the gut nonstop, and his head would immediately start to pound.

You’ve been his rock for so long that losing you was a nightmare on it’s own. “I love you so much,” he mumbles into your skin. The movement of your fingers have his eyes becoming heavy. His intense breathing has slowed and become normal. The shakes of fear have stopped, and he’s left melting into your touch. “I love you even more.”

Usually he’d argue with you until you��d give up, thinking there’s no way you have more love for him than he does for you. But his eyes continue to get heavier, and he feels himself drift away. A smile is on his lips even in his asleep state. Soon you join him in slumber, fingers still tangled in his hair.

You’ll always be here for him, through it all.

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alderaani · 3 years ago

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still i find you there

summary: after Rako Hardeen, there are several things that need fixing.

written for @codywanweek and the day 1 prompt fix-it. I fully intended to have more days completed for this, but given that it’s *checks notes* day 5, it’s probably not going to happen. this is very angsty and perhaps a bit melodramatic, but the heart wants what it wants. also catch me forgetting obi-wan was wearing his vambraces when he ‘died’ and having to stretch to make it work for me. warnings for grief, percieved death and all that good stuff.

He’s alive.

It seems impossible. It feels entirely predictable. And yet...Cody can’t make himself believe it. He saw Obi-Wan die, the grainy security-holo footage of slick Coruscant rooftops showing little more than a bolt of red and a lone figure reeling, falling. No sound, no clear faces, and yet...He knew that red hair. He knew that posture, how it could startle like that if timed very, very well.

It had been the only thing that made it real.

It had been a terrible idea to look at the footage, just like Rex (and Fox, and Wolffe, and Boil) had told him, but he couldn’t help himself. He’d needed something to help him break out of the stupor, the long silences, the staring at the door like Obi-Wan was going to walk right through it. The war didn’t stop just because someone had died, and the GAR hadn’t cared about the cataclysmic shockwave it had sent through Cody’s life.

They’d sent the 212th packing to Mimban within a day of the assassination, and Cody had nearly gotten his head blown off after leaving his left flank wide open, expecting the snap-hiss of a lightsaber to cover him. Instead Wooley had been his salvation, yanking him back at the last second and roaring that he needed to get it together. It had been like walking in a dream.

Watching the holo had worked. It had convinced some deep, desperate part of himself that Obi-Wan really wasn’t coming back. That somehow he was going to have to carry on alone, or worse, with another Jedi, whose differences would grate at him like a knife paring into bone.

And in the end, it had all been a lie.

Cody takes a deep breath and leans his forehead against one of the blaster racks in the armoury, the durasteel sharp and cool on his skin. His knees shake and he grips the shelf edges until his fingers hurt, just standing there, just breathing.

His heart feels big and swollen in his chest, gluttoned with relief and anger, paired with a sharp, aching grief that now, more than ever, has nowhere to go. There’s no reason to harbour it; he should know better.

He just can’t help it.

He’d stood through the shuttle landing, through the torturous debrief, through strange, hairless Obi-Wan meeting his eyes and explaining earnestly that ‘if it hadn’t been classified of course he’d have said something…’ without so much as a twitch, but a great yawning chasm in his belly had opened and only kept getting wider the longer they kept making small talk about provisions, and reopening Obi-Wan’s quarters and a million other things that had happened since he’d - gone away. In the end he’d excused himself, planning to retrieve the personal effects he’d personally cleared out of Obi-Wan’s quarters because he’d needed to feel close to him, after, and there hadn’t been any other practical reason to go in there.

Except now he’s standing here, the relevant box at his feet, and he just can’t move.

Eventually the trembling in his legs slows, and he lifts his head from the shelf, turning instead to slide down it, using it for balance until he hits the floor. His knee thunks against the crate as he collapses, the scant things inside clinking against each other.

That had been one of the worst things; Obi-Wan always filled a room. His presence was a gentle, quiet, pervasive thing. Cody had held his small collection of two plants, a meditation mat, a few trinkets from planets visited and a lightsaber maintenance kit and felt nothing.

He swipes ruthlessly at his face with one hand, thumbing under his eyes to scrub away the moisture.

He needs to get moving. They’ll be looking for him soon.

Instead, his knee has dislodged the thin fabric covering the crate, and his eyes catch on the vambrace stacked on top, the straps frayed and snapped. Cody had helped paint this one and its pair, had shown Obi-Wan how to get the colours to take properly to the unwieldy plastoid.

He’d been the one to break it, too. Obi-Wan had just come out of the field medstation, bruised to shit but still smiling, and Cody had crowded him against a powered down holostation in the empty command tent and yanked at his clothes, just needing to feel his pulse under his skin, to feel the warmth of him safe and alive. It had been too much for the worn out armour to bear.

Two cycles later Obi-Wan had been on his way to Coruscant again, and there had been no time to fix them. It’s stupid, but Cody had taken one look at them on the little desk, in the space that had once been Obi-Wan’s room, and all he’d been able to think was that he hadn’t been properly protected. Cody had broken his armour. Cody had left him vulnerable.

Obi-Wan’d taken his spare set, of course, but he’s always complained that they chafe, and if there’s one thing Cody knows, it’s that if your armour isn’t right you aren’t fighting at your best.

He reaches for the broken piece now, thumbing the frayed synthleather and the chipped paint, yellow and red and faint scuffed up grey.

He knows now that it wouldn’t have made a difference to what happened, but he still heaves himself up to his feet after a moment and goes to the supply closet, pulls out a new strap, and sits back down again, committing to unpicking the stitching of the old before he can attach it.

He should’ve done this sooner.

He should’ve been more careful.

He should’ve been there.

He should’ve -

He could have -

He’s crying.

He’s crying, and he doesn’t realise it until the salt is heavy on his cheeks, until his neckline is wet, until his vision blurs so hard he can’t see. Cody makes a low, animal sound and curls over the vambrace, his fingers stilling against the threads.

His throat aches, his face is swollen, his body hot. He feels sick, and disoriented, overwhelmed in a way he can’t name.

“Cody?”

He flinches like he’s wounded, turning his face away from the door, like it will hide the evidence of his weakness. He knows he’s failed when Obi-Wan’s breath sucks in, so loud in the quiet.

“Cody?” His voice comes again, much closer this time. “Will you...will you look at me?”

Through the haze, Cody catches something that does make him turn. Obi-Wan sounds...hesitant, so uncharacteristically tentative that it cuts through the rest.

He wipes quickly at his face, smearing the mess, and gets his eyes just clear enough to find Obi-Wan’s face, so foreign and smooth but so dear for all that. His eyes are still the same, glacier-heart blue, and worried, right now, focused on his face.

“Oh,” Obi-Wan whispers at whatever he finds there, then reaches out, stutters halfway through, and drops his hand. His wrist is bare, and his robe sleeves flop backwards.

“I was trying to fix it,” Cody croaks, shifting to unveil the half-mended vambrace. “Before I brought it back. I broke it, and then you left without it and then you -”

It’s Obi-Wan’s turn to flinch back this time, while Cody greedily drinks him in, taking in the changes to his face, the way the lack of a beard makes his jaw look sharper, his features look younger. The stubbly fuzz of his hair is odd, true enough, but it’s still him.

“I - I never thought,” Obi-Wan says haltingly, and now Cody frowns, because it’s so unlike him to lose his words. Obi-Wan’s eyes flicker away, then back, like he’s steeling himself. Almost like he’s afraid.

“I never imagined you’d feel responsible - Cody - I’m so sorry -”

He reaches out, his fingers loosely catching Cody’s wrist this time. Cody feels it, the warmth of his hand sharp and electric. Tears spring to his eyes all over again; it’s the first time they’ve touched since he walked Obi-Wan to the hangar and he kissed him goodbye behind a LAAT/i. He’s replayed it so many times since, thinking he’d never get another, but the memory does the reality no justice, failing to preserve the way heat floods under his skin.

Obi-Wan moves to take his hand back, and Cody traps it there, anchoring his fingers and dipping his head, just breathing through it.

“If I could have told you,” Obi-Wan continues. “I would have, I swear it, I -”

“I know,” Cody says instantly, because he does, he’d never doubt it. “I know you couldn’t.”

Their fingers curl more securely together, calluses and knuckles finding a home against their pair.

“I didn’t know if you’d be angry,” Obi-Wan says. Cody shakes his head before he even thinks about it.

“It was your duty. I just -,” he squeezes his eyes shut again, voice breaking. The deception had made him angry. He can admit that, but it was never directed between them. The war stops for no-one, after all. “I can’t believe you’re still here.”

“I promise, I always intend to stay,” Obi-Wan murmurs.

Cody’s smiling when he kisses him, so full his cheeks ache with it. It tastes of salt and bitter-sweet and just a hint of desperation, their hands clasped with the vambrace cradled between them.

Then Obi-Wan draws him in, tucking his head under his chin. Cody presses his wet skin to the hollow of neck, listens to his heartbeat, and weeps.

#codywanweek2021 #rako hardeen arc #codywan #obi wan kenobi #commander cody #alderwrites

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catty-words · 4 years ago

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on the school dance fallout or, a thorough examination of the boys’ apologies to julie

full disclosure, i used to take serious issue with 1.06 for what it did to julie’s righteous anger in light of the boys letting her down, and my gripes haven’t fully gone away. but i have spent some time thinking on the fallout since my first (several) viewing(s) of the show and i finally noticed some emotionally nuanced storytelling that i needed time to come to appreciate. so, if you’ll indulge me another gif-filled meta post...

everyone knows that a good apology demonstrates an understanding of how you wronged the person you’re apologizing to, otherwise the words i’m sorry end up being fairly empty. and luckily for the boys, julie does a good job of immediately and effectively communicating her hurt feelings:

the first part is directed at luke specifically as her main co-writer, while the rest is about how all three of them let her down. it couldn’t be more clear that the reason she’s so betrayed is that a) they’ve made her feel like julie and the phantoms is less important to them than sunset curve and b) they’ve failed to consider her point of view or empathize with how important the show was to her.

which is why singing sorry a bunch of times, though charming, leaves her unmoved. and it’s why booking another gig actually makes her angrier. a gig the boys have deemed important enough to show up for is not a present or an olive branch to her, it’s a slap in the face. and if the boys had actually been paying attention to what she’d said the night of the dance, they could have anticipated her reaction.

but they clearly haven’t listened, so they haven’t learned how to do better or make things right. which is why this is such an important beat in the scene in the studio:

hounding julie to rejoin the band, even with such nice sentiments as “you’re the best thing that’s happened to us since we became ghosts”, does nothing to address how undervalued julie feels getting stood up because, as she points out above, their ability to do what they love is very limited without her. that makes her a powerful and essential member of the band, but it doesn’t prove that they care about her, julie, the person. and you can see in the reaction shot how the truth of her words lands for all of them.

their remorseful silence gives julie the opportunity to reiterate one of the points she made the night before, and it’s important to note which part of her hurt feelings she chooses to revisit.

the fact that they made the choice to pay more attention to their old music in spite of the music they were creating together is the thing that hurt her feelings the most. and, of course, her open hostility and her imagined reasons for why the boys picked sunset curve over julie and the phantoms (i.e. selfishness) puts luke on the defensive and ends with everyone leaving the scene dissatisfied.

great! okay, so here’s the part that’s bugged in the past (and the present, just. a little less so.) — in their attempt to deescalate the situation, alex and reggie give julie, and the audience, the all-important luke backstory. but like asking julie to rejoin the band with a shinier gig than a school dance flies in the face of actually making amends, so, too, does asking julie to empathize with luke’s emotional journey when the boys failed to take julie’s into account when they hurt her. only this time, it works as an olive branch.

now, i’m not saying that julie’s acting out of character in being sympathetic to luke’s pain, quite the opposite is the case. and i’m also not saying it’s bad that she does find sympathy for his situation — again, i’d argue that the opposite is true. it’s just, at the same time, it’s not a good look to force aside the young woman of color’s hurt in service of the white dude who hurt her feelings in the first place’s tragic backstory. the narrative is asking julie not to be mad at the choices luke made in the past two episodes because he’s really sad, actually.

and sure that’s an ungracious read of the moment, but i stand by the fact that it’s present in the text of the episode all the same, even with a little more nuance than i’m currently giving it credit for.

all that being said, alex and reggie do a bit to win back this highly insensitive maneuver with another stab at an apology.

alex addresses julie’s comment about them knowing “how tough it’s been for her to play” by reiterating that not showing up let her down and they get that that’s a crappy way to feel, while reggie takes a crack at julie’s “our songs were good” by emphasizing that they all love being in a band and making music with her. it’s a slight step up from their sorry in the garage, but not a complete fix because they’re all still sitting with the fact that they need julie to make the most of their music and how that complicates their declarations of loyalty.

the thing that makes this attempt at reconciliation different than those prior, of course, is this line:

the acknowledgement that things haven’t been fixed + the politeness + the implication that they’re willing to put in the time to earn her trust back so long as she lets them makes the apology a good enough one to accept. well, that, and:

one gets the sense that if rose could actually speak to julie in that moment, she’d be reminding her the value of grace. and, of course, we know that this also serves as a reminder to julie that good things are fleeting, loss is around every corner, and holding close what you care about is important. so she does just that by letting go of her (righteous, righteous) anger and reuniting the band.

still, even though alex and reggie have had their chance to make amends, luke doesn’t get the same moment to show he’s actually paid attention to julie’s needs in 1.06. so, naturally, he starts immediately in their first scene together in 1.07.

i mentioned in my exhaustive list for “finally free” that julie picking a sunset curve song for their reunion number is a lovely, understated way for her acknowledge luke’s lost musical legacy, and i have similar feelings about the fact that luke suggests “edge of great” for their follow-up gig. it’s his first step in proving to her that he does care about the music they’ve written together with actions instead of empty apologies and misguided gestures.

by the end of the episode, though, the three of them take a step back (reggie gets points for his being, like, half a step) when they learn that, in addition to letting down julie, one of the consequences of their night chasing revenge is a ticking clock on their existence.

though i understand the urge to protect julie from the alarming news that their power is going out, there’s also a lot of selfishness behind the decision. julie loses them in the end no matter what, but lying to her about it and planning to leave without an explanation shows a disregard for her emotional journey in a similar way standing her up did. in fact, this plan is basically to stand her up for eternity. not cool, guys.

naturally, since it’s luke who’s the one proposing the terrible plan and it’s luke who never officially demonstrated his understanding of how he hurt julie’s feelings by not showing up when it mattered, it’s fitting that he’s suddenly more in tune with his own feelings. and, with that, comes a new awareness of how his and julie’s feelings interact, starting with this moment in 1.08.

you can see his conflict over her declaration. she’s worried without knowing just how much there is to be worried about, and that makes him sad because it’s confirmation of the fact that he’s important to her. that losing him will mean a lot of pain for her. but instead of cluing her in, he makes a conscious choice to continue withholding the information of his imminent departure. and maybe it’s such a weak deflection because he’s already starting to come to terms with how unfair he’s being to her, but even so, he’s not being a good friend when julie is showing up for him in big, unexpected ways he’d never even thought to ask for.

and again, here —

— just after they’ve acknowledged that there’s a something and not a nothing between them, you can see him sober with the thought that she doesn’t know they’re about to lose each other. but it’s still not enough to move him to share. maybe because he prefers that she live with the possibility of that something when he no longer can, maybe because he’s too caught up in his own feelings about how crappy this hand they’ve been dealt by the universe is. but in any case, he keeps tight-lipped.

UNTIL.

it’s seeing her excited about a future their music can’t have that finally pushes him into coming clean. and i love how subtly this demonstrates that he has been paying attention, actually, and he knows that what hurt julie the most was the feeling that their music took a backseat to his past. if he crosses over without telling her the whole, ugly truth about the mistake he made by standing her up, then he crosses over stuck in that mistake. because part of that whole, ugly truth is the beautiful realization that no music is worth making, julie, if we’re not making it with you. and he’s not quite at that particular aspect of his truth yet — he still has to experience the what if of caleb’s club to be able to make the declaration with the conviction he does — but when he finally does tell her that and means it, she’s given the catharsis she’s needed since the dance. because he’s backing up his apology with action (i.e. being willing to literally no longer exist instead of making music with someone else) and providing her with the same consideration she showed him when she rejoined the band because his loss felt more important than her anger. and reaching that level of give and take in their relationship, physically represented in their hug, finally sets them free.

so, yes. even though 1.06 is clunky and a little tasteless at times, i can acknowledge that the story manages to win any missteps back. quite poetically, honestly. all’s forgiven.

#julie and the phantoms #jatpedit #jatp meta #julie molina #luke patterson #reggie peters #alex mercer #gifs by catty #long post #am i disappointed with myself for not being able to include any gifs from 1.09 because i reached the limit already #yes. absolutely.#should i have split this post into two parts to fit it all?#maybe so #will i do anything about it?#obviously not #FATED BANDMATES #melody & words #together my cats can queue anything

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ellstersmash · 3 years ago

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Not to Keep

Fandom: Mass Effect (Original Trilogy) Pairing: Kaidan x f!Shepard Rating: T for Teen (cw for alcohol use) Words: 2.7k [Read on Ao3]

shep and kaidan go undercover, set early in me1. this was originally a prompt for "fake relationship" from Leather & Lace Romance Week, but then I waited 3.5 years to finish it 🥀

It all seemed so simple. Infiltrate a wedding, extract intel on Benezia, use that to find Saren.

Easy-peasy.

Until Shepard shows up in the shuttle bay looking like that. They've only been working together for a couple of months, and Kaidan has seen her covered in blood spatter, dripping sweat post-PT—hell, even bare naked in a hotel room. But it’s safe to say he never thought he'd see her like this. Full makeup, soft curls, a long red dress that shouldn't fit anyone that perfectly, and, dangling from two fingers, a pair of classy black heels.

Kaidan swallows hard and gives her a curt nod. “Ma’am.”

“Alenko.” He shifts on his feet as her eyes travel the length of his body and back up, her cool stare giving nothing away. “You clean up nice.”

“Ah, thanks. And you look—”

“Oh, I'm dressed to kill.” Lips the same shade as her dress curve into a grin. “Figuratively, for once.”

Kaidan chokes and laughs, caught off guard in a mixture of nerves and surprise. “Was that a joke, Commander?”

Her expression narrows into a pinched, self-deprecating smirk. “If you have to ask, then no. And I definitely haven't been thinking about it since Williams zipped this damn thing up.”

The thought of his CO, this formidable woman, giggling to herself over a stupid joke for an hour is... well, it’s uncharacteristically cute. Kaidan rolls it around in his head for an indulgent minute, trying on the fit before letting the image go.

Just one more thing to jam into that Never Gonna Happen file.

“Right,” she says, back to business. “Let’s get this over with.”

They board the shuttle for the short trip to the venue, and go over the mission brief one final time: intel extraction remains their highest priority—one of their hosts, Polona T’Shan, was rumored to have a close business connection with the matriarch; protecting their cover is important, but heavy security is not expected; their false identity profiles should be enough to get them in the door, and from there the two of them will be responsible for avoiding unwanted attention by appearing as a couple.

Kaidan knows his own limits. He’s a soldier, not an actor. This pretending to be someone else, this lie, it isn't part of his training and it sure as hell isn't part of who he is. But if Shepard’s as nervous as he is, she isn't showing it.

She’s looking at him again, in that intense all-in way she sometimes does. Before her, he had never met someone who was aware of—and pursued—what they wanted with such confidence, such dogged determination, and to have that kind of focus set on him even for just a moment is… terrifying. In a good way, he thinks. It makes him feel warm and cold at the same time. It also makes him want to stare right back, but that way lies only trouble, and none of them need another helping. Not right now.

Kaidan leans back and rests his head on the cool, if slightly unsteady, inner shuttle wall as Shepard drums a rhythmless pattern into the space between their seats.

---

Kyra drains her glass.

As it turns out, Asari weddings aren't all that different from the few human ones she’s attended. Though this reception is a far more extravagant affair than she’s used to: four days of mingling and games and dancing and drinking and food. Really not her cup of tea.

And apparently not Alenko’s, either.

He’d made a beeline for the bar as soon as they’d entered, and returned with an easier stride and a glass full of some bubbling neon sugary shit for her. She’d have preferred something stronger, of course, but they do have a mission to complete. If they can manage to get Polona alone for a moment.

She slips her hand into the crook of his elbow and feels him stiffen, then relax. Quick and conscious. He’s nervous, out of place, on edge, and then completely calm and collected.

No doubt in her mind he was the right pick for this one.

The thought settles her stomach, and just in time. Two asari approach, their hands extended in enthusiastic welcome.

“Greetings!” one of them says, with a voice smooth and sweet as wildflower honey. “Oh, what a lovely pair you two make. Right out of the vids, could be. This one’s even better looking up close, don’t you think so, Liria?” The asari takes Alenko’s hand, sensual and deliberate, then turns her attention to Kyra. “And goddess, that dress is stunning; really, sweetie, it fits you like a glove. You”—she drags one finger down Alenko’s lapel—“are a lucky man, I hope you know.”

Eyes wide, he clears his throat and coughs, then regains his composure with a brief glance in Kyra’s direction.

The second asari offers an apologetic look to each of them in turn. “Rialla, darling, slow down or you’ll scare them off.”

“They certainly look sturdy enough.”

“I am so sorry. She’s had quite a bit to drink, I’m afraid. Never could pace herself at a wedding.” She laughs. “My name is Liria, and my companion’s name is Rialla, and ever since we saw you walk in, we have just been itching to get to know you.”

Kyra plasters what she hopes is a warm smile on her face, mentally pulling up her cover identity as reference. “Emily, and I’m delighted to meet you both. This is John, my um—”

“Her very lucky partner.”

The two matriarchs titter and tease him, both in turn, and once again he’s in control. Kyra can’t help but be impressed by how effortlessly he charms them. And she’s far from immune. It’s her mission, yet she is all too prepared to be led around the room by that firm hand at the small of her back.

Staff Lieutenant Kaidan Alenko: respected Alliance Marine, powerful L2 biotic, all-around stand-up guy, and—apparently—a smooth son-of-a-bitch. It’s an unexpected feature for someone so soft-spoken and unpretentious. Like he has a hidden switch somewhere.

Or a button.

Press For Instant Charisma.

She briefly entertains the idea of hunting for it, then aborts the thought with a twist of her lips and tunes back in to the conversation.

---

The lie is getting easier. Shepard is tucked under Kaidan’s arm, and he’s almost comfortable.

Their new friends are exactly the right sort. Nosy, talkative, well into their cups, and connected. Old friends of their mark, both of them, and Liria has history with Benezia herself. Shepard spins her tale about a chance meeting with the missing matriarch at a charity benefit and their tapering correspondence, followed by a rumor igniting hope for reconnection. And they eat it right up.

All he has to do is act natural and help Shepard keep them talking.

“Well, you know Polona wasn’t only Benezia’s lawyer.” Liria leans in close, her voice not quite as hushed as she probably intended. “They were involved, some centuries back. Quite the scandal at the time, but then Benezia always had... selfish tendencies. Now, I’m not sure why they parted ways, or how serious it was, but—”

Not to be outdone, Rialla’s hands flutter for attention as she pipes in. “It must be more than a passing fling from two hundred years ago, though, because I heard that her Turian lover—or, well, husband now—almost called off this very wedding!”

“Really?” Shepard asks. What’s supposed to be idle curiosity is bordering on serious interest, her voice taking on a firm, interrogative quality to match her narrowed gaze, but a brush of his thumb on her shoulder and she reigns it in. Loosens up with a tilt of her head and a hand to his thigh that has him tensing up instead.

“Oh, yes,” Rialla says. “It was all very tenuous there for a while. And to think, then the four of us would never have met!”

Kaidan raises his glass with a smile as genuine as he can muster. “A tragic loss for us, to be sure.”

With a deep, warm smile, Rialla fans her face and leans in close to Shepard, but speaks for the whole table to hear. “Do let me know when you're finished with him, would you, dear? I think I may be quite in love.”

He's fine until Shepard smirks, then he's far too warm. Suffocating.

He tugs at his collar. “You think their, uh, conflict had something to do with Polona and Benezia’s involvement?”

“I seriously doubt it,” Liria says with a dismissive wave of her hand. “That was ages ago, not yesterday. Beni’s still pining after Aeth—”

Rialla laughs. “Oh, it’s Beni, now? I had no idea you were such intimate friends!”

“I’m 800 years old, my dear.” Liria scoffs. “I have quite a few friends you don’t know about.”

“Is that supposed to make me jealous?”

“Of course not, don’t be silly!”

“Silly? Goddess, must you always be so patronizing?”

“Must you always twist my words?”

“Oh, here we go!”

The situation spirals into chaos before either he or Shepard can recover it, and she stands up from the table, pulling at his elbow.

“I love this song,” she mutters pointedly, and leads him to the dance floor. It’s a slow number, thank god. He’s not nearly drunk enough to dance to something with a beat.

They sway slowly, and she presses close, his neck prickling underneath her palm. His own hands settle on her waist, then more naturally to her hips.

“Damn,” she whispers. “Damn.”

“I know. But hey, we’ve got the rest of the night. And tomorrow night. And the next night. And—”

“The next night, I know.” She groans and drops her head to his shoulder.

Kaidan smiles into her hair.

---

The night is officially over. The band is still playing, but most of the guests are gone, and despite making a number of connections, they’ve learned nothing more about Benezia's whereabouts.

They have, however, made decent use of the open bar.

Kyra downs the last of her champagne and orders a cocktail, dealer's choice. It arrives glowing and smoking and she takes the skyward trajectory of Alenko’s brows as a personal challenge not to hesitate.

A potent combination of peppermint and blueberries and battery acid hits the back of her throat and makes her head swim on contact.

Next to her, Alenko is nursing his third.

“How’s your drink?” he asks.

“Surprising.”

“In a good way or a bad way?”

“Um… Yes.” She clinks her fingernail against his glass. “How’s your whiskey?”

He frowns and takes a sip. “This is not whiskey.”

“Didn’t realize you were such a connoisseur.”

“No, I mean it is literally not whiskey. Didn’t have it, I guess.” He drinks again. “It’s weird, right? Walk into any bar on Earth and they’ll have a dozen to pick from, but soon as you take off…”

“Yeah.” She sighs. “No burgers. No guac. No ice cream.”

The low chuckle he gives is a sound she’d like to hear again. And again, and again, and—

“When you put it like that, this spacer life is a real sorry existence.”

Kyra nods and wonders what he misses most from home. Or who. But that is none of her business, so she empties her glass and tips the bartender in preparation to leave.

“Sorry tonight was a bust, Shepard.”

“It wasn’t a total loss. Decent food, free booze.” She rests her chin on one closed fist. “Good company.”

“By that, I assume you mean our new asari friends.”

“Sure.”

Holding his gaze is harder than it should be. He cradles his nearly-empty glass and taps his fingers in sequence. Up and down, like a zipper.

At last, he looks away. “I was going to say ‘beautiful,’ by the way.”

“Hmm?”

“Earlier, before we left. I was going to tell you how incredible you looked, but then you interrupted me, and I never really got the chance to say it so I figured I might as well say it now.”

Warmth rises in her belly and she rides it like a wave, unscathed and unchanged on the other side. She turns to face him, wriggling in the seat in preparation like he’s about to try and upend her. “All right, Alenko. Hit me. I’m ready.”

He gives a huff of nervous laughter, one hand going straight to the back of his neck. “Well, uh... that was pretty much it.”

“That’s it? You waited all night to tell me that you were going to tell me I looked beautiful, but didn’t?”

His lips roll together, and he cedes the point with a tilt of his head, then meets her eyes again before his take a slow, uncertain wander around the rest of her features.

“Shepard,” he says when he makes it back, and it’s a name so overused it may as well be a title—but not spoken like that. Low and drawn out and a little bit reverent, it becomes almost intimate for the first time in years and she can't help but wonder how her first might sound.

“You look really beautiful tonight.”

Oh. Oh no. Kyra knows she should say thank you, and tell him to finish his drink so they can get out of here, but this next wave won’t subside and the air won’t reach her lungs and all she can do is stare at him.

“I mean, not just tonight, but especially—” he continues, visibly flustered by her silence. “You know, the dress and the lips—ah, make-up! And, and the hair and everything, it’s just very, um, tasteful, and… Um.” He clears his throat and pushes his drink away by inches, folding his hands tight together. "Feel free to stop me anytime.”

Ah. There. That’s the Alenko she knows and can handle.

“Now why would I do a thing like that?” she says, sending a silent prayer of thanks to whichever god kept her voice from breaking.

The smile they exchange is soft and charged and it smooths him over. His eyes are brown. Kyra knew that already, but clinically. On paper. Hair: black. Eyes: brown. Year of birth: 2151.

She didn’t know it like this, tangibly, all wrapped up and swept away in a simple fact.

This time she’s the one to give in. “You know, you should really keep that button pressed, Alenko.”

“What?”

“The charisma button.” She jerks her head toward the door, grabs his hand for the sake of anyone who might still be awake and sober enough to notice, and leads him out. “Push it. More.”

“I— what?”

Kyra chuckles to herself and steps into the elevator. “Forget it.”

The doors close once she chooses a floor and she regrets taking his hand because now she has to let go.

Kiss me. Come on, Alenko. Quick, before we go back. She can’t think it any louder, can’t make it any clearer without crossing a line. Be better if he does it, but he won’t. She knows he wants to just like she knows he never will, because he’s a good soldier and a good soldier doesn’t fuck with the chain of command. Not without a compelling reason, at least, and she can’t give him one.

Their floor lights up and reality pours in. He follows her across the dock, at a distance now that no one who would care might be watching.

Kyra takes a sharp, deep breath. Three more nights of this—unless they can get their intel sooner. Three more nights of flirting and dancing and soft touches all for show and not to keep. Maybe she should have brought Williams after all. Or Garrus. Or anyone else.

Distracted, she nearly trips getting into the shuttle, and somehow he’s right there, a broad hand on her waist to steady her.

A nod and he detaches. Steps back. “Ma’am.”

Ma’am. But he is a terrible liar, and she’s never been good at a long con.

#mass effect #mass effect trilogy #mass effect fic #kaidan alenko #shenko #alcohol #ellster writes #kyra x kaidan #be gentle this is a collaboration with past me #one of us is a much better writer #no i wont tell you which #oh my god wrangling all these rogue italic spaces from before i learned how to format for ao3 is going to send me into a fit of rage #s/o to the 5 story subscribers stubborn enough to hang on

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bunnys-beetlejuice-blog · 3 years ago

Text

But What If, Instead

Decided to give a go to posting my horribly named but hopefully very fun Beetlejuice fic to tumblr as well. This is an au where BJ is adopted by the Deetz family at a young age.

He’s twelve when he’s left on his own in the upperworld.

He doesn’t know he’s twelve, because he’s never celebrated a birthday, but that timeline seems to fit, later, when he thinks back on it. So he’s twelve. His mother has promised him a special treat that day, and though he’s skeptical to trust her, he follows her quietly through the door she’s drawn, the bone white stick of chalk a blaring contrast to the dark hallways of the netherworld reception office. She’d knocked, and the drawing was more than a drawing, suddenly, with white light and noise spilling through into his little corner of hell as it opened, and when he steps through, Betelgeuse sees blue skies and green grass for the first time in his unlife. He’d turned back to look at Juno, confused, curious, his big orange snake eyes watching her, waiting for the catch, for her to yank him back and punish him for being naive, and trusting her, but all the demoness had done was billow smoke from her slit throat, and nod encouragingly to him. He takes another step, and another and another, and suddenly he’s running and laughing and jumping and the air up here is different, but good, and he takes breaths he doesn't need because it feels nice, and he turns to her again to try and entice her to play with him- And the door is gone. He stands there, staring at the nothingness where she and it had been, and realization hits him hard, because he’s twelve, and he’s been left on his own.

He doesn't cry, both because he can’t, and because he knows it won’t change anything. It doesn’t take him long to find them. Pre ghosts. Breathers. Humans. The place is lousy with them, and the smell of them irritates his sensitive nose. He’s a dumb kid, sure, but he’s got some survival instincts, so he hides from them as they go about their lives, strolling around this place, completely oblivious to the little demon now crashing their dimension. Breathers look so weird, all flushed with blood and bright eyed and hearts beating, no signs of death or rot or decay on them. It’s a lot to ask a kid to get used to. The ghosts back home, the ones workin in Ma’s office, tell him stories about the world up here, sometimes, usually in exchange for him going away, and leaving them the hell alone. (Their words) If there was one thing he learned from them, it was that humans, living or dead, didn’t like things that were strange or unusual. He wanders the wilds of wherever he is for an hour before he finds a body of water, and stooping to peer into it, takes a look at himself.

His skin is pale, but not pink. The undercolor is purple, maybe, which he would have thought would be close enough, but compared to the living, breathing people walking around this place, he knows is too different. There’s not much he can do about that. His hair is a bushy mess, sticking up all over the place, but at least the color is currently green. It’s the eyes, teeth, and ears that really stand out. Yellow snake-like slits stare back at him, long pointed ears flick in the direction of distant sounds, and when he tries to smile down at his reflection, those too many too sharp teeth are all he can see. He’s not the best at magic, yet, mostly using it to play pranks around the office (and hey, maybe that’s why Ma left him here in the first place?) but he does what he can. He throws a glamour over himself, and it’s far from perfect, but the three big problems are taken care of. He looks more human than he did a minute ago, at least, and that’s something.

He’s less afraid to take the main paths, after that, and with that worry out of the way, he finds himself enjoying the afternoon again. So, ma left him here. So what? She’s done him a favor, probably the first she’s ever done anybody, because now he doesn't have to be around her just as much as she doesn’t have to be around him. It’s a win-win, Betelgeuse thinks stubbornly, trotting along the winding pathways lined with benches and garbage cans and other silly human things. He’s starting to get a bit tired of all the green when he reaches, quite unexpectedly, the end of it. There’s a big arched sign, and he can’t understand the language written over head, even though he’s squinting and tilting his head. Someone at some point had sat him down and tried to teach him letters, and he’d gotten far enough to read through the first page of the Handbook, but then that person had been reassigned, and was gone, and no one had cared to keep teaching him.

He’s holding his hands up at his sides, rubbing his red tipped claws against the palms of his hands, top teeth biting over his bottom lip, head tilted to one side in an extreme, when he hears a snort and then a soft giggle.

There’s a woman standing in front of him. Her hair is a sunny yellow color, but her clothing is dark and dramatic, and there are roosting bats dangling from her ears. She’s laughing at him. They stare at each other for a long moment, her hand raised in front of her mouth, her eyes crinkled pleasantly at the corners, and he finally breaks the silence by pointing at the sign, and speaking. “Wazzat say?” She blinks in surprise at his grating little voice, and then glances back at the sign. “Krap Lartnec,” she tells him. “Which is flipped around and backwards for “Central Park.” He’s been staring at the sign the wrong way. Of course. He feels his cheeks heat up with embarrassment. “Oh. Got it. Park. Right, yeah.” She lets out another laugh, and it’s so different from the sounds his mother makes when she’s guffawing at him, shaming him, that it almost doesn’t register as a laugh at first. There’s no cruelty to it, just amusement, and maybe curiosity. “Are you here alone?” she asks him, and he shrugs easily. “I guess.” She moves closer to him, cautiously, like he’s going to bite her, or bolt, but he doesn’t really feel the need to be worried over one breather. He knows he could rip out her throat if he needs to. The glamour only hides his demonic features, not takes them away. He’s still plenty capable of taking care of himself. “Where are your parents?” She's crouched down next to him now, one knee on the pavement, big brown eyes all sweet and worried, and he shrugs again. “Don’t have a dad. Mom’s downstairs.” She squints at that, and he gestures down with a pointed red claw tip. “Ya know. Downstairs.” The way he emphasizes it is meaningful, and when her eyes show understanding, he assumes she gets it. “Oh, I’m so sorry.” “Don’t be. I’m havin’ a good time.”

That doesn’t seem to be what she expects, but she just nods thoughtfully. “Are you staying someplace?” He can’t, for the undeath of him, figure out why she’s asking, and why she cares. He shrugs again, because things feel better in threes, and says vaguely, “I guess I’m stayin’ here.” That also doesn’t seem to be a good answer. “You can’t stay in the park overnight. There’s creeps around here.” He bites back the urge to explain that he’s the creepiest thing here, because suddenly she’s taking his hand, and she feels cool to the touch. “Good god, kiddo, you’re burning up!” she puts her other hand on his forehead, all the play gone from her voice, clearly concerned. “You might have a fever. Listen…” she worries her bottom lip with her teeth, smudging the dark color there, before she makes a decision. “Why don’t you come home with me? I’ll give you something to eat, make sure you’re alright, and we’ll figure out what to do from there, okay?” He isn’t sick, and he’s pretty sure he can’t get sick. It’s the hellfire in his veins that makes him hot, because he’s not like her, not even close, but the idea of following her seems like a fine one to him, so he just nods. “Kay. You got bugs where you live?” She snorts again, and stands, brushing off her dark, rose patterned tights. “Sure, what New York apartment doesn’t have a few roaches lurking around. You like bugs?” “Yeah, I like em. They’re crunchy an’ they skitter around an’ stuff.” “Yeah,” she agrees, nodding thoughtfully. “Bugs kick ass.” It’s his turn to snort, and then laugh, because she’d sounded so serious that it strikes him as funny. His hand is still in her’s, and she gives it a squeeze. “What’s your name, little buddy?” “Betelguese.” He expects a pause, or a comment, because no newly dead has ever heard his name without wrinkling their nose and looking vaguely sick, but her smile just grows wider. “Far out. I’m Emily.” And hand in hand, they leave the park.

```````````````````````````````````````````````````````

Beetlejuice decides quickly Emily might be the nicest breather who ever breathed. It’s a decision he makes only moments after they’ve left the park. Normally he’d be talking, and talking a lot, and his ma might throw something at him, a curse or a bottle, to try and shut him up. So he’s giving silence a try, here, even though it feels like it hangs like a weight around his neck. But Emily is the one instead filling the silence with sound, and he’s never had such unfiltered attention from an adult before. She’s talking about the park, then his hair, then his name, and everything she says is just… sunshine. She likes his hair. She likes his name. She even likes the loose fitting and filthy black and white striped shirt he’s got on, she says it’s deadlyvoo, whatever the hell that means, but it must be good, because Emily said it.

They’re walking down the street, his little hand still in her’s, when a smell hits his sensitive nose. It’s unlike anything he’s ever smelled before and if he wasn't tethered to her, he would have floated after it. As it is, he does feel his feet lift off the ground briefly, and he has to remind his body to obey gravity, before someone notices. Luckily, Emily only sees part of his reaction, namely the way he’s sniffing the air like a dog and drooling. “Hotdogs!” she grins, and she leads him over towards the smell before he can even ask what that word means.

There’s a little cart set up, and a short, fat woman is fussing over a fire. He quickly finds the source of the smell, those little weird shapes of meat she’s turning over, and he goes to reach for one, only stopped by Emily’s other hand over his. “Not so fast, little bug. To unlock lunch, you need the power of capitalism.” She nods gravely. He nods back, clueless, but after a moment he has the source of the smell in his hands, and he wastes no time in scarfing it down. It’s good. He wants more, instantly, and tugs at her sleeve. Emily has hardly put her wallet away before it’s back out again, and she’s bought two more hotdogs. He eats them just as quickly, but before he can ask for more he realizes she’s led him away from the woman and her meats and her fire. Clever breather.

The walk to her home isn’t so bad, and it gives him time to take in his surroundings. The park had been jarring enough- what little plants grow in the netherworld are perpetually gray and withered, sad little scraggly weeds that struggle and choke each other out for the privilege of what miniscule sunshine permeates through the perpetual overcast. But there’s enough sunlight and water and everything to go around here, and it all grows green and vibrant. The city feels the same way, sort of. Like there’s plenty of space to stretch out and grow, and so they did. In the netherworld, everything is short and cramped, but bigger on the inside, with long, winding hallways meant to confuse and trap the dead. The buildings here are so tall looking up at them makes him dizzy, but he hardly has time to admire them before Emily is guiding him this way and that, and finally, to another door. She presses a button and they’re let inside, and he experiences another first as they ride the elevator up a few floors.

They ride the first few floors up in relative silence, until - “Get ready to jump!” Emily says suddenly, crouching, and he follows her lead, and jumps when she does. There’s a brief moment of weightlessness before gravity catches up with them, and their feet hit the elevator floor again, in time for the doors to open. “Good job, Beetlejuice!” she praises, pushing that long sun colored hair out of her face, and he beams up at her. “Feels like flyin, kinda!” “Right?” she enthuses loudly, and he’s about to ask her how a breather knows what flying feels like, but a door down the hall opens, and the biggest man Betelguese has ever seen steps out. “Thought I heard you rattling the elevator,” he’s chiding Emily, who only gives her snort and smile in return. “Lydia isn’t even with you, do you really play that game when you’re-” his eyes fall on Betelgeuse. “Alone?”

“Charles, I made a new friend!” Emily tells him simply, leading the little demon into their apartment. The interior is dim, but he can see fine. He knows his amber eyes are glowing a little in the gloom, and he closes them, just for a moment, as Emily leads him down the hall and into a sunny, well lit kitchen. The big man, Charles, is tailing behind, looking mystified. “Where on earth did you find him?” a hint of nerves creeps into the breather’s voice. “You didn’t… steal him.. Right?” “Charles!” Emily laughs, like it’s an absurd question. Betelgeuse can’t tell if it is or not. Emily doesn’t seem like a child snatching witch, but he doesn’t know enough about such things to be sure. “I didn’t steal him,” she clarifies, busying herself with getting the boy a cup of ice water, and stopping by for a moment to touch the back of her hand to his forehead again. “I found him wandering around Central Park. He said he doesn’t have any folks, and he was all alone, and he feels feverish. I’m being responsible! I’m a responsible adult!” “A responsible adult who still plays the elevator game, despite being told by maintenance you might throw the whole elevator out of whack?” Charles askes, but he doesn’t look angry, more amused.

“I was teaching Beetlejuice how to play.” The pause he was expecting with Emily finds its home with Charles. Charles glances at the boy. Betelguese stares back with big amber eyes, sipping quietly at his ice water. Charles looks to Emily, who seems to be waiting expectantly. The silence stretches for another beat before Charles asks, baffled, “Is that… his name?”

Emily throws her hands up like he’s asked if the sky is really blue. “Of course it’s his name! Or at least, that’s the name he gave me. I’m respecting it. Respectful and responsible, that’s me.” She turns and winks at Betelgeuse. He returns the strange breather gesture because he likes Emily more than he’s ever liked anyone before.

The water cup is empty, and he simply lets it go, no longer interested in holding it. It bounces and rolls across the floor, and Charles wrinkles his brow at the boy. “Wh-” Before he can say much more, Betelgeuse is sniffing at the air, and he crouches on all fours, nose to the ground, like a dog in a cartoon. He’s caught the scent of some kind of upperworld bug, and despite all the hotted dogs, he’s still hungry. He’s on the prowl around the kitchen, weaving under the little dining table and three chairs, and then back down the hall, into the living room. Charles and Emily poke their heads out of the kitchen to watch him.

“I think you brought a feral child into the house, Em.”

She makes a psshaw sound and rolls her eyes, smacking gently at his lapels. “He’s a kid. Kids are weird. I was doing weird kid stuff when I was his age, too.” “And you never stopped,” comes the dry response. “Charles, I know you worry, but he’s a little kid, lost in New York. I mean, my god, it’s like a movie! I couldn’t just leave him, and I wasn’t just going to give him to some cop, he’s probably an undocumented runaway or something-” and the rest of her rambling is drown out by Charles gasping and grabbing her, and her own muffled gasps of shock, because Betelgeuse has caught the bug. And also, he’s on the ceiling. He may have been trying to blend in, but the second he caught the scent of that delicious crunchy upperworld bug meat, everything else was out of mind. He’d spotted it on the ceiling, and had followed it up there, ignoring gravity to get what he wanted, and right as he pounced on it, nearly catlike, Charles and Emily had gasped. Their breather noises distract him long enough for the bug to skitter away, and he loses his concentration, and drops to the living room floor with a sickening crunch. Emily shrieks, and Charles panics, sprinting for the boy, certain he’ll find a dead child with a broken neck. Instead Betelguise sits up, his glamour disturbed from the fall, and the breathers get an eyeful of what he really looks like. There’s a beat. They’re all staring at each other for a long moment. “I… I might have brought a feral child into the house,” Emily admits sheepishly. You can read the entire thing, right now, over here

#beetlejuice #beetlejuice broadway #beetlejuice fic #emily deetz #charles deetz #lydia deetz #beetlejuice fanfiction #beetlejuice found family

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occult-castiel · 4 years ago

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The Same Page

This is my @destielsecretsanta2020 gift for @eclypseaf!!! The request was open, but bonus points for Miracle being present. So I wrote some post empty rescue fic!

This one honestly gave me a really hard time and I have no idea why. I hope you like it and have has an awesome christmas!

[Ao3 Link]

The portal spits them out in the dungeon.

Dean stumbles out first, a half step ahead of Cas. Human, malleable, and very much alive with one of the little dude's arms draped over Dean's shoulder.

Cas stumbles forward. Dean shoots an arm out in front of him, places a hand firmly against his chest. He maneuvers his other arms under his trenchcoat, grips his side firm.

His skins almost cool to the touch — much too cold to be safe. Not for a human, especially a brand new one.

And what if he's sick? Or gets sick and can't get better? Without his grace, there's a whole new set of worries. A bad flu that gets worse until he's gone, a hunt going wrong, fucking cancer. Heart disease kills pretty much everyone, doesn't it?

He takes a deep breath and focuses on the gentle thud of Cas' heart against his palm.

The last eight months haven't been easy. Not between the alcohol Sam eventually cut him off from, and the hunts getting sparse, and Jack being terrifying and gone until he wasn't.

Cas lulls his head to the side. His inky heart sticks to his forehead, and his blueberry-sweet eyes are unfocused but still manage to catch Dean's.

It's achingly familiar, and he smiles easy. "Hey there, sunshine."

Cas pinches his brows together as his head swims to stay upright. He slurs through some half-baked, nonsense question about coral reef bleaching, and Dean's so relieved he laughs.

Cas smiles at the sound, dazed and feather-light, but the joy is unmistakable.

It's the best thing Dean's ever seen. Fuck, he missed him. Missed him so much he didn't know what to do with himself.

Cas winces — what little help he was giving Dean in holding him up falls. He makes up the difference quick. Weak fingers curl around Dean's wrist.

"Sorry —"

"S'okay. Gonna —" he swallows hard. Tries to shove away the distinct pin-prick in his tear ducts that always means he needs to man the hell up. "Gonna get you to a bed, okay?"

Cas grunts, a pitiful noise that's mostly air and entirely feeble. "Tired."

"Rest then. It ain't far. I gotcha, buddy."

When he nods, his hair brushes Dean's neck.

It's not well thought out. The lack of work and overload of carbs haven't done Dean's muscles any favors. His joints creak and protest every step, but his room isn't far, and he'd be damned before he let's Cas feel like he has to do anything alone this time.

Miracle hops off the bed the moment the door opens.

Dean lays Cas on top of the bunched up blanket. Once he's down, Dean slowly works the trencoast and suit jacket off, his hands careful as they trail across the thin cotton of his shirt.

Cas shivers, and Dean wrestles to tug the blanket out from under him, Miracle nuzzling the side of his leg the whole time.

She's probably hungry. Or just wants attention. He hasn't exactly been available the last couple weeks, too busy with his nose in piles of research. But it all payed off.

Cas grimaces in his sleep, and it twists the cords in Dean's chest. He reaches his hand out and ghosts his fingers across the sweat-stained hair stuck to his skin, gently pushing it to the side.

He'd said it once, not more than a month ago, in the darkness of his room, Miracle tucked as close as he could get her.

He said he loved me, and I — I didn't say it back. But I do. God I do.

Dean trails his hand from his forehead to the flushed pillow of his cheeks. The other knuckles roughly at his eyes and comes back wet.

He has no god damn idea what he wouldve done without Miracle to talk to. Cause he could never get it out to Sam. Not those last moments. Not what Cas really means to him. Always too close to an edge of something larger than any apocalypse they've ever dealt with.

He traces down low enough to brush across Cas' wrist, the pained look still on his face.

Dean swallows, his heart hammers hard in his throat. Timid even though the guy is unconscious, Dean grabs his hand.

His mind blanks. Turns to complete static — a jumble of half-formed thoughts about every reason he ever told himself not to.

He's an angel. The worlds ending. Always ending. He doesn't feel that way. Can't, the equipment for it's not there. It's why he leaves, isn't it? And what the fuck could ever hope to start when it's all always falling apart? When they could fall apart.

Everyone leaves.

A flash of cold prickles down his back, and he tries to takes a deep breath. It goes down ragged. There was something he read once, about picking out a sense.

Cas' breath, slow and steady. The clink of Mircale's claws on the floor. A muted buzz from the florescent lights in the hall.

He breaths again, a little easier. His fingers curls into Cas' palm, and his finger twitch against Dean in response. The dent in his brows relax, his jaw goes slack.

"S'okay Cas." He squeezes. "Just... be okay."

When his phone rings, dumped and forgotten on the other side of the room, he isn't quite sure how to let go. Like the ligaments in his hand have cemented in place, forgotten the muscle memory to make the movements happen.

When the second call comes through, Cas mumbles something. Dean's shoulder slack, and he pulls his hands back, clammy and with a slight tremor.

It's Sam. There's a small tug of guilt — he should've called him the moment he put Cas down. He knows he would've been worried sick if Sam was the one that had to go.

Sam's relieved too, promises to buy stuff for dinner on his way back from where Dean went in the Empty about fifty miles out. And he must hear something in his voice, because he stresses to go watch a movie or something and let Cas sleep it off.

Of course he's right. They knew Cas would be out cold. But leaving the room is still hard, and he lingers in the doorway until he gets a good look at Miracle's mess of tangled fur.

He hasn't brushed her hair, since that's practically what the fur is, in weeks.

"C'mon girl."

He grabs the brush from the bedside table, casts on last look at Cas, and takes Miracle to the TV room.

She hops on the couch next to him, tail thumping with excitement.

"You wanna get pretty to meet Cas later?"

She nuzzles his hand, sticks her nose against the brush, and a little bit of the stress from today lightens up.

He flips on some netflix show about baking food, and talks to Miracle as he starts in on her snout.

It's ritualistic to touch on whatevers going on with her, at this point.

As her fur smooths, he tells her about the Empty. Its piss-poor lighting, the mind boggling way directions work, how it has this awful burnt-licorice and gasoline stench clung to the nothingness of its everything.

It kinda makes his head hurt.

Almost two full episodes in, he has all her fur neat and tidy, and his little monologue has circled back to Cas. She'd know a lot about him if she could talk.

"It's hard to believe he's really back. And — and maybe it'll be good. We could, I dunno, get you a yard?" He nods, smiles. "Yeah, I bet your spoiled ass would like that. The bunker ain't a place for pets."

Miracle leaps from the couch, and someone clears their throat from the door.

Cas stands in the doorway, hunched in on himself. Dark strands of hair twist up in random directions, and the casual clothes Dean left him fit snugly.

He looks... comfortable. Like he slipped into humanity ages ago, not this afternoon.

"Cas."

He tilts his lips up, tight and sheepish. "I see you have a dog now."

"Yeah. Miracle. She uh — she helped me." He motions vaguely to his head. "Might not be batting a hundred up here if not for her."

Cas glances down at her, and the tense smile softens. "I'm very grateful then."

Almost reverent, he scratches the side of her ear.

Dean shakes his head. Blinks. Two things he never thought he'd see side by side mixed with the insanity of the day make none of this seem real.

Deep breath.

"She can — she can be there for you too," Dean says. "If you need it. Dogs are great listeners. Even the Madonna types like this one."

Cas gives a contemplative hum. "They are both blonde."

He puffs a breath of air. It's easy to forget Cas actually knows what he's talking about now, sometimes. Even if he does still miss the point by a mile.

"It was your turn."

Cas raises an eyebrow.

"To, uh, pick a movie." He motions to the seat next to him. "If you want."

Cas runs his bottom lip between his teeth and doesn't look at Dean. Doesn't say anything either. Just nods, walks over, and sinks into the couch.

It's a respectable distance. Close enough Dean would be able to sense him, far enough away they won't touch.

Miracle curls up on the other side of Cas, head flopped on his lap, right next to his balled up hands.

"Is it over?" His voice is small.

Dean doesn't have to ask. "Chuck isn't aproblem anymore." Cas sighs, slinks down bonelessly into the cushions. "We figured it out, took his powers. Jack's fixing up Heaven with it. Says he's gunna do that, find a way to put Amara back together, and then come home."

"Good. I don't think I'm up to fighting standards." He rolls his head to the side. They're close enough Dean can make out each muscle in his neck when he swallows. "You didn't have to save me, Dean. I'd — made peace with that fate."

It's bullshit. It's bullshit and Cas has to know it. He almost tells him a much, but if he can't have that talk now, then he never will.

He licks his lips. It doesn't help the dryness.

"Did you mean it?"

It's a dumb question, but one he needs answered.

Cas doesn't miss a beat. "That and more." The serenity in his words is endearing as it is cutting when he adds, "But we don't have to address it. I don't want to make you uncomfortable."

It's Dean's turn to melt with relief. "Good — that's good."

Cas winces. "I understand if you'd like some space —"

He starts to stand up, and panic seizes Dean's chest like a vice grip. He grabs his wrist and Cas freezes.

"No! God no. Cas, it — it wasn't supposed to happen like that."

He looks confused, before some amount of understanding smoothes out some of the worried lines in his face. His eyes flick down to Dean's mouth for an instant. "How was it supposed to happen, then?"

"I thought, maybe on a hunt? Or — I don't know. Just... " some place I could say it back.

Its not good enough, saying it without saying it. Cas gave a speech. He saved Dean's life, saved the god damn world. All without knowing.

He shakes his head. Starts again. He had enough practice between thoughts he couldn't shove away and late night pet-therapy. "I thought you knew. Hell, I've been scared everyone knows. And if they did, you did too, right?"

"Subtly isn't always my strongest suit."

He laughs, and it's almost on the wrong side of sane. "Don't I know it."

He can do direct.

Slow enough that Cas has time to pull back, he runs his hand up his arm, cradles it against the back of Cas' neck. He leans across the small distance and kisses him.

It's clumsy and unsure, and Cas places a skittish hand on Dean's side like he's not sure what he's allowed to have even now, but their lips mesh together in a way that feels better than anything he can remember.

When they part, he's not sure either one of them are breathing. And he can't look at Cas, not when he says it. Not yet. So he presses their foreheads together, keeps his eyes fully lidded.

"I don't know how you could think you aren't worth saving. You — you're it for me."

"Dean —"

He shakes his head, and the tips of their noses brush. "I love you more than I know what to do with. You know that right?"

Bewildered, Cas says, "I didn't."

"Yean, well. Now you do."

He scoots back in place, flushed firm against the cushion. Their hands tangle together, and their knees are touching, and it's too much and not enough. But mostly not enough. Dean dares a glance over. Cas is staring at their hands, a pleased smile on his face.

And they're on the same page.

"I think you said something about a yard when I walked in?"

Instead of answering he says, "We should retire. I'm too old for this shit."

"Entirely?"

Dean shrugs. "A hunt here and there wouldn't hurt I guess."

"We'll talk about it later." He reaches over him, grabs the remote. "I think you said it was my turn?"

Dean grins, full and toothy. "Yeah, just no more romcoms, dude. I can only take so many."

Cas nods, curt and serious. "Of course."

He does anyway, and it's the best shitty movie Dean's ever seen.

#destiel secret santa #sorry this is being posted so late in the day!!!#my internets broken at the moment so it was very difficult to get it up #and i also couldnt run it through any spelling/grammer checkers #hopefully theres nothing atrociously wrong with it #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic

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nicknellie · 4 years ago

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Anonymous requested: Can I request a one bed trope for willex?

Oh, you absolutely can request that! I’m a sucker for this trope and I think this is my second time ever writing it (first for this fandom) so this was a lot of fun to get into. Thank you for the request, anon!

Champagne and Roses

Alex was never trusting Luke to book a hotel again. There was a reason Flynn handled admin for the band despite not being in it, and that reason was that all the actual bandmates were useless at it. Still, Luke had found a hotel that he had described as “super insane, like bro, it’ll be awesome, I promise” and had insisted on being the one to book it so nobody had the surprise of what was so good about it ruined for them. But it looked like Alex was set to reap the consequences.

Technically, Julie and the Phantoms were on tour, but what they were really using the opportunity for was something more akin to a road trip with just their nearest and dearest. Alex, Luke, Julie, and Reggie were there to attend their shows and meet-and-greets, Flynn had come along as their manager, but Carrie and Willie were also tagging along for the fun of it. So far they had stopped off at six different venues around North America, and they were on their way to the seventh, namely the hotel Luke was so pumped about.

He hadn’t stopped talking about it since they’d got in the tour bus the previous night, and it was starting to drive Alex a little insane. He was sat on one of the bus’s plush sofas with a cushion clamped over his ears as he tried to drown Luke’s voice out, but it wasn’t working all too well. Sat next to him, Willie was clearly trying not to laugh at him.

“I know I said I wouldn’t tell you guys anything about the hotel,” Luke was saying, the biggest grin plastered across his face, “but just wait until you see the pool. It’s gigantic, and there’s like a thousand slides. And Reggie, bro, you’re gonna love the breakfast buffet they set out, from the photos on their website it looks like they’ve got literally everything.”

“It sounds expensive,” Flynn called from the front seat, sat between Julie (who was taking her turn at driving the bus) and Carrie, who was somehow managing to paint her nails immaculately in a moving vehicle on the highway. “If you’ve blown the band’s budget on a hotel, Luke Patterson, I’m going to hop back there and murder you.”

“It wasn’t that expensive,” Luke said, looking sheepish. Still, Flynn’s threat shut him up a little – Alex decided it was probably better not to ask how much Luke had spent on the booking. “Besides, I saved money by booking shared rooms instead of individual ones.”

That grabbed Alex’s attention. If ever they were away as a band they shared rooms – Alex would buddy up with Luke and Reggie, and Julie and Flynn would be together – but this time there were two extra people in the mix, and Alex didn’t really see how it would work having Willie and Carrie share a room when they hardly spoke to each other outside of this kind of setting.

“Who’s with who?” Alex asked, removing the cushion from his ears and setting it down next to him. A moment later, Willie reached across Alex’s midriff, plucked the pillow from the sofa, and put it behind his own head, laying back comfortably. Alex’s pretended that he wasn’t blushing profusely at the brief touch.

“Well, we can probably change it if we want to once we get there, but I’m with Julie, Flynn and Carrie are together, Reggie’s got a room to himself, and you’re with Willie.”

Alex had no idea how to react. The moment Luke had spoken, his mind had imploded. At every other hotel they’d stayed at so far, everyone had got their own room, purely to give themselves some alone time because they were spending every minute of every day together on the tour and it could get a little suffocating. To go from that to sharing a room with Willie of all people?

Luke had to have known what he was doing. He knew how Alex felt about Willie, so this plan had to have been formed in the deep dark corner of his brain that was designated for doomed matchmaking. It wasn’t like Alex had never shared a room with Willie before, but they had always chosen to, it had never been forced upon them like this. He couldn’t help but wonder what Willie made of it, if his heart was hammering the same way Alex’s was, if the thought of sharing a room made him giddy and nauseous all at the same time too.

He cast a quick, careful glance in Willie’s direction, only to see that his expression had remained completely unchanged, which was unhelpful. Complete neutrality could mean anything. Still, Alex supposed it was better than Willie looking annoyed or disgusted or downright angry at the thought of sharing a room together.

This was silly, Alex told himself. He had shared a room with Willie before, they’d had the occasional sleepover and it had always been lovely. There was no reason that this time should be any different. He tried to calm himself, school his features into something resembling nonchalance.

“Alex,” Reggie said, sounding concerned, “are you feeling travel-sick again? You look like you’re about to vomit all over Willie.”

Apparently nonchalance hadn’t worked.

Alex seized the opportunity. “A little bit of fresh air might be nice,” he said.

Julie pulled over a minute or so later and Alex hopped out of the tour bus. They had pulled off the highway a while back and were now on a much smaller road lined with tall hedges and completely deserted except for their bus. Alex let a gentle wind wash over his flushed face, closed his eyes, and let himself calm down a bit.

It would be fine.

“Hey,” came a voice behind him, startling him. Alex jumped and looked to see Willie stood beside him, his hair blowing elegantly behind him. Not for the first time, Alex wondered how he managed to look like an angel constantly. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Alex replied, trying to smile. “The roads were getting a little twisty. I’ll just take a minute to cool off. I’m fine, though.”

He leaned back against the cool metal of the tour bus and felt Willie do the same. He could feel Willie’s side pressed against his and his heart starting beating faster at the slight contact. Their fingers brushed gently together and Alex felt a smile tugging at his lips.

“If you don’t want to share a room with me, that’s fine,” Willie said. He rushed the words out as if he didn’t really want to say them, avoiding eye contact until he’d finished speaking. Then he turned to look at Alex – Alex was bad at reading expressions at the best of times, and all he could make out of Willie’s right then was something close to nervousness. He just couldn’t pinpoint why.

“No,” he assured Willie quickly, “I don’t mind. I do. I do want to share with you, I mean. It’s cool. We’re cool.”

“You sure?” Willie asked, sounding unconvinced. “Because the moment Luke mentioned it you freaked.”

Alex felt himself blush faintly. “No, I told you, it was just the roads getting too twisty. I’m not worried about sharing with you, if that’s what you think.”

“So we’re okay?”

“Of course.”

“Great,” Willie said. He beamed, and Alex couldn’t help but smile back. It was impossible not to smile when Willie did. “I’m going to head back onto the bus. Take as long as you need – I don��t think any of us want to clean up after you again.”

“That was one time and it was four years ago,” Alex protested, though he couldn’t help but smile at Willie’s teasing. At that, any nerves he’d had were gone; how could he be worried about being with Willie when doing just that was so easy? “I’ll come back in a minute.”

As Willie disappeared back onto the bus, Alex closed his eyes and leaned his head back again. His panic was replaced with butterflies in his stomach, silly with excitement at the thought of what the night might hold. Not much, he reminded himself, it was just sharing a room with a friend. Still, he suddenly couldn’t wait.

To Luke’s credit, the hotel was amazing. They arrived there in the late afternoon, checked in, and had their luggage taken up to their rooms for them, leaving them free to explore the hotel. The pool looked bigger than the actual building, with six different slides, people zooming out of them gleefully every few moments. They found the restaurant, which was currently preparing for dinner, and the smells wafting from the kitchen were to die for. There were bikes to hire (Julie suggested a group bike ride which led to mixed responses from the others, ranging from Reggie’s immediate enthusiasm to Carrie stating monotonously that she’d rather do literally anything else), an enormous duck pond nearby, and a small cinema which that night was showing some generic action film Alex had never heard of. Overall, Luke had really outdone himself with the booking.

They busied themselves for the rest of the evening, splashing about in the pool (or, in the case of Alex, Willie, and Carrie, relaxing by the side of the pool on the sun-loungers) and spending far too long in the mini arcade that Reggie had stumbled across. Luke hadn’t been wrong about the food either – the staff set out an enormous buffet that had every food Alex could think of. Alex tried to stick to a regular meal because mixing so many different foods felt strange, but Luke’s plate was piled with pizza, curry, and a slab of chocolate cake.

The evening had been so hectic and jam-packed that by the time Alex and Willie bade farewell to the others, he had almost forgotten all his whirring thoughts surrounding the shared room. But by then he was too full and tired to be too bothered anyway. It was just sharing a room with Willie – what could go wrong?

Willie pushed open the door to room seventy-three and entered ahead of Alex, flicking the lights on as he went. Alex was exhausted and his vision slightly blurred as his eyes kept closing, but he could still make out that this room was nothing short of luxurious. There were chocolates on the pillow, complementary tea and biscuits, a bottle of champagne cooling in a bucket of ice, a vase of roses, a flat-screen TV so big it looked as if it would fall off the wall, and a gorgeous king-size bed with rich red satin sheets.

It took Alex far too long to realise that there was something a little off.

He looked around again. Chocolate pillows, tea, biscuits – that was fine, that was normal. Flat-screen TV – expensive, but every hotel room he’d ever stayed at had a television. But champagne, roses, only one bed… Alex felt the pieces click in his mind.

“This is a couples room,” he said.

He was never letting Luke book a hotel ever again.

Willie looked just as bewildered as Alex felt. They had both frozen in the doorway when they saw the room, but now Willie headed in cautiously, picking up the champagne and one rose as if trying to work out whether they were real. He smoothed down the bedsheets, not that they were rumpled, and then turned back to Alex. His expression was infuriatingly neutral and hard to read again.

“Yep,” he agreed, “definitely.”

Alex carefully followed him into the room and looked around. Those old nerves about sharing a room with Willie came back – if they had to share this space then surely it was going to be incredibly awkward. Especially since they weren’t even dating.

“Do you think there’s been some sort of mix-up?” he asked, eyeing the singular bed. It looked invitingly comfortable, and Alex was knackered. He wanted nothing more than to just crawl in and sleep beside Willie as the room was clearly telling them to do. But he couldn’t do that, not if Willie wasn’t comfortable with it, not if there had been a mistake.

“I don’t know,” Willie said, shrugging. “It’s definitely the right room, otherwise the key wouldn’t have worked. I could go and ask at reception if there’s a different room, if you like? With two beds?”

There was something in the way Willie said it that caught Alex’s attention, but he couldn’t identify what it was. But he could see that Willie was watching him carefully, looking for all the world like all he wanted was to make sure the night went well. He thought, Alex realised with a start, that Alex wouldn’t want to share a bed with him. It nearly made Alex laugh, but his nerves stopped him.

He did want to share the bed, but the idea terrified him.

He shrugged, trying to seem indifferent. “If you want. It’s up to you, I don’t mind.”

“You sound like you mind,” Willie countered.

“I don’t.”

They stared at each other for a minute or two, sizing one another up. Alex didn’t want to seem like the idea of sharing a bed with Willie made him uncomfortable, but equally he didn’t want to seem too eager. He wasn’t sure what the middle ground was – indifference maybe? But if he seemed like he didn’t care at all then it could look like he simply didn’t feel one way or the other about Willie.

He decided he was reading too much into it, worrying about it too much. So he was the one to break the silence.

“I don’t mind sharing a bed with you, Willie,” he said. “It’s late and I’m exhausted, I could sleep anywhere right now. And I’m sure you don’t really want to go all the way back downstairs just to ask if they have another room. It won’t make any difference. We can share a bed – we’ll be fine.”

Willie blinked, seeming surprised, but then he smiled lightly. Alex felt his heart flutter despite his exhaustion – it was incredible how Willie could have that effect on him no matter what.

“Okay, hotdog,” Willie agreed, nodding resolutely. Just with the use of the nickname, any tension in the room dissipated. Suddenly they were just two guys about to share a bed and it was completely fine. “You’re right. Let’s get some sleep.”

They took turns getting ready for bed in the bathroom (which was far bigger than a bathroom had any business being, Alex thought) and eventually settled down into the bed, side by side, plenty of room between the two of them. Though the day had been hot, the night had turned cold, and the satin sheets were doing very little to keep them warm. Alex burrowed further into the covers, pulling them up to his chin and trying to settle himself. He was still a little nervous, it would have been impossible to be completely chilled out about the whole situation, but he was too tired to really notice.

There was total silence for a few minutes before Willie quietly said, “You talk in your sleep sometimes.”

Alex turned to his right to face him. Willie was laying on his side, facing Alex, one hand under his head on the pillow and the other hidden by the duvet. The top he wore was oversized and revealed most of his collarbone, his hair was mussed as it spilled out over the pillow, and he had the sweetest little smile on his tired face. Alex, heart hammering, mirrored his position without realising he was doing it, but he did register that his movement brought them much closer together.

“Do I?” he asked, voice low and hushed.

Willie giggled gently, nodding. “Yeah. I’ve heard you on some of our sleepovers.”

“What do I say?”

“Nonsense, mainly,” Willie told him. “But sometimes you talk about the band, that’s always sweet. It’s a change from you calling Luke and Reggie annoying so often. And it’s nice to know you love them really.”

Alex grinned. “Of course I love them. They’re my brothers and Julie’s my sister. Although I am still annoyed at Luke for this whole thing.”

Willie’s expression changed abruptly, from amused to… what was that? Hurt? Had Alex said something wrong without realising it? Oh god, had he just changed the tone of the situation back to awkward?

“I thought you were okay with this,” Willie said. His voice was a different kind of quiet. Small now in a way it hadn’t been before.

“I am,” Alex said quickly. “I’m more than okay with this.”

“Then why are you still angry at Luke?”

“Because he knows how I–”

He stopped himself abruptly. He knows how I feel about you. That had been what he was about to say. The late hour had loosened his tongue and he had almost ruined everything. He stopped, changed course, started again.

“He knows how I get nervous about this kind of thing. If I’d been sharing a room with him and Reg like normal then there wouldn’t have been this whole problem.”

“Why is sharing with me a problem?” Willie asked, brow furrowed in confusion. “Would you have been like this if we were just sharing a room, not a bed?”

Alex opened his mouth but couldn’t think of anything to reply with that wouldn’t prompt further questions. He couldn’t see this night ending well for him at all. It was barely midnight and already he had offended Willie by saying the wrong thing. How was he meant to carry on from this?

“I wouldn’t have been so worried if there were two beds,” he admitted slowly. Willie deflated, nodded, curled into himself slightly. It broke Alex’s heart. “But it’s not because I don’t want to share a bed with you.”

“Then what is it?” Willie asked pleadingly. “Just tell me, Alex – whatever the reason is, it won’t change anything between us. I won’t hate you or anything like that. Just tell me what’s on your mind.”

Alex couldn’t help wondering from that if Willie had already guessed. And if he had then there was no point in pretending anymore. Perhaps he wouldn’t have done it if he hadn’t been so tired, his brain working so slowly, but he made his decision then and didn’t back down.

Willie’s hand had come out from beneath the covers and was now resting in the space between them on the mattress. Alex placed his hand over it and linked their fingers. He heard Willie gasp quietly and didn’t stop to think whether that was a good or bad sign.

“Luke knows how I feel about you,” Alex said. His voice wavered nervously and he couldn’t look Willie in the eye, but he still felt a thrill knowing that he was finally saying this, taking an enormous weight off his shoulders. “He knows that I’ve liked you for as long as I’ve known you. He knows how much this could mean to me, but also how nervous I’d be. I don’t know if you feel the same way, Willie. If this is weird or I’m out of order or anything like that then you can tell me to stop talking. I was just nervous because Luke did this, got me this close, without telling me about it and it threw me off. You threw me off. I’m sorry if I’ve upset you or made you uncomfortable. But that’s what’s on my mind.”

Alex finally took his eyes of his and Willie’s interlinked fingers to look Willie in the eye. Willie’s eyes were sparkling, an incredulous half-smile on his face. Alex took that as a good sign.

“Really?” Willie asked.

Alex swallowed heavily and nodded once. “Really.”

Willie said nothing. He just used their intertwined hands to pull himself closer to Alex and rest his head on his chest. Alex was glad his heart was on the other side of his chest, otherwise Willie would have been able to hear how fast it was beating. Willie had thrown an arm over Alex’s waist, holding him close, so Alex’s wrapped his around Willie’s back. He felt Willie sigh contentedly, and on a burst of confidence he pressed the lightest kiss possible to the top of Willie’s head.

“Does this mean you like me too?” Alex asked. He was fairly certain, but it was always good to double check.

Willie chuckled and Alex felt his heart swell with love. “Yeah. I like you too, hotdog.”

“So the couples room worked out after all, I guess,” he joked.

Willie tilted his head to look up at Alex, looking for all the world like an angel on Earth.

“Definitely,” he agreed. “But I think we finally use this bed for its real purpose and get some sleep.”

“Goodnight, Willie.” Alex reached over and flicked off the little bedside lamp, plunging them into total darkness.

“Goodnight, Alex.”

Taglist (if you want to be added or removed just let me know): @ace-bookworm @williexmercer @willex-owns-my-heart @itstiger720 @the-reckless-and-the-brave @that-one-newsie @bluedarkness @lookingthroughmirrors @tmp-jatp @salty-star @julieandthequeers @lmaohuh @sunnysbright @sylphrenas

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