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sunflowerdarlingx · 4 years ago

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Fred Weasley - “Fred doesn’t date” 3

H everyone, I hope you’re all okay!

PART ONE

PART TWO

Thank you all for the kind comments on the previous parts of this imaine. I post these chapters before I go to sleep and waking up to all your lovely comments and messages really give me the best start to the day.

This is the final part to this series. I’ve had a lot more interaction with people from this story so if anyone would like to request a piece please let me know :)

I hope you all liked the ending, it’s a bit longer than I thought but hopefully its what you all wanted x

Female Reader.

Warnings: None

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Fred felt his chest get tight, the sound of her voice alone made his heart ache. He felt the overwhelming need to cry again, tears threatening to spill whilst a lump formed in his throat. Fuck she can’t see me like this.

His body urged him to look at her, he sucked a deep breath in and turned his head to look at her, shit she looks so fucking cute. She was stood in a pair of shorts and one of Fred’s hoodies with a blanket wrapped around her loosely. Her hair was messy, and her glasses were resting a little low on her nose before she pushed them up.

His eyes trailed down her body, he felt a small sense of pride seeing her in his hoodie, like he had some sort of claim on her when she wore it. Take that perfect Diggory, she likes my clothes better. I wonder if she wears it when she’s with him?

Fred hadn’t realised how long he’d been staring for, “I..if not I’ll just go, sorry Freddie, for interrupting” Y/N turned on her heels, tears blurring her vision before he made a noise. A sort of squeak left his mouth before he cleared his throat “it’s okay, you can join me”, his hand patted the spot next to him.

She patted her hand on the grass to make sure it wasn’t wet before sitting beside Fred. The sat in silence for a bit before Y/N decide to speak, “I’m sorry Freddie, I’m not really sure what I’ve done but I’m sorry if I’ve upset you. I don’t like seeing you upset… especially if I’m the one who caused it” her voice broke and Fred looked down at her, even sitting down he still towered over her slightly.

He wrapped his arm around her shoulder “don’t worry about it” a fake smile took over his face. He wanted to tell her how much he wanted her, he really did but she was with Diggory now.

“W..what did I do Freddie?” Her voice was a hushed whisper as she leaned her head on his shoulder. Fred looked down at her, internally battling himself about what he should say. He wanted to tell her, he hoped she would change her mind, but if he told her, would she leave him? She had become one of his closest friends, the thought of not having her in his life at all was a thought he wanted to have.

Fuck it.

“I em…I saw you and Diggory, outside the kitchens”, that statement alone filled his body with anger as it replayed in his head, Diggory making her laugh, touching her, kissing her. His body tensed beside her, he removed his arm from her shoulders, his jaw clenched and he averted his gaze back up to the sky, sending the moon a deadly glare.

“Oh…that was nothing” Y/N noticed the shift in Fred, she couldn’t help but admire him in that moment, the way the moon reflected on his skin, the way his jaw tensed and honestly she thought he looked sexy.

Fred averted his gaze back to her and watched her closely, the way her eyes skimmed his body, “didn’t look like nothing to me” his voice was cold.

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly, shocked at his tone, “it didn’t mean anything Freddie” she placed her and on his shoulder, “it just sort of happened”.

“Well I heard you were very cosy behind me at dinner so it must have meant something” he shrugged her hand off his shoulder. He usually loved having her touch him but he was angry, so fucking angry.

He wondered what had happened once he left, for all he knows the exact same hands that were touching him had been all over Diggory. That then lead to him thinking about Diggory having his hands all over Y/N, touching her and holding her all the ways that Fred wished he could have done.

Y/N was close to getting up and leaving, she was hurt by Fred’s words, why did he hate Cedric so much? So what if they kissed? Then realisation hit, “Freddie, are you jealous?”, his head shot down to face her.

“No, I don’t get jealous” he stated. Shifting slightly, his eyes were dark as they stared into hers, his jaw still tense.

“Yes you are” she chuckled lightly “you’re jealous because Cedric kissed me”.

Fred groaned, his chest heaved slightly whilst the moment replayed in his head again “ugh don’t remind me, you shouldn’t have kissed him”

“Why?” her perfect doe eye looked up at him through her glasses, batting her eyelashes as innocence filled her eyes.

“Don’t act like you don’t know” he grunted and looked back up to the sky.

“Well Freddie I don’t know, why shouldn’t I kiss Cedric?”

“Cause you should be kissing me Y/N, not Cedric! For the last god knows how many weeks we’ve spend so much time together, a lot more than you and perfect Diggory have and you still chose him! We’ve been on dates down to Hogsmeade, spent nights cuddled up sleeping in the common room and even talked about spending Christmas together! Like what on earth went through that pretty little head of yours when you decided to kiss him? Is he really that much better than me?” Fred’s whole body had turned to Y/N, his eyes pleading with her for some sort of explanation as to why she chose Diggory.

She smiled slightly “Freddie, did you ever actually state that those were dates or ever ask me to go on a date with you?”

His eyes widened “no, I thought it was fairly obvious what they were” he huffed.

She turned to the side and sat up on her knees, “how many girls have you taken on dates from school?”.

The question shocked Fred, why was she asking about other girls?

“None, I don’t date girls”

“So, why did you think I would just assume they were dates?”, Y/N was confused, she never really thought Fred would like her like that, obviously what she was told today gave her a hint but she never knew what to think about the dates, she could only hope they meant as much to Fred as they did her.

Fred couldn’t come up with an answer, he sat with his mouth open and closing like a fish out of water for a minute and a half, “it wasn’t obvious?”.Y/N shook her head no. “Well what did you thunk they were?” he was so curious as to how she never figured out they were dates.

“Well I… I mean I thought we were just hanging out. I kinda hoped they were dates but you don’t exactly have the reputation for dating do you Freddie? I kinda just always thought I was like Angelina or Katie or Alicia. I always wanted to ask but I was scared, I didn’t want to lose you as a friend”

Fred couldn’t believe what he was hearing, was his reputation really that bad? I mean just because everyone knew he didn’t date didn’t mean he never dated anyone. “Oh” was all that left his mouth.

“Yeah, oh” Y/N chuckled as she watched Fred’s brows knit together as his thoughts took over.

They sat in silence for a few minutes before Fred decided to speak “so, say if you knew they were like… official dates, would you have kissed Diggory?”

“Of course I wouldn’t have” she shook her head quickly.

“Would you have kissed me instead?” A cheeky grin took over Fred’s face.

“If I knew they were dates I would have kissed you the first night we came out here” she giggled and Fred couldn’t help but grin.

“So what’s going on with you and Diggory then?” Even saying his name pissed Fred off.

“Nothing, he kissed me and then sat with me at dinner out of the blue, I’d hardly call that dating”.

“What about me and you? Are we…you know…dating? Just since we’ve agreed that we have been on plenty of dates” he emphasised plenty as he chuckled at her.

“Well that’s up to you Freddie, I thought you didn’t date” she teased, poking his chest.

“I don’t date, unless I know the girl is right for me and someone I can see a future with so…”

“You see a future with me?” She interrupted him mid sentence.

“Of course I do, the second I laid my eyes on you, I knew you were special. You literally took my breath away that day on the train, I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone as beautiful as you. And these last few weeks…months, have only shown me how well we work together. Seeing you every morning in the hall just makes me feel so.. so good, and then when we are alone it’s like no one else exists. I’ve never felt this way about anyone, I’ve had my guard up for so long, sticking with people I know and am comfortable around and then you came along and the walls I’d built up crumbled. I’ve told you things that not even George knows. I just can’t explain it, I think that if I lost you now I’d be lost.”

A few tears slipped down Y/N’s cheek whilst Fred spoke. He looked back up at the stars and wrapped his arm around her waist beside him.

“Of course I can see a future with you, I picture it all the time. We’d have our own little house out in the country and a massive garden where the kids could play quidditch or some muggle sport that you’d get them into and we’d have a good space for outside summer parties like what we have at the burrow. Our kids would each have their own room so they didn’t have to share like George and I and they’d be little pranksters like me but just as smart and talented as you. oh and we’d have a dog, mum never let me have one …”

“We’d have kids?” Y/N’s soft voice brought Fred back to reality.

He looked down at her “of course we would” he smiled “and we’d have a big wedding, like what Bill and Fleur are planning but we’d have to wait a bit after school before all that started”

“Wow…you’ve really thought all this through Freddie” she giggled “so now that I know all about the future that you have planned for us, what do we do now?”

Fred gave her a puzzled look raising his eyebrows whilst he raked his brain for an answer. “Uh….”

Y/N laughed “shouldn’t you ask me something?”

“Oh yeah right, I forgot. Would you like to go on a a date with me?”.

Y/N frowned slightly, Fred’s eyes widened “what did I do something wrong?”

“No..it’s just… never mind. I’d love to go on a date with you” She smiled up to him, cuddling into his side. As much as she would have loved the official title of being his she would wait as long as it took.

He pulled her blanket away from her and wrapped it around him. “Oi Freddie that’s mine, give it back” she giggled as she tried to pull the blanket back from him. Fred stretched his arm and held the blanket away from her, she got on her knees and leaned over Fred trying to get it. She placed her knees at either side of his thighs as she tried to reach over.

She finally gave up and rested in his lap, “Freddie it’s cold” she pouted. Fred’s breath caught in his throat as he looked down at the position they were in. His eyes looked at her lips, then her eyes and then her lips again. God he wanted to kiss her, he wanted to see how it felt.

Y/N leaned forward and placed her lips on Fred, he was surprised that she initiated the kiss but quickly responded, his hands dropped her blanket and went to her hips and pulled her closer to him, making sure his hands didn’t sit to low. His tongue glided across her bottom lip asking for entrance which she gladly excepted, their lips moving in perfect harmony.

Y/N couldn’t help but think about how right this felt, Cedric was nothing compared to Fred, as cliché as it sounds she saw fireworks and butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

Fred had never had a kiss this good, in all honesty he never really kissed the girls he had sex with, it just made the encounter far to intimate for him. But kissing Y/N felt amazing, he loved being so close to her. He pulled back and rested his forehead against hers “I hope you know you’re mine now”, Y/N nodded eagerly before pulling him close for another kiss.

They spent the rest of the night cuddled up under the stars watching as the sun came out. They walked hand in hand to the castle and sat at the Gryffindor table for breakfast. George was the first to come down and see them sat together “ah no more tears over Y/N then Freddie, did you finally convince her to give you a chance?” he poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice.

“Yes Georgie he did” George choked on his juice slightly before grinning like the Cheshire Cat.

“Finally! It’s taken you both long enough, sorry for the glares yesterday Y/N, they were mainly at Diggory, I just don’t like seeing Fred upset”.

Y/N just shrugged before smiling at George “It’s okay Georgie, I don’t like seeing him upset either” she laughed and took a bite of the strawberry she was eating.

The rest of Fred’s friends came down, congratulating the two for finally getting together. Ginny came and sat with them, a big grin on her face. “All worked out in the end then ay Freddie” she teased as she ruffled his hair, “you made the right choice Y/N, perfect diggory is nothing compared to our Freddie”.

Fred rolled his eyes as Y/N chuckled “you’re right about that”. They ate their breakfast in peace, Fred noticed Cedric come in and pulled Y/N close for a passionate kiss, all of his friends whooping and cheering making sure everyone’s eyes were drawn to them. They both pulled away, Y/N blushing and burying her head in Fred’s chest.

Ron came over just as they were leaving “here’s the letter to mum gin, just Fred and George left to say if they’re taking anyone home for Christmas” he handed the parchment to George who lazily scribbled Lee’s name down with a little message before handing it to Fred.

“Do you still want to come?” he looked down to Y/N whilst everyone else engaged in conversation, “If you want me to come I’m there” she smiled up at him and watched him scribble on the parchment.

Hi mum,

I hope you and dad are good, I miss you both.

I’m going to take my girlfriend home for Christmas, her name is Y/N Y/L/N, give her a sweater that would fit me please – she keeps stealing mine!

See you soon.

Love, Freddie x

He handed the letter back to Ginny before pulling Y/N away from the table, “time for our first date as official boyfriend and Girlfriend” he smirked before leading her to one of the secret passages to Hogsmeade.

Having his girlfriend at the burrow for Christmas was everything Fred wanted and more. He never realised how much he had missed out on. They spent their days cuddled up on the couch watching old films whilst drinking hot chocolate, or out in the snow sledding or building snowmen. Every night was filled with more movies, games and of course Y/N reading muggle tales to Fred as they cuddled in front of the fire (although some of those tales were interrupted by mr Weasley who was so fascinated by the things muggles came up with in their stories).

It was Christmas Eve and all of the family were heading up to their rooms, Fred tugged Y/N over to the front door and slid her jacket over her shoulders before securing her hat to her head and tying her scarf loosely around her neck. “Get on your boots cutie, I’ve got a surprise”. As Y/N got on her wellies, Mrs Weasley came over with a basket in hand.

“Everything you asked for Freddie” she popped it on the floor, “good night dearie, Freddie is so lucky to have found you” she wrapped her arms around Y/N, she did the same to Fred after he was ready. Walking over to the stairs she stopped and turned on her heels “remember when you get back to go to your separate rooms, I’m not ready to be a grandmother just yet” with a wink she made her way up the stairs.

“She’s honestly something else” Fred chuckled taking Y/N’s hand in his and leading her out to the garden.

“I think she’s great”

Fred used his wand to conjure up a seating area for the two of them and a little fire in front of them. In the basket was blankets, two mugs, a flask of hot chocolate and some marshmallows.

“Freddie this looks great” Y/N couldn’t help but smile at Fred, she was so lucky to have him.

He grabbed her wrist and looked at her watch, “five minutes to go” he wrapped a blanket around them both before getting the hot chocolate for them.

He wrapped an arm around them as they watched the stars “they look so much prettier here than they do at school” Y/N looked up at Fred who was already watching her.

“You look just as pretty here as you do at school” he kissed her forehead. The clock struck midnight and suddenly fireworks started going off.

Red ones, green ones, white ones, ones in the shape of Santa, ones in the shape of snowmen, Y/N couldn’t look away from them, they were beautiful. Suddenly the fireworks made two figures, they showed two people that Y/N recognised very clearly, it was her and Fred sat in two chairs, the scene sort of reminded her of the times they spent in the library. Next showed the two of them near a circle of blue, this reminded her of all the times they’d spent at the black lake.

Finally the fireworks showed them kissing and “merry Christmas Y/N” was spelt above them, with “I love you” underneath.

Y/N gasped as she looked over at Fred, a few tears had escaped her eyes and Fred softly wiped his thumb across her cheek, smiling down at her. “Do you really?” She asked in disbelief.

“I love you” he placed a kiss to her lips, slow and gentle before pulling back. Y/N was practically grinning from ear to ear “I love you too Freddie”. They sat outside a little longer continuously saying those three special words to each other. They made their way back inside, sitting on the couch for a cuddle before bed. “Merry Christmas Freddie” Y/N yawned and cuddled into his chest.

“Merry Christmas cutie” he kissed her forehead, his eyes shut.

They woke up the next morning to Mrs Weasley standing above them “I said separate rooms” she said sternly before breaking out into a smile “merry Christmas you two” she kissed both of their foreheads before going into the kitchen.

Fred and Y/N were the first ones up, when they joined her in the kitchen they both apologies only to be waved off my Molly.

Soon it was time for presents, everyone received a jumper from Mrs Weasley and she followed Fred’s instructions, ensuring the jumper with Y/N’s initial was the same size as Fred’s.

Fred and Y/N left opening each other’s presents until last. Y/N got Fred a new beater for quidditch, some sweeties from honeydukes and a big teddy in the shape of a dog, “I know how much you’ve always wanted one” she winked. Fred grinned from ear to ear as he showed off his new bat to George.

It was now Y/N’s turn, there was a small box on the floor with her name on it, she carefully took off the wrapping paper and opened the box to reveal the most beautiful bracelet she had ever seen, there was a W charm attached with a broom and a star either side. “Oh Freddie I love it, thank you so much!” she practically flew into Fred’s arms giving him a big cuddle and a kiss.

“I love you” he whispered into her ear.

“I love you too”

Tagged

@jenniweaslee @britishspidey @parkeroffline @westyywifee @gloryekaterina @pineapplesandpinas @manuosorioh @itsbebeyyy @nojamsonmytoast @blackqueens01 @mahvelous @supermassiveblackhope @justmesadgirl @fandomlovver

#Fred weasley imagine #Fred weasley smut #Fred weasley x reader

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marvelatthetwilight · 4 years ago

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Love from afar

Requested

Anonymous said:

Could you do an Embry Call imagine where he imprints but the person is already in a relationship so he just has to love from afar? Lots of angst!

“Hurry up Paul! I don’t want to be late! I’m already feeling nervy about going back to school and you are making this SO much worse!” Embry shouts up the stairs to his friend, tapping his foot and checking his watch.

“Oh calm down, stop being so dramatic!” Paul laughs as he walks down the stairs, flicking the side of his friend’s head as he walks past.

“Shit, forgot my pen, be right back!” He announces as he runs back up the stairs.

“Paul, we’re going to be late!”

Embry’s truck comes to a sudden stop at the edge of the parking lot and Paul’s head hits the dashboard with a thud. “What the hell!?” He shouts, rubbing his forehead.

“Y/N” Embry whispers, looking dreamily across the lot.

“Y/N? As in Y/N Y/LN?” Paul asks, glancing between Embry and Y/N in the distance.

“You’ve imprinted all the way from over here?” He laughs incredulously. “Wow”

“How is that even possible? I can’t even see her properly!” Embry asks, unable to take his eyes off Y/N, chatting to her friends.

“Must be a strong one. I mean...we only have Sam to base this on but I’m pretty sure he looked into Emily’s eyes to imprint.”

“I have to talk to her” Embry starts his truck again and moves quickly to find a space, quickly getting out and grabbing his bag.

“You know she has a boyfriend though?” Paul states as he closes the passenger door, Embry stopping in his tracks.

“What?” He turns around to Paul, his brow furrowed with worry. “Since when?”

“Erm...not long but she seems pretty loved up...” Paul gestures back to where Y/N is standing, when a tall guy with long, dark hair and a large backpack walks towards her wraps her in a hug and kisses the top of her hair gently.

A small whine escapes Embry’s mouth. “Oh...” He whispers.

3 weeks later

“So have you spoken to her yet?” Quil asks impatiently before taking a large bite of his sandwich.

Paul and Jared are sat at the other side of the table, engrossed in their own conversation, whilst Embry looks wistfully at Y/N who is sat two tables over. He sighs, resting his chin on his hands.

“I lent her a pen in geography. She said thank you and smiled at me. It was amazing.” Embry replies, not breaking contact with the other table.

“Yeah that sounds creepy. Stop staring.” Quil nudges his arm away, and Embry’s head hits the table.

Jared and Paul burst out laughing as Embry rubs his chin.

“That’s karma for me hitting my head on your car!” Paul claims and Jared nods in support.

“Come on Embry, let’s go talk to her, Kim sits next to her in physics and says she’s really friendly.” Jared suggests, waving at Kim in the lunch line, subtly pointing towards Y/N and Kim responds with a thumbs up.

“Kim will come with us.” He grabs Embry’s arm and pulls him up, dragging him towards Kim as she pays for her lunch.

“Are you ready Embry? No creepy comments please. Jared told me about the staring.” Kim laughs as Jared kisses her cheek.

She grabs his hand as they start walking towards Y/N’s table.

“Hey Y/N, can we join you?” She looks up at Kim and smiles, “Of course” she replies.

She looks to Kim’s left at Jared and nods in greeting before looking over at Embry. She frowns slightly as their eyes meet, her smile faltering for a brief second before she takes a deep breath and her bright twinkle returns.

“Embry?” She asks, gesturing towards Embry.

“Yeah uh, hi. How are you?” Embry rubs the back of his neck as he tries to think of something smart to say.

Kim and Jared start talking to one of Y/N’s friends to give them both some privacy, but Jared keeps one eye on Embry.

“I’m really good thanks. I don’t think we’ve spoken since we were like...6? Maybe? Do you remember? Our moms used to be best friends!” Her face lights up and hands become animated with excitement as she recalls their friendship. Embry’s face looks blank, but she is determined for him to remember.

“My dad made us our own assault course in my back yard, we used to pretend we were training for the army, just like him...” Embry thinks hard, then a flash of a memory appears in his mind, then another, then another.

“And watch movies with huge bowls of popcorn?” He asks.

“Yes!! You remember!” Her smile is infectious, and Embry can’t help but grin back at her, until a small cough beside him when he realises that they have just been smiling at each other for about a minute.

“Mom still asks about you. Asks how you and your mom are doing.” Y/N’s smile falters slightly as she looks at Embry sympathetically.

“Yeah well...mom is alright. We’re ok. Do you know why they stopped being friends?” Embry asks.

“Just grew apart I suppose. Wish we could’ve stayed friends though. It’s weird. It’s been so long but I feel like we never stopped being friends, like I could just talk to you about anything.” She frowns slightly in confusion, looking up at him, assessing his face, taking in every detail.

“I feel the same. Like we were always meant to be...friends” He finishes sadly, then catches eye of the guy from this morning heading towards them.

He stands next to Embry and tries to straighten up to make himself seem taller, he’s taller than average, but doesn’t even compare to Embry and Jared.

“Alex” He states, nodding at the other two boys.

“Embry. This is Jared” Embry replies as Jared nods in greeting, neither offering anything else to acknowledge him.

“Hey sexy, walk me to next class?” Alex asks as he holds out his hand to Y/N.

“Yeah let me just finish talking first” She replies, rolling her eyes.

“We should hang out some time Embry, my mom would LOVE to see you again.” She begins packing up her things before writing something on a piece of paper.

“My number” she says, as she hands Embry the paper, Alex’s eyes flash with anger. Embry smiles at her in return.

She picks up her bag and books, ignores Alex’s hand that he’s offering her and starts to walk away, Alex trailing behind as he shoots angry looks back at Embry.

“Well that went better than expected” Jared whispers.

“Yeah...it did.” Embry replies, looking at the piece of paper in his hand.

206-509-6995 Y/N ♥️

“I will just love her from afar. When she’s ready, I’ll be here.”

Quil gives Embry a sympathetic look, whilst Paul and Jared look disturbed.

They’re all leaning against Embry’s truck, with Embry looking lovingly across the parking lot at Y/N.

“Not in a creepy I’m waiting kind of way.”

“Yeah of course.” Paul says sarcastically as he flings an arm around Embry’s shoulders.

“Come on, let’s go for a run, blow off some of that creepy, unrequited love steam”

“I’m not creepy.” Embry insists.

“Keep telling yourself that!” Paul replies laughing.

Taglist:

@volturiwolf @wallwriterstuff @volturidoll13 @like-rain-or-confetti @moviequeen51 @raindancer2004 @officialfictionalwreck @megzdoodle @slasher-sweetie @reclusive-chicken-nugget @holl2712 @icarusinstatic @imdoingathingmom @fanfic-love-show @volturiwolf @awesomebooklover17 @clearwater-hoe @teampaul @fatiguing-thoughts

#twilight #twilight imagines #twilight x reader #paul lahote #jared cameron #embry call x reader #embry call imagine #embry call #quil ateara #wolfpack

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imaginary-portal · 3 years ago

Text

Neighbors - Part One

Bucky x Fem Reader

Word Count: ~2k

Summary: Y/N works in the Avengers compound with her boyfriend Jonathan. Bucky Barnes lives in the room next door and finds himself falling for Y/N.

Part Two

Masterlist

Enjoy!

_________

"Y/N? Are you with us?" Y/N snapped her head up. She didn't realize she was staring off into space. The recent sleep deprivation has been costly. So costly that occasionally she sleeps with her eyes open. This meeting was important to plan the attack for the next mission. "Yeah. Sorry." She looked around the room, embarrassed. Bucky Barnes shifted in his seat. Y/N sparked his curiosity. He'd noticed her when he first entered the room, but he wasn't sure why she was there. Half of the room was filled with Avengers, the other half was experts and strategists. "Any suggestions?" Tony asked her, testing her attention span. "I'll have to think on it." Y/N said casually. "How about we take a lunch break. Clear our minds. Meet back here in 30 minutes?" Steve suggested. "Sorry, no one told me you're in charge of meetings now." Tony remarked. "Come on Tony. Look around. Everyone's tired. We'll figure it out after." Steve did have a point. Y/N wasn't the only one who looked drained.

During her lunch break, Y/N went back to her room, where she took a quick power nap. Bucky followed behind her, realizing his room was right next to hers. He wanted to know who she was, so he waited in his room until the lunch break was almost over. He left his room the same time as her. "Hey neighbor." Y/N said, looking refreshed. "Hi. I'm Bucky." Y/N shook his non-metal hand. "I know. I'm Y/N, I work in strategy." Bucky nodded, walking along Y/N's side in the hall. "Ah, that's why you were so tired. They overwork you." Y/N nodded. "Precisely. But I've never enjoyed a job as much as this one. I mean come on, I get free meals and lodging. Who'd pass that up?" The two of them laughed as they reentered the meeting room. "Y/N, welcome back. I'm ready to hear your ideas." Tony pressured her immediately.

_________

When the meeting finally ended, everyone left to grab dinner. Y/N sat with one of her colleagues, where they continued the discussion of the meeting. Her wandering glance noticed several times that Bucky was looking at her. He was sitting with the rest of the Avengers, who were talking about getting suit upgrades. Even though he couldn't hear her, he liked the way she talked with people. She seemed very enthusiastic and educated. "Oh, you like smart girl over there?" Natasha said quietly as motioned her head towards Y/N. Bucky shook his head, not realizing how long he'd been watching her. "No, I just didn't know who she was." Natasha smiled. "It's fine Bucky. You see him over there?" She pointed to a security guard in the corner of the room. He looked off into the distance to see the attractive man. Bucky looked back at Natasha, who wiggled her eyebrows. "We all have a normal person that we're interested in." Bucky looked back at Y/N and watched as a man approached her, interrupting her conversation. Y/N looked up at the man with a smile. The man bent down to give her a hug and a kiss on the cheek. Natasha hissed. "Oh, she's taken. Sorry bud." Bucky looked down at his food, no longer interested in anything beyond his plate.

_________

The next day, the team had a successful mission. It did include some hasty improvising that Tony planned to discuss with Y/N about. He was still wearing his iron suit and had scratches on his face but he wanted to be sure Y/N wrote down his critiques. Y/N walked outside, seeing the Avengers standing in a circle, Steve and Natasha sitting on the ground. A medic cleaned up their wounds as Y/N spoke with Tony. Bucky watched the conversation keenly. Y/N took notes and was very receptive to the critiques. For a moment she seemed to be more patient with Tony than Steve was. That was, until she disagreed with Tony on something. Tony claimed that a mistake was due to her strategy but she believed it had to do with his suit. "Let's test it right now. Stand up there, fly down and blast that trash can." Y/N was confident. Tony did as she said, proving her to be right. "I'll let you get away with that for now." Was all Tony said before walking inside. Y/N scribbled something down in her notebook, smiling to herself. When she looked up, she caught eyes with Bucky, maintaining her smile before walking inside.

_________

The team split up for the next mission. Each strategist was assigned an Avenger to tackle individual weaknesses. Since Y/N showed up pretty well to Tony, she got promoted to Chief Strategist. Therefore, she was given the hardest team member to work with: Bucky. Bucky was only hard to work with because he doesn't engage with people often. He likes to have a plan and the less that plan involves other people the better. What Y/N would find, however, is that Bucky is easy to work with, so she didn't exactly understand what people meant by that.

Y/N entered the meeting room with a computer and notepad. Bucky sat at the table, relieved to see Y/N as his strategist. Y/N sat across from him and logged onto her laptop. "So, what do you feel is your biggest weakness on missions?" She stood up to plug her laptop into the projector. Bucky watched her as he tried to think of his answer. "I guess it would be that I can't fly so I'm always stuck on the ground. I rarely have a height leverage." Y/N nodded, sitting back down. "What if I told you that doesn't really put you at a disadvantage?" Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, confused. "I mean, if flying was the main priority for a mission, only half of the team would be going. After looking at some of Tony's footage, it looks to me that your main weakness is your range." Y/N played a clip on the projector that showed Bucky falling because he couldn't reach behind him. "That metal arm isn't so flexible, yeah?" Bucky sat, astonished. "Yeah, you know what, you're right. I never realized that before." Y/N nodded, typing something on her computer. "So I scheduled you some training sessions this week. They're gonna teach you some new combat moves and flexibility, so it shouldn't be as much of a problem anymore." Bucky nodded, content with the plan.

"Wow. That was easy." Y/N said. "They told me you were the hardest to work with but if I was with Tony I'd be in a meeting for hours." They both laughed as Y/N shut her laptop. "So how's the compound life treating you?" Y/N switched topics. Bucky shrugged. "I mean I can't complain. I've spent a lot of time living in torture chambers." Y/N nodded, understanding the seriousness of the conversation. "I read that in your file. Are you getting any help for dealing with that stuff? You know, mental health is just as important as your physical health." Bucky shrugged again, not really answering her question. "Well there's a lot of resources here so use whatever you need. Not to sound corny, but I'm also available if you ever need someone to talk to. You know where my room is. My door is always open, unless my boyfriend is sleeping, in which case I advise you not to come to our door." Y/N laughed, realizing the ramble she went on. “Wanna grab lunch? I’m starving.” Bucky took up her offer, walking by her side in the halls. Along the way, he got a whiff of her perfume, which was a pleasant and enticing scent.

“Are you single? I can hook you up with my friend Clara. She’s the sweetest person you’ll ever meet.” Bucky shrugged, taking a bite of his sandwich. “Thank you but I’m not interested in a relationship right now.” Bucky lied. To tell the truth he was lonely. To tell another truth he was interested in Y/N. “Understandable.” Y/N said as Bucky swallowed his food. “So what’s your boyfriend like?” Y/N bit her lip as she thought of the perfect way to describe him. “Jonathan works over in aircraft. He’s very logical, focused. He has big plans here.” Bucky raised his eyebrows. “What about you? Do you have plans here?” Y/N nodded, poking around at her side salad. “I do, but they’re not as ambitious as his, you know? I’m already Chief of Strategy so I’m not sure how much further I can go.” Bucky shook his head. “Don’t limit yourself. I can tell you got potential.” Y/N smiled at his compliment. “Thanks Bucky, you’re a nice guy. What about you? Do plan to stay here, work government contracts?” Bucky nodded. “For now. But I guess wherever Steve goes I’ll go.” Y/N awed. “That’s sweet. I love a good friendship.” They both sat in an awkward silence as they thought of something to say. “What do you do for fun?” Bucky scrunched his eyebrows. “I don’t do anything.” Y/N rolled her eyes. “Come on. You gotta do something. You like music? Movies?” Bucky shrugged. “40s music is nice.” Y/N's eyes beamed. "Oh you must know Frank Sinatra, yeah?" Bucky nodded. "Yeah he's all right." Y/N took a large bite of food. "Classic." she said with a mouthful.

"Well, well, well, if it ain't two troublemakers." A man approached the table from behind Y/N. "Jonathan!" Y/N said, excited. She pulled out the chair next to her and the man took a seat, plopping his food on the table. "As you may know, this is Bucky." Y/N tried introducing the two, and Bucky corrected her by saying "James" as he shook Jonathan's hand. Y/N's eyebrow wrinkled. "You do nice work out there, kicking ass." Jonathan complimented as he began eating. Bucky nodded and looked down at his food, no longer interested in conversation. "How's aircraft today?" Y/N asked Jonathan. "Stupid, as usual." Y/N playfully rolled her eyes, but Bucky took him seriously. "What's stupid about it?" Jonathan swallowed and wiped a crumb out of the corner of his mouth with a napkin. "Everyone is so caught up in team work when sometimes things could be faster if we just worked alone." Y/N chuckled to herself. "Easy for you to say when you know everything that goes on there. Not everyone is as advanced as you." Bucky held back an eye roll, growing a distaste for the way Y/N was feeding the man's ego. Jonathan caught onto this, sensing a feeling of disapproval from Bucky. "You'll see. Things will be better once I'm promoted to supervisor." No one replied, instead eating more food.

"So how did you two meet? Is Bucky not logical enough or something?" Jonathan tried cracking a joke. "No, we just split up into groups so everyone needed help." Y/N rebutted. Jonathan shook his head. "They just say that to make the weaker ones feel better. The airborne Avengers: Iron Man, Vision, Falcon, their combat is much more calculated, less error." Y/N smacked Jonathan's shoulder. Bucky expressed an eye roll this time. He didn't know why he was still sitting with this obnoxious couple. "Be nice. And that's not true. Remember when I told you I proved Tony wrong about his suit versus my strategy?" Jonathan shook his head, a confused look on his face. "Well anyways, that's how I got promoted. I'm at a higher rank than you now." She stuck her tongue out a Jonathan, who gave her a kiss on the lips, smirking at Bucky as he pulled away. Y/N regained composure, wiping a hand over her mouth. "I'm sorry Bucky. I promise he's nice when he opens up to you." She looked at her watch. "Shit. I have a meeting in five minutes. I'll see you guys later." Y/N quickly grabbed her bag, gave Jonathan a kiss on the cheek, and promptly left. The two men sat in an awkward silence. Jonathan swallowed the last bite of his food, glaring at Bucky.

"You don't go taking my girl, got it?" Asshole. Bucky nodded affirmatively, picking up his trash and leaving the table. ——————

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes imagine #marvel #marvel imagine #mcu #mcu imagine #sebastian stan imagine #sebastian stan #imagine #fanfic #crush imagine

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sukumen · 4 years ago

Note

CONGRATS ON 2.5k!!!!!! so so deserved!! also i don’t think i ever told u this but you were my first ever mutual on here and i just 💞💕💞💕 if it’s still open can i request bakugou + exes to lovers?

HOORAY FOR 2.5K --- AU/TROPE FICLETS: bakugou x exes to lovers.

notes: things we already knew about me: i overwrite. WOW! this got so long, but i had so much freaking fun with it, i can’t even tell you. it’s my first time writing bakugou and i hope i did him justice, especially with this trope that i love. thank you so so much for the support and love victoria - it’s an honor to have been your first mutual!!!! i hope you enjoy this~

summary: it was an odd match from the start, you and katsuki --- at least that’s what you tell him when you walk away after a year and a half. as you leave, you remind yourself of the probability your quirk had read the night of your first date - 73% chance of breaking up. not certain, sure, but high enough to help you through missing him: this was always going to happen. you tell yourself the same thing a year later when he becomes your protection detail at a support item expo that’s received a major threat: being in the same industry, you were always going to cross paths.

but, over the course of your week together, you start to realize that not everything has a rational explanation, a logical way in or out. not Katsuki, and certainly not the way he makes you feel.

quirk details: reader has a quirk that grants insight into the probability of an outcome occurring. ultimately, she can analyze a situation and determine within seconds how likely a specific outcome is if she was to move forward with all variables unchanged. she uses it primarily to design her support items, but can also use it in personal situations too. notably, she used it to work out how likely it was that she and bakugou were going to break up in a misguided attempt to deal with her feelings.

key limitations: scenarios have to be simple for her quirk to work - she can only determine if something will or won’t happen, not what will happen. the information she has will impact the accuracy of her prediction; this means that using it for personal situations - which often rely on the complicated emotions of other people - can be tricky. but, being emotional too, she doesn’t always remember that….

Snippet (2.7k, slight nsfw at the end):

Your flight ends too quickly for your liking, the walk to the arrivals gate even more so. Katsuki is waiting for you under a Starbucks sign as planned with arms folded over his chest while a second hero - a newcomer to the rankings - makes small talk beside him.

As you move in their direction, time follows in slow motion, each step rigid as you’re reminded of the day you’d walked the other way and out of his life. You’d been strong willed then and hadn’t turned once to see the look in his eyes as you went. But now, you can’t look anywhere but him, not even when the other hero notices you and waves for your attention.

He hasn’t changed much in the year apart. There’s a littering of scars that you’d noticed on the news and are seeing for the first time in person; but otherwise, Katsuki is the same man you’d always known, imposing but in a way that’s nearly comforting after his years in the public eye.

He seems to be watching you right back, but where your gaze is full of scrutiny, his is practically empty. Looking right through you as you draw near, which doesn’t change even when you still in front of them.

“Hi,” you squeak out, giving an awkward half-bow that you hope neither of them read too much into. The person beside Katsuki - hero name Phantom - introduces themselves right back, their bow deeper before they return to their rambling. They’re too caught up to note the way you and Katsuki don’t share names with each other and, with the moment lost, have gone to avoiding each other’s eyes altogether.

The tension lasts until the other support item maker - a man you recognize from the flight - emerges from baggage claim. The sight of him shifts the tides and you all start to gather your things for the hotel. Katsuki still hasn’t said a word to you, though if the others have noticed, it doesn’t show. You, of course, have and even as you trail behind him and Phantom to make small talk with the other designer, your eyes linger over his broad back.

Somehow, you’d expected more...anger when he saw you next.

Of course, this calm is pleasant, especially when you’re in public. But, there’s something about it that’s disappointing as well. Leaves you with an emptiness in your gut that you push past with animated conversation with your new companion.

[ … ]

“Who was she?” Your eyes screw shut before the words even make it out. How embarrassing --- all that talk to yourself about letting it go and you fold not even three steps into your shared suite. It’s none of your business who she is -- it’s none of your business what he does. But, your heart twists every time you think about the two of them in the back of the welcoming party. You’ve never seen him like that - at least not from an outsider’s lens - leaning into another person so closely and the curiosity comes tumbling out of you before you can stop it.

Katsuki is silent for a long while; long enough that you almost think he hadn’t heard you. But, the stiffness in his shoulders tells you aren’t so lucky and after a moment of you watching him untie his shoes, he finally turns to look at you. The glance is brief, but poignant, before his focus returns to himself --- this time, his tie. “I don’t think you’re in any place to be asking me that,” he grunts, tugging at the fabric until it loosens.

Embarrassment sears your throat, a sting you feel behind the eyes as you turn them towards the floor. It’s bad enough that you’d given into the urge to ask, but Katsuki being so straightforward is mortifying. He’s right, of course, but what makes it worse is that he’s not even trying to belittle you with that answer. He means it as simply and plainly as he’s said it: you’re in no position to ask him to tell you something like that.

Self-indulgence from you is rare and you find it’s for this very reason. When you step out of the safety of your logic, your equations, your reasoning, you always manage to trip yourself up. Even now, you want to push, misplaced jealousy gnashing its teeth at the back of your mind. But, his response has sobered you and you lock it and your curiosity up tight with a stiff apology and a goodnight.

Katsuki doesn’t look up again until your door closes behind you.

[ … ]

When the chaos has gone, and dust settled, a gang of thirty-something villains is in handcuffs and you’re banged up; ankle throbbing, but very much alive. You haven’t seen Katsuki since he’d stashed you away with the others with a promise to come back, but you’ve heard enough steady explosions to think he must be okay.

Still, you want proof. When the panic room door opens with a creak, his face isn’t the first you see, but it’s all you’re thinking about. Him, and getting back to him. You want to say it’s the last of your adrenaline, but even you know better. Know adrenaline from longing well, even with your limited experience and you let yourself admit something you’ve hidden for twelve months.

You miss him.

And even with the lengthy process that usually follows a villain attack, this will likely be the last full day you’ll have with him for the rest of your life.

The realization makes the panic room shrink to a quarter of the size, pain punching air out of your lungs so fast your vision swims. You need to go, you tell yourself, Katsuki’s promise lost in the static of your upset -- you can’t be here right now.

Your ankle smarts when you start putting real pressure on it, but the pain isn’t enough to stop you from pushing to the front of the line to leave. With each step past someone else, you hear sneers and you think you apologize, but when you’re so cotton-mouthed, you can’t really be sure.

Either way, it doesn’t slow you. The madness makes it easy to peel away from the crowd and though it takes you some time, you don’t stop until you’ve made it outside where you can breathe. For everything that’s happened in the last forty-five minutes, the island’s relatively unaffected, air as cool and breezy as every other night that week. The only real sign of the attack where you are are sirens and voices rising from the other side of the expo center - where you imagine Katsuki to be.

The thought - that he’s so close - should be comforting, but your despair does good work to keep it bittersweet; to remind you that it won’t be for much longer. It has to be selfish to be so upset when this had all been your choice to begin with; but for the first time since the breakup, you don’t try to explain away what you’re feeling. To dissect and rationalize so you can avoid it altogether.

For the first time since the breakup, you let it all in.

[ … ]

It takes Katsuki fifteen minutes to find you. Each one finds him more agitated than the last as he works himself up, searching every space by the now empty panic room to figure out where you’d gone.

At first, he’d assumed the best - that you’d been ushered with the rest of the group to the lobby waiting with police and paramedics. But, a quick skim of the crowd came up empty for your familiar face and panic set in not long after.

An admittedly tense conversation with the officer that had unsealed the room revealed that one civilian - a woman with a noticeable limp - had broken away from the group just as the doors opened. It’d done well to calm him, knowing someone had seen you after the fighting was over, but he’s hardly settled, if the way he stomps through the floor is anything to go by. “She never fucking listens,” he growls to no one in particular, eyes narrowed in razor sharp focus.

He’s worked up, above all, by his worry. But he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t vaguely wounded by the fact you hadn’t let him come back like promised. It draws him back, despite his best efforts, to the day you left --- the day you told him in no uncertain terms that you’d always expected one of you to leave, what with that know-it-all quirk of yours.

He’d felt then as he does now: utterly untrusted. Like he’s behind without even knowing there’s a race --- like he’s lost without any hope to catch up. He doesn’t like it, feeling that way again, and it gets him so unnerved that he starts to revert to old habits. Shoulders bowed, hands stuffed into his pockets, and, notably, taking a foot to every door that could stand between him and wherever the hell you’ve disappeared to.

When he finds you, finally, behind the fourth, it’s with a kick so firm it turns your sob into a strangled squeak.

[ ... ]

“I thought I told you to stay put---” There’s venom in Katsuki’s voice, but a sort you know well. Worried more than enraged, even if his expressive face doesn’t show it. You move to answer, but he steps in before you can, eyes locked eerily on your face. “...Why the hell are you crying?” You reach up for your wet cheeks, cursing internally; you’d hoped to be well through this before you faced him again so the question catches you off guard. Long enough that Katsuki can close the distance and kneel at your feet, pulling your fingers away from your face so he can inspect it. “You gonna say something or what? Did someone hurt you?”

You can tell he’s biting his tongue, tempering his rage until he’s sure there’s something to rage about. But even that muted anger can be dangerous and you’re quick to shake your head, hands coming up again to wipe your face. “No! No, it’s...just my ankle. From before, when we were running.”

Relief spreads in Katsuki’s face hearing that, like he’s grateful that that’s all it is. But, his frown stays put, deepening some when he reaches down for your ankle and watches your expression sour from the touch. “Hm. Doesn’t seem broken or anything.” He turns thoughtfully towards the building behind him, stilling at the sounds rising from the busy lobby. You try to glean purpose from his face, but have to wait until he speaks up again to work out what he’s doing. “‘S gonna take ages for them to see you right now. I can wrap your ankle up at the hotel and take you in for a check up before tomorrow’s flight.”

You nod wordlessly, grateful for the chance to avoid anyone else for the night.

[ … ]

The quiet in your suite as Katsuki carries you in is a blessing.

You hadn’t realized how badly overwhelmed you were until you’d been alone on the balcony, so even just a few minutes going through the expo center was too much. Katsuki had picked up on it and hesitated very little in hoisting you up so you could move quickly through the crowd and rubble.

You’d insisted he didn’t need to do it at all, let alone again in the hotel; but just one glance at you down the slope of his nose had silenced you.

The first thing he does when the door shuts behind you is set you down on the couch, warning you to stay still with a look alone. When you’re settled, he disappears into his room before emerging with an impressively stocked first aid kit. And for the second time that night, he’s on his knees for you, taking your swollen ankle in hand to inspect it more closely.

With so much happening earlier, his touch on the balcony was easy to drown out. Now, there’s nowhere to focus but him and the press from his palm as it cups your bare skin. He runs a thumb over scratches you hadn’t noticed, the way he traces the lines almost pensive, before his attention turns to the kit beside him.

You, all the while, are stock still, frozen from the heat of his touch. It’s nothing compared to his mouth or the weight of his full body, but after so many months apart, it bowls you over all the same.

You don’t notice you’re crying again until he says something.

“You’re not crying over the ankle,” he says simply, though his touch softens just in case as he brings it into his lap with some bandage wrap.

You don’t know what it is, but something in the way he asks compels your honesty and you nod, feeling pathetic as you sniffle and look down at your hands.

“You gonna tell me what’s really going on then?”

You swallow thickly, words already threatening to bubble up like they had the night of the welcoming party. “I...I don’t think I can.” Or should, rather - you don’t need to use your quirk to know that nothing good could come out of this.

But, Katsuki is firm, shaking his head as he starts to wind the first layer of bandage carefully around your ankle. “Well, I’m sayin’ you can. So, don’t go crying by yourself for some dumb reason like that. If you don’t want to, you don’t want to. But if you do, you can.”

He says it like it’s simple. Like it’s a given. And beside your better judgment, you lean into that open assuredness. You’d always loved it about him, after all --- the way he so firmly believes that nothing could stop him - or anyone - if he didn’t let it. For some people, it was self-importance, but nights holding him after good and bad days had taught you otherwise -- it was bravery.

Bakugou Katsuki was the bravest man you’d ever known. A blaze that shone so bright on its own that you felt out of place beside him -- like you couldn’t give him what he needed -- and decided for you both that that meant you didn’t have a chance.

But, in the quiet of your suite, with Katsuki sitting comfortably at your feet, you decide that maybe he’s rubbed off on you some. That maybe, in your time alone, you’ve become a lot braver than you realized.

So, you suck in a deep breath, look him square in the eye, and tell him the truth.

“I miss you, Katsuki.”

[ … ]

He holds your hands to the mattress so tight they hurt, but the ache is welcome. You know him well, even now, and can read between the lines of your intertwined fingers.

He’d missed you too.

All these days of looking through you, past you had been intentional to protect himself, but here, now, he’s completely laid bare. Mouth kiss swollen and eyes lined with tears he’ll wave off later, Katsuki is spilling out every ounce of love he’d held back the day you told him you’d always planned to leave.

You meet him halfway with an arch off the bed to chase his kisses and tell him that you love him --- and you’re sorry --- between each one.

The weight of his body is as precious as you remember and the heat of your tangled limbs lulls you into a daze that pulls your eyes shut.

Katsuki doesn’t notice at first as he’s dragging his mouth over your bare neck, but when he does, he’s quickly displeased. “Look at me,” he hisses, fingers tightening between yours. Your eyes open heavily and it takes you a moment to find his gaze in the darkness. But, once you’re back, he presses his forehead to yours and slowly, carefully presses forward until his cock’s stretched you to the hilt.

The fill feels like coming home.

#bakugou x reader #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #bnha x reader #mha x reader #my hero academia x reader #boku no hero academia x reader #bnha fanfic #hooray for 2.5k tag.#saintdabi

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shivada-jade · 3 years ago

Text

Timing (5)

main pairings: albedo x reader sucrose x reader

➡ mentions: diluc, venti, aether, paimon warning(s): usage of alcohol bc we're at angel's share

you can find timing's masterlist here!

notes: this has been long overdue! here you go bWAAH

Diluc watches a bard glide into his tavern like he owns the place. The Ragnvindr raises a brow, placing a wine glass back into a cupboard.

"Venti," he says, picking up another glass, polishing it. "Are you here to pay back your tabs?"

"Ah, Master Diluc!" The boy in green laughs nervously, "Oh, what a pleasant surprise, but of course I wouldn't dream to have your bills jeopardized."

The door of the tavern chimes, signaling another customer is there. Aether places his hands on his knees, heaving for breath and Paimon floats in, hitting Aether's head lightly, "I GOT YOU NOW."

Venti whistles and casually sides himself next to the traveler and wraps an arm around him, "Aether here, will be delighted to pay for my tab."

Paimon gasps and takes the hat off Venti's head. "No! We didn't come here to do that!" She flips to Aether, helping him up, "Tell him why we're here, Aether!"

The tavern owner wipes his hand on a cloth and leans forward on the counter, curious. The glass windows and colourful bottles filter the sunlight from behind the man. Colours reflect to Diluc, making him look like some sort of rainbow Angel.

Aether inhales, now standing up normally. "Lately, I've been getting a lot of commissions to gather Wolfhook for remedies, and whenever I ask what it's for they always say how it's like they..." He trails off, not knowing the best way to put it.

Dliuc clears his throat, watching Venti attempt to steal another bottle of wine. He quickly grabs the bottle from Venti's hand, who sulks sitting at the very right side of the counter.

"Like they think they have thing obnoxious sound in their head," Diluc finishes for Aether. "And when they try to remember what, it hurts them more."

Aether's head perks up, "Master Diluc, do you have these too?"

Diluc looks up, thinking. "...Yes, but it has mostly been the drunkard Knights that have been telling me these stories whilst I work here."

He breathes in sharply, "Those no use for good Knights come here more often since two years ago, which coincidentally is the disappearance of someone from the Investigation Team. I always assumed it was because that person had a huge impact on them, but when I questioned them, they don't even know the name of the missing person."

Paimon makes a face, "You sure have been doing a lot of research."

"If even the Knights are having troubles with only themselves, how would Mondstadt be protected?"

"Right! So," Venti quips. "Getting to the point. I also have been trouble remembering these... things, but one thing's for certain! The things I can't remember always leads me to this lovely tavern. Truly, the answer is under these curtains."

Paimon furrows her brows, scanning around the tavern for curtains. "There are no curtains here."

"Eheh~ It's a metaphor for, what's hiding in store!"

Diluc adjusts his gloves. "I have to admit, I do understand what you mean with the remembering and forgetting," he comments. "But what is it that you propose I do? What does this tavern have to do with anything?"

"Has there been any other... strange things going on?" Paimon floats, tilted forward. "Aether would als-"

The fae turns to Aether, only now realizing he disappeared from her side. "Aether?" She hovers over the boy's shoulder when finding him.

He stands in front of the door, observing the scratches- some new and some old. Venti hops off the stool he sits on and saunters to his friends, signaling Diluc to follow.

Aether's fingers trace the marks on the door and turns to the owner of the tavern. "Master Diluc, can I ask how long had Angel's Share been standing? When was it first built?"

Diluc ponders, scratching his chin a bit, then answering, "A few hundred years, give or take. It's been preserved well."

Aether's hand lifts from the door. "Then how is this old marking foreshadowing us meeting here?" His golden eyes scan over the names written on the door. Deep engravings, yet faded out edges let him figure it's been hundreds of years.

He looks over the words, or names on the door. "Diluc, Aether, Paimon, Venti, Albedo, Sucrose. By the time the first four meet, the other two will arrive because they're smart like that. Please, help me. There are barely any resources here. Things are yet to be mined or built."

Venti collapses again, clutching his head. He winces, looking up with one eye and waving his worried peers. "It's alright I just-" he takes a moment to pause. He grins, "I think I know who the mystery person in my memory is."

"It's just..." He tries to stand, but his knees fail him. "Remembering them changes many things."

Diluc looks to Aether, wondering if he had answers, but the blonde only shook his head, supporting Venti with his shoulder and placing him on a chair.

Paimon is still distracted by the carvings on the door. She floats closer. Her eyes are observing the door very closely. "It says Albedo and Sucrose a-"

The door flings Paimon to the cupboard Diluc puts the mugs and glass in. "gAH?!"

Albedo and Sucrose stand in front of the opened door. They both seem to be searching something and their eyes land on Diluc. Sucrose sighs in relief and pushes her glasses up to the bridge of her nose.

"Master Diluc," She says meekly, taking a thick book out of the bag she carries.

"Sucrose and I require your assistance in one of our projects." Albedo finishes for the girl before nodding to the others beside the Ragnvindr, acknowledging their presence. "I hope you can aid us."

...

Your hands are clasped in front of yourself, trying to contain your emotions. After meeting a Ragnvindr, you thought you were getting somewhere. As someone who knows the arts of science, you thought all you needed was to see a familiar presence in Mondstadt, so you searched the nobles, knowing how long they've spent in Mond.

You did not in fact gather inspiration, nor answers to getting back home, but you did befriend a wealthy aristocrat who, despite not believing your time-travel story, decided to help fund your research to going back to your time after helping him out with the latest project called "Angel's Share."

You sighed, taking a bite out of an apple while watching a few of Angel's Share's first customers. Looking around, Mondstadt still had that sort of look from the future, but everything is new and shiny. Everything is newly built.

You've been here for two years, and from those two years you watched Mondstadt quickly finish the last few touches to the city you know. It was a strange experience to say the least.

When you had first known you time traveled, you hadn't realized it until you waltzed into Favonius Headquarters and a guard seized you. You kicked and punched the guard, claiming you were one of the members of the Investigation Team but they looked at you like you were crazy. You stopped hitting them, and thought back to how the guard does not look like anyone you knew.

You asked him what year it was and the guard made a face. He grabbed your wrist harshly and was about to throw you down until a boy in green threw an apple at his head.

The green boy clutched his hat and sent a push of wind towards the guard, making him unconscious.

"Venti?"

The boy froze, and slowly turned towards you. "Goodness gracious! Haha, that is right! I must be getting popular these days for you to recognize my face." He exclaimed with a bow and a tip of his hat.

You tilted your head. You cautiously walked close to inspect his face. "But we just had wine the other day? What're you..."

Your eyes snapped to your hands then back to his teal eyes. "Are you really Venti?"

The boy lifted his cape from right to left, picking out details. "I'm sure I am he, for what else could my name be?"

"Ah.. right." You said partially scared. "Venti, do you know who I am?"

Venti placed a finger in the air, "You know... I have vision from Barbatos himself. It allows me to know if the winds of a person are new and old, but yours..." He circled you, thinking. "You have the presence of my own wind though I've never met you. How strange."

"Well I mean- we just drank together yesterday so-"

Shouts and yells came from inside the Favonius Headquarters. Venti's eyes widened, reaching for you and ran to Mondstadt's central market and hid behind a box of crates. He shushed you, pointing to the guards asking for someone wearing green.

"Darn it! Looks like I'm a wanted fugitive again."

"Again?"

Venti frowned, looking at you, "Did I say 'again?' You make me say strange things. Well then!" He brushed the feeling off and flipped his cape inside out so he wore white instead of green. "The guards said a boy with a green cloak, but now I have a white cloak!"

"Wow, they'll never catch you now."

Venti grinned, "So... Even if you have Mondstadt's winds lingering on your clothes, I can't say I've seen you around- I should know, because this is where I'm bound."

Your lips parted a bit, still not catching on. "But Venti, we just went for drinks yesterday before I went back to camping in Dragonspine."

Venti squinted his eyes, "EHH??"

"Unless..." You muttered, thinking of the events that happened. You look at the statue of Barbatos far in the distance, then look at the boy in front of you.

"Barbatos," you said loud enough for only the two of you to hear.

To most people, it would seem nothing out of the ordinary happened, but you weren't most people. You worked with a few of the Captains of The Knights of Favonius. It is required to have a perceptive eye, (When you didn't catch on things as fast, Albedo would simply guide you to the right direction with a little mumble. Maybe he'd pull a few jabs, but it's all in good fun.) and when you whispered the archon's name, you note the way Venti makes a face. His eyes dart and he turned more giggly. He whistled like he hadn't heard what you just said.

You put two and two together and you realized that you've been friends with the Anemo Archon.

You slap a hand on your face. Shock runs up your body- not because Venti was the Anemo Archon, but because you were too slow on figuring it out.

"Archons- Venti? You're him?" You knit your brows pointing at the statue of him far away.

"Ehe~ you caught me," he held his hands up in surrender. "But how did you ever know?"

You thought back, excited. "Venti, you don't know this, but future you talked to me a day ago about my time travel thing, and it worked."

...

But of course, that was two years ago. You hadn't been exited about your discovery of time travel since then.

(part 6)

notes: crying sm venti's so hard to write like how would he react to stuff if he does or doesnt know like do i say he does know or doest ugh time travelling is so confusing especially if you're friends with the anemo archon

#genshin impact #genshin #genshin impact x reader #albedo x reader #albedo kreideprinz #sucrose #sucrose genshin impact #sucrose x reader #diluc #venti #aether

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starshine583 · 4 years ago

Text

New Girl on the Block (6)

(the next chapter is heeeeeeeeeeeere!!! hope you guys like it!! there’s also a mini series connected to this called Journal Entries, though I don’t know how long I’m going to be continuing it. Check it out if you feel like it!)

Ch.1 / Ch.5 / Ch.7

Chapter 6: Don’t Be Suspicious

Marinette tilted her head from side to side, doing a subtle dance to the music that played through her earbuds. She tapped her pencil on the desk with the beat and mouthed Jagged Stone’s lyrics as they came, thoroughly enjoying the electric guitar in the background. At Dupont, listening to music with earbuds was a ‘no-no’ despite her efforts. Principle Damocles, along with a few of the teachers, insisted that it hindered their drive to focus and work on school. The thought wasn’t entirely misguided- Marinette was already re-reading this textbook page for the third time with no hope of comprehension in sight -but she enjoyed the liberties that came with her new school nonetheless.

In all honesty, Rosemary didn’t allow headphones either, but the librarian wasn’t a snitch, and Marinette wasn’t a saint. So, during her assigned study halls, she would hop over to the school’s library and jam out to Jagged Stone. It was a nice reprieve from the strict guidelines that Rosemary held for their students and gave her time to unwind before her next round of overly-complicated classes.

She was about ready to start banging her head to the song- the lyrics were just too good -when she felt a tap on her shoulder. Her gaze flicked upwards towards Claude, who was sitting beside her. He’d suggested that they study together during the one study hall they shared, and Marinette, being friends with him and genuinely enjoying his company, agreed. He was actually the one who told her about the lax librarian in the first place.

Once Claude was certain that he had her attention, he tapped a finger to his ear, silently requesting her to take out an earbud. Marinette gladly obliged and paused her Jagged Stone music to hear him better.

“What are you listening to? You look like you’re really jamming out.” He asked curiously.

Marinette held up her phone for him to see the song cover. “Just Jagged Stone. He normally helps me think, but I’m starting to wonder if that only works for design sketches.”

Claude gasped so hard that she thought he was going to choke, and an ear-splitting grin spread across his lips.

“You listen to Jagged Stone too? He’s one of my favorites!” The brunette said enthusiastically.

Marinette straightened with delight. “Seriously? He’s been a favorite of mine since I was twelve!”

“Ten!” Claude trilled.

Elation bubbled up in Marinette’s chest. Finally! Someone to talk to about Jagged Stone! She hadn’t found a kindred spirit since Luka and.. well.. She hasn’t met another Jagged Stone fan in a while.

“Did you hear the new album that just came out?” She asked, folding her arms across the table and leaning onto them. When she first came to Rosemary, she’d naturally assumed that no one there listened to rock. Everyone was prepped and poised and rich. Their tastes were bound to be much ‘finer’ than hers.

Looking at it now, though, it made perfect sense for Claude to listen to Jagged Stone. He was an energetic and passionate person, and that’s what Rock n’ Roll was all about. She also had to remind herself that she was now a Rosemary student. If she listened to rock music, it was possible that her other classmates did as well. The school wasn’t a complete hive mind, after all.

Claude scoffed playfully. “Did I? I was the first in line for the cd! The songs were a total masterpiece!”

Before Marinette could reply, another scoff interrupted their conversation, one that wasn’t nearly as playful. She glanced across the table to Felix, who had looked up from his book. He’d shared the same study hall hour that they did, and Claude, being who he was, coaxed the blond into joining them in the library.

Well.. ‘coax’ probably wasn’t the right word. It was more of Claude dragging Marinette to the table that Felix was already sitting at and convincing Felix to stay seated once they got there.

Felix’s eyebrows furrowed slightly, and the corners of his lips twitched in a scowl, the same way they always did when he was about to criticize something.

“No type of rock music could ever be considered a ‘masterpiece’,” He stated matter-of-factly, “especially not that man’s noise.”

Marinette gasped, slapping a hand to her chest in offense. “Jagged Stone’s music is not ‘noise’.”

“Forget it, Mari.” Claude cut in, putting a hand on her shoulder as he shot Felix a glare. “This guy will never understand Jagged’s art.”

Felix rolled his eyes. “I’d hardly call throwing a bunch of instruments together and screaming into the microphone ‘art’.”

Marinette crossed her arms and huffed. Jagged Stone didn’t scream. His voice was just rough, but even if he did scream, that shouldn’t give Felix the right to be rude. Everyone had their own tastes. Marinette didn’t go around bashing XY fans, now, did she?

“Have you even listened to him?” She asked indignantly.

“I’ve had the unfortunate experience of listening to rock, yes. That’s how I know it’s in bad taste.”

Marinette’s fingers dug into her skin. “But have you listened to Jagged Stone?”

The grated words caused Felix to pause.

“..I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

Marinette sighed and tugged out one of her earbuds to hand it to him. “Here.”

Felix rose a brow, not moving an inch. “What do you expect me to do with that?”

“You’re going to listen to at least one of Jagged Stone’s songs.” She told him. “Then you can tell me what you think.”

Felix was an extremely opinionated person. He tended to say exactly what he thought without considering how it would affect others around him. At first, his snaps and snide remarks put her on edge. She would worry about angering him and making him dislike her from the things she’d say or do. But after spending more time around him, Marinette realized that he wasn’t angry as much as he was easily irritated. He would get annoyed at things that he viewed as out of place or illogical, then, after fixing the problem or telling someone else to fix it, he would move on. It just so happened that Allegra, Allan, and Claude were constantly doing things that were ‘illogical’, ‘unnecessary’, and- her personal favorite -‘downright preposterous’.

That being said, Marinette still didn’t enjoy challenging Felix when she disagreed with him. His words were sharp and blunt, whether he meant them to be or not, and arguing was never her strong suit, anyway. Therefore, she found it best to merely listen and watch as the rest of the group continued to push Felix’s buttons relentlessly.

Right now, however, was a different story. Right now he was denouncing an incredibly talented artist who he hadn’t even bothered to listen to before condemning, and Marinette wouldn’t stand for it.

Felix’s gaze shifted to the earbud. She could see the command turning in his mind, could see him deciding between being difficult and resisting or simply being nice for once.

“..Fine,” He relented, taking the offered headphone, “but don’t be upset when my opinion doesn’t change.”

Marinette tried not to smile too much and quickly started scrolling through her playlist to choose a song. If she only had one shot to convince Felix of Jagged’s greatness, she needed to play one of his best works.

“Wow..” Claude remarked. “You actually got him to listen to a song. That’s farther than I’ve ever gotten.”

Felix rolled his eyes, but refrained from commenting. Marinette didn’t reply either. She didn’t want to waste the opportunity she’d been given by joking with Claude.

She found a song a few seconds later and eagerly set the phone between them as it began to play. This had been a song that she’d listened to for at least a week or two before moving on to the next one. She knew the lyrics inside out and could quite possibly sing them in her sleep. If anything was going to convince Felix that rock was also a musical art, it would be this song.

Felix’s expression twisted with annoyance as the drums kicked up to join the electric base.

“See, this is what I’m talking about.” He sighed. “The notes are overbearing and chaotic. How can you enjoy it?”

“Because they’re not chaotic.” Marinette replied, gathering all the patience she could. “It might get loud sometimes, but the drums and guitar create a steady beat for Jagged Stone to sing to.”

Just then, Jagged Stone’s voice rang through the headphones, gruff and strong. Marinette’s lips quirked up into an involuntary smile, but Felix, unsurprisingly, wasn’t as thrilled as she was.

“He doesn’t even sing about anything important.” He said. “The words are completely random.”

Marinette resisted the urge to groan. How could someone be so smart yet so stupid at the same time?

“The lyrics aren’t random. And they might not be important to you, but they are to him.” She tried to explain. “Jagged writes about the things he loves and tells it to the world through song. His music is full of passion, and it drives others to be more passionate too. Myself included.”

Felix glanced up at her for a moment, no doubt scrutinizing her claims, and tisked. He then put a hand over his borrowed earbud and closed his eyes to try to listen to the music better.

Although it was a small, begrudging act, Marinette couldn’t help grinning. He didn’t like rock music, didn’t even want to entertain the idea of liking it, yet here he was, listening to Jagged Stone’s music because she asked him to. He was trying hard to understand something she enjoyed, and that meant a lot, especially when one considers how stubborn he can be.

“I suppose I can understand what you mean..” Felix mumbled a few seconds later. “The notes aren’t nearly as melodic as what I’m used to, but it must take some form of talent to mash banging instruments together and make it sound decent.”

Marinette beamed. It was a backhanded comment, but she could accept it.

“Okay, my turn.” She said, extending her hand towards him.

Felix frowned. “Pardon?”

“You said that Jagged Stone isn’t what you’re used to, right? I wanna know what you’re used to.” She replied matter-of-factly. “Let me listen to one of your songs.”

Felix’s frown deepened, but he pulled out his earbuds to hand one to her.

“I suppose I could show you the one I’ve been listening to recently..” He muttered to himself. “Just be careful with these. They’re expensive.”

Marinette happily plucked one of the earbuds out of Felix’s hands and put it on. The cord between the earbuds was shorter than hers, so they both had lean across the table to share. She didn’t mind the closeness, though. They’d only be there for a moment.

When the music finally began, all Marinette could really do was snort. Classical music. Of course Felix would listen to classical music. Each note had a purpose, place, and expression in the song. Yes, other music had that too, but most of the time, there were words that people sang to excuse repetitiveness of the beat. Classical music had to carry its own weight, and that made all the difference.

“What?” Felix asked, referring to her laugh.

Marinette put a hand to her mouth with an apologetic smile. “Oh, nothing. It just makes sense for you to listen to classical music.”

Felix rose a brow, but she waved him off. There was no point explaining it.

“Anyway, I can see why you would like this, because it’s really pretty, but I, personally, find it a little boring.” She said honestly. “The notes are too slow. I would fall asleep before I could finish a song.”

“It’s not just a song, though.” Felix argued. “It’s a story. Listen closer.”

Marinette did as she was told and closed her eyes, putting a hand over her earbud like Felix had done earlier. The piano and violin mingled together in a soft symphony, lulling up and down as the symphony progressed. A lone guitar played a joyful tune in the background.

“The protagonist is admiring their lover.” Felix explained. “They’re making promises of being together always.”

Drums bubbled up behind the piano and violin as the guitar faded, causing the music to shift into a tense atmosphere.

“The father of the lover is coming between them, forcing a separation.”

Violin strings shake with the drums, and the piano gradually grows louder to emphasize the ominous presence. Once the tension is drawn out to its absolute limit, the music breaks with bursts of violins and trumpets, signifying the beginning of a fight.

“The protagonist refuses to back down, and although they are worried, they stand up to fight for their love anyway.”

Marinette cracked an eye open to look at Felix. His eyes were now closed as well, and a soft smile ghosted his lips. She hadn’t taken him to be a romantic, but he appeared to be deeply engrossed in the ‘story’. Did he read romance novels often? She assumed all of the books he carried around were about historical facts or intricate philosophies, not trials of love or daring confessions.

“Do you hear it?” Felix asked, his eyes abruptly opening. Their heads were already close from sharing headphones, but his looking up only brought them closer. It was a miracle their noses didn’t bump together.

Marinette froze, her eyes widening at being caught. Was it weird that she was staring at him before he opened his eyes? It shouldn’t be, right? Staring at your friend wasn’t a crime.

Say something. Marinette’s mind screamed. But she couldn’t. She couldn’t say anything. She could hardly even think straight. She was too lost in the roundness of his eyes or how long his eyelashes were or whether she was too close to him and have his eyes always had those little specks of blue in them?

Marinette squeaked, finally gaining enough sense to lurch backwards. Felix’s earbud was tugged out of her ear, but she didn’t care. Right now she needed distance.

“S-sorry!” She blurted out. “I-I mean- uhm -the music was fine, or- great. I-.. I could really hear the- the story.”

Her hands covered her face in a vain attempt to hide her blush. Her cheeks were absolutely burning from embarrassment. How could she get so flustered? Wasn’t it her idea to share the earbuds?

Felix was strangely quiet as he picked up the abandoned earbud and paused the song. Oh gosh, he probably thought she was a total weirdo now. (If he hadn’t thought that already.)

Marinette peeked through her fingers, searching his face for judgement, but he simply wrapped the cord of the earbuds around his phone. Although his eyebrows were furrowed slightly, the rest of his expression was neutral. Was that a good sign or no?

“Yes, that’s why I enjoy it.” He finally said once his phone was put away. His tone was graciously composed, not acknowledging her humiliating outburst. “The composers put real effort and work into their music. They carefully aligned each note to make sure it portrays their story and theme correctly. That’s what I consider to be a masterpiece.”

Marinette nodded. “Y-Yeah.. That makes sense.. I still think Jagged Stone’s music is also a work of art, though.”

She settled back into her original seat, as did Felix.

“Agree to disagree, I suppose.” Felix shrugged.

An astounded laugh came from the left of them, and the two turned back to Claude. Marinette had admittedly forgotten that he was there.

“I, for one, am impressed.” The brunette announced. “You actually got Felix to entertain a different opinion. He never says ‘agree to disagree’! It’s always just ‘you’re wrong’.”

Felix scoffed. “Don’t act like I’m unreasonable. I’m stubborn in my opinions because they’re logical and sound, while your arguments against them are hardly either.”

Claude rolled his eyes. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. Do you think you guys can argue about cephalopods now? I’m supposed to be doing a report on them for science.”

Marinette chuckled, finally relaxing in her chair again. “Sorry, Claude. I don’t have any strong opinions about cephalopods.”

“Maybe if you read a book every once in a while, you’d find something to write about.” Felix added, being ever the supportive one.

“Hey! I do read!” Claude defended. “I just don’t know what to write about. Should I argue a random point about cephalopods or should I just write about a bunch of facts? Am I supposed to list my sources or can I say whatever I want? What does the school board want from me?”

“Claude, you’re a sophomore.” Felix stated bluntly. “If you don’t know how to write papers now, I can’t help you.”

Claude groaned and sunk into his chair, and Marinette offered a comforting pat on the shoulder.

“Anyway,” He grumbled, rubbing his hands over his face, “speaking of cephalopods, have you guys heard about the new aquarium exhibit that they just opened at Aquarium de Paris?”

Marinette perked up. “Wait, really? I didn’t know about that!”

“Yeah, I think it’s something to do with the sharks.” Claude smiled. “They’ve got this new tank and everything.”

Marinette wiggled in her seat with delight. She always loved aquariums. “That’s so cool! I’ll have to ask Maman and Papa about going to see it.”

“Oh, why don’t we all go together?” Claude suggested. “I wanna see the new exhibit too, and I’m sure Allegra and Allan will want to go.”

“Sure! When do you think you’ll be free to go see it?”

Claude leaned back in his chair as he thought about it. “Uh.. maybe this Sunday? I don’t think I have anything going on then. Does that work for you?”

“I’ll have to check with my parents, but that should be okay. Do you want me to tell Allan about it during our next class?”

Claude nodded. “Yeah, that sounds great. I’ll tell Allegra.”

Marinette smiled and turned to Felix. “Are you gonna come with us, Felix?”

A part of her felt awkward asking, as Felix didn’t normally enjoy the group outings, but a bigger part of her would feel guilty if she didn’t invite him when they were inviting everyone else.

Felix glanced up from his book with a questioning gaze. He.. hadn’t been listening.

“We’re going to Aquarium de Paris this Sunday. Are you coming?” Claude asked again.

Felix shrugged. “I suppose Allegra will drag me along either way, so why not?”

Marinette bit her lip to hold back a giddy squeal. This was going to be great! Getting to see all of the new fish and getting to spend time with her new friends? What could be better than that?

~~~~~~

Felix drew in a deep breath as he made his way towards the school exit. Aside from the soft chattering and echoing footsteps of the students around him, it was quiet, and he reveled in the silence while he could. Leaving school alone was a rarity now, especially since Marinette joined their group. Allegra, Claude, and Allan had always been insistent on smothering him with activities, but with the new ‘recruit’, the time they spent together has doubled. The trio wanted everyone to be together constantly. That included Felix.

He sighed, shifting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. The numerous study dates, get-togethers, and group lunches had pushed his social battery to its absolute limit. So the small reprieve was greatly appreciated.

It did feel strange, though, not hearing Claude’s rambling or Allegra’s scolding or Marinette’s laughter. They’d become a steady background noise to the rest of his daily life, and now that they were absent, Felix found himself glancing over his shoulder, waiting for one of them to pop up.

Of course, no one came, and Felix forced his eyes forward to push away the growing anticipation. There was no need to mull over it. He would see them tomorrow at school, and on top of that, they had another outing scheduled for this Sunday to visit the aquarium. By the end of the week, Felix would certainly have his fill of seeing their faces or hearing their voices.

The sun beat down on Felix as he stepped outside, and he welcomed it whole-heartedly. The biting cold of January was never something he fancied, save for the fact that it kept everyone else indoors.

He started down the front stairs, letting his mind wander back to the conversation he’d had with Marinette during their shared study hall. Her boldness during their discussion of musical preferences had surprised him, since she usually steered clear of any confrontations. He couldn’t blame her for her sudden tenacity, though. People tended to be extremely attached to their music, and Felix had criticized her tastes. It only made sense for her to defend herself.

On that note, Jagged Stone? Really? He’d assumed Claude was the only one to have such bizarre tastes. Nevertheless, if Marinette approved of the man, Felix wasn’t going to question too much. She still created those phenomenal designs, after all, meaning she must have a good eye for things.

Bits and pieces of the song that Marinette had requested him to listen to resurfaced in his mind. If he was being honest, it wasn’t as horrible as he’d claimed, but blaring drums and pounding beats simply didn’t help him relax like classical music did.

Felix closed his eyes briefly as he recalled the piano piece he’d shown Marinette a few minutes later. It was a favorite of his, one that he listened to often while reading alone in his room, and he did his best to explain the mastery of the artwork. The passion, the yearning, the love- it can be difficult to express, especially when he hadn’t experienced those things first hand. That’s the main reason he found the piece so interesting.

The image of Marinette’s delicate features flicked through his mind. He’d looked up at her to gawk her reaction, to see if she understood what he was trying to say, but he’d found her staring right back at him instead. Her almond-shaped eyes were round with shock, and he couldn’t help thinking about the first time they met, when he first realized how blue her irises were. They almost reminded him of tiny, swirling oceans, deep and mesmerizing.

When she jerked back a few seconds later, something akin to disappointment had laced through Felix’s stomach, and even now, he wasn’t sure why that was. Perhaps he wanted to admire the color a tad longer.

Either way, Marinette plopped into her seat, her cheeks flushing a dark scarlet, and it was only then that Felix noticed his own racing heartbeat. Again, he was at a loss for the cause. Was it because she startled him by lurching backwards? He didn’t remember flinching.

The screeching of tires pulled Felix from his thoughts, and his gaze turned to the road in front of him. A silver car had parked on the curb.

A frown tugged at the corner of Felix’s lips. That was odd. Parking on the curbs near Rosemary wasn’t allowed unless someone was being picked up or dropped off, yet no students were waving the car down or exiting the vehicle.

The back door to the car swung open, causing Felix to raise a brow. Spoke too soon.

A boy jumped out of the car, his golden blonde hair shining in the sunlight as he ran towards the front steps. Something about him seemed familiar, but Felix couldn’t place his finger on what.

The boy slowed to a stop in front of him and offered a friendly smile. Yeah, Felix has definitely seen this guy before. But where?

“Hey!” The stranger greeted. “Sorry to bother you, but I’m looking for a girl. Her name is Marinette?”

Felix narrowed his eyes at the name. Marinette as in Marinette Dupain-Cheng? As in, the girl who was inside talking to Allegra right now? Why would he be looking for her?

“She’s about this tall.” The boy continued, holding his hand just above his shoulder for reference. “She’s got raven-colored hair that she normally puts into pigtails, and wears pink capris and a black jacket. She would have started attending this school about two weeks ago?”

The more he spoke, the more suspicious Felix became. This guy knew a lot about Marinette, but Felix didn’t know a thing about him. Was he a friend? An enemy? Marinette didn’t mention meeting someone after school. Not that she was obligated to share her personal connections and schedules, but what if this was the person that’s been wanting to ‘talk’ with her? The stalker?

Don’t overreact. Felix told himself. This could be a perfectly harmless visit from an old friend of hers. Just because I wasn’t aware of him coming doesn’t mean he has ill intentions.

...but just in case..

“Apologies, but have we met?” Felix asked, dodging the blonde’s question. He didn’t want to disclose Marinette’s location unless he had her permission. There were too many cases where an unknowing co-worker blabbed about the victim’s schedule to the stalker, and he refused to be one of those idiots.

The boy pulled a sheepish expression and rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh, no, we haven’t, but I can see why you would think that. My face is kind of everywhere with all of the ads Father’s had me model in recently.”

Felix blinked, the mix of familiarity and the boy’s words clicking together in his mind. Of course! This was that same, obnoxious face that Paris has been obsessed with for the better half of five years. The amount of billboards and posters of this guy that were plastered around the city was enough to make Felix gag. He couldn’t look in any direction without seeing him!

“You’re Adrien Agreste.” He stated, a hint of irritation accidentally rising to his tone. Not only has this ‘sunshine child’- or so Paris called him -been plaguing his eyes for at least two years since Gabriel upped his campaigning game, he also happens to have the same name that was scribbled on Marinette’s birthday cards, the ones she’d offered to give away. Was that a coincidence?

Felix was leaning towards ‘no’.

“Yep.” Adrien chuckled. “That’s me. Anyway, is she here? I really need to talk with her.”

“He really just wants to ‘talk’.”

Marinette’s bitter words resurfaced in his mind, and Felix narrowed his eyes. The chances of Adrien Agreste being an enemy were steadily rising.

“I’m afraid I don’t know a girl by that name or description,” he lied, “and there hasn’t been a new student here since last year.”

If Adrien turned out to truly be one of Marinette’s friends, he would apologize, but Felix wasn’t going to risk compromising her if his suspicions were correct.

Confusion etched its way onto the blond’s features, and he glanced down at the ground as he muttered, “I could have sworn she said ‘Rosemary’..”

Felix rose a brow. Marinette told him which school she was attending? Or did another girl give him the information?

Before either could say anything more, a car horn sounded in front of them, and Adrien glanced over his shoulder to the driver of the silver car.

“Ah, I gotta go. Thanks for your help!”

Felix didn’t bother returning Adrien’s wave, instead watching him hop down the front steps. Although it would annoy him, he hoped that the blond actually was a friend of Marinette’s, for her sake. He can’t imagine her being happy with the news that someone had followed her to school.

“Oh, hey, Felix! I thought you were leaving.”

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear..

The silver car had just disappeared around the corner when the girl in question skipped down the front steps next to him. She flashed him a bright smile, making his insides churn with guilt. Should he tell her? She needed to know, right?

“I was,” He said, choosing his next words carefully, “but I got held up.”

Marinette chuckled. “I know how that goes.”

Felix nodded, his gaze shifting to the side. He didn’t want to worry her, but he couldn’t let her be ignorant of a possibly dangerous situation either.

“.. Were you, by chance, expecting anyone at the school today?”

Marinette frowned and shook her head, unfortunately confirming Felix’s concerns. “No, why?”

“Well..” He hesitated. “Someone stopped by and asked for you. A man by the name Adrien Agreste.”

Marinette’s entire body went rigid, and the blood drained from her face. Felix held back a grimace at the sight. She looked more frightened than two weeks ago when she first ran into the school to hide.

“D-Did you-”

“No.” Felix cut her off, already knowing what she was going to ask. “I told him you didn’t attend this school.”

Her shoulders slumped with relief, but he could still see the nervousness in her eyes. “Oh, thank goodness.. Thank you so much, Felix.”

“Is he the one who wanted to talk to you two weeks ago?”

Marinette faltered at the question, but nodded. “He went to my old school..”

Felix frowned. If he remembered his mother’s ramblings correctly, Adrien Agreste started attending Dupont not too long ago. Was that Marinette’s old school then?

“His father’s a powerful man.” He said. “You need to be careful.”

Marinette’s eyes widened. “Oh no! I mean- Thank you for the warning.. But Adrien isn’t like that. He’s persistent, but he doesn’t threaten people.”

Felix wasn’t entirely sure that he believed that, but he wouldn’t argue. Marinette was dealing with enough already. “I believe he said something about a girl telling him that you’re attending Rosemary, but he didn’t mention the name of her.”

Marinette’s eyebrows knitted together. “A girl?”

“Yes, something like ‘I could have sworn she said Rosemary’.”

Marinette chewed on her bottom lip, obviously troubled by the news. Felix didn’t blame her. Stalking can be a serious matter. (even if she didn’t quite consider it stalking.)

“Would you like me to drive you home?” He offered, yet again.

And again, Marinette refused by shaking her head.

“Thanks, but it’s only two blocks. I’ll be fine.” She assured.

The decision didn’t sit well with him, but Felix nodded anyway. It wasn’t his place to tell her what she could or couldn’t do, or what precautions he personally thought she should take.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then.” He said, finally continuing his descent down the stairs.

“Yep, see you tomorrow.” Marinette smiled.

They parted ways after that, Marinette heading down the sidewalk and Felix going to find his driver, but the urge to watch her didn’t leave his mind until she completely vanished around the corner.

Felix sighed, tapping his finger against the car door as he settled into the backseat of his car. Why did he want to follow her so badly?

Tag List: @artbyknigit @athena452 @nickristus-dreamer @throneoffirebreathingbitchqueen @arsaem @abrx2002 @neakco @pawsitivelymiraculous @too0bsessedformyowngood @nathleigh @lusicing @officiallydarkgeek @all-mights-asscheeks @tbehartoo @woe-is-me0 @raeuberprinzessin @lazuli-11 @miss-chaos27 @trippingovermyfeet @sadpotatoondrugs @ladybug-182 @jaggedheart11 @marinahrasauce @i-need-blog-ideas @thewheezingbubbledragon @crazylittlemunchkin @unabashedbookworm @moonystars14 @sunflowers-and-mooncakes @2confused-2doanything @magnificentcrapposts @moonnette

#Felix Culpa #Marinette #New Girl on the Block #Rosemary AU #Quantic Kids #felinette

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spookysmujer · 4 years ago

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Mi Hombre, O. Diaz

Summary: You overhear Monse trash talking about Oscar and you’ve had enough of him being painted as the villain.

warnings: monse being a hater!, cute s h e t, freak s h e t 👅

word counter: 1.5K

requested by: @un-poetryy

A/N: I always give the “bad” guys the benefit of the doubt because my attraction to toxic men began with Damon Salvatore LOL. Thank you for requesting, I love trying new things when writing for Spooky, this was fun! SEND ME ASKS/REQUESTS! I finally turned on the Anon option, heh. And don’t forget, please: follow, heart it and leave some comments, reblog and also turn on the notifs for when I post! Lots of love!!

taglist: @clemmingstylins0n @fairygardenss @firebenderwolf @spookysnena @princesstiffxoxo @mbaku-babygirl @chellybear98 @multiyfandomgirl40 @i-just-wanna-live-gc (please let me know if you wanna be added or removed!)

(Gif doesn’t belong to me, owner unknown!)

The sun is warm against your skin and the slight breeze is adding to a perfect summer day. Now that school is out, the public pool has extended it’s days of operations and hours, so here you are out with you boyfriend’s little brother and friends, tanning and having a relaxing day.

Oscar called you saying to meet him at the pool since he’s really trying to avoid spending any alone time at home with his estranged father. As you await his arrival, you’re laying back and letting the sun fill in the paler parts of your skin due to your bikini straps. And it’s been lovely but you’re starting to lose you’re patience as Monse, Cesar’s toxic ass girlfriend, keeps talking ill about Oscar.

You sigh once more as you try to zero out on the things she is saying about him but it’s getting real hard to bite your tongue the more she goes on. It’s Oscar “Spooky” Diaz and of course everyone has an opinions about everyone. And rightfully so but Monse only says bad things about her boyfriend’s older brother. Every single time it’s something negative. And granted you don’t spend much time with her, it’s sad that she can’t say one good thing.

It’s also when Oscar is never around and the devil is prying to get out of you to say something. Oh, please say something. But you keep your eyes closed and pray that your boyfriend arrives soon. The last thing you want is to cause a scene in a family area.

“I mean he’s been hanging around a lot and it’s just annoying he gotta bring his gang tendencies when it’s been clear as day you don’t want nothing to do with it. Doesn’t he have drugs to sell? or other people to jump into the gang?” Monse says and you huff audibly.

Though you got your eyes closed, you could feel her gaze move to you briefly.

Cesar only sighs as Monse kept on going and that was the tip of the iceberg for you. How can Cesar not defend is older brother? You know the shit the Diaz brothers have been through but to not defend someone who has defended you on countless occasions?

“Seriously? You really going keep talking shit, Monse? I’m convinced you’re obsessed with Oscar since all you ever do is talk about him,” You’ve had enough, you get up and say to her as you stand above them,

Both she and Cesar look up at you, surprised. “I-I, uh, was just saying th-”

“No, you weren’t just fucking saying nothing. You’re trash talking his brother and my boyfriend and it’s shit on me to have waited this long to say something but you’re such a pussy for only knowing how to talk smack when he’s not around.”

She tilts her head to the side and stands to cross her arms over her chest, “I have no problem saying this to his face as well. He must have you whipped if you are too blind to see that all he is is trouble, Y/N. You’re a smart girl, you deserve someone better than Oscar.”

If you could see the world in a single color right now, it’d be red and for Monse it’s about to be black considering you want to pop her one right in the mouth. You’re at a disbelief that she can’t give Oscar the benefit of the doubt considering he has done a lot for his brother and group of friends. Everytime there had been an issue that they couldn’t solve, which was 99.9% of the time, Oscar came in with the save.

You see your boyfriend walk through the gated entrance of the public pool. He makes his way over to the food stand and you smile to yourself, the sight of him always making you melt, “ I am a smart girl, thank you. I’m smart enough to know that no one in this world is perfect. We all have flaws, Oscar knows it too. But you’re quick to forget that if it weren’t for him, you all would probably be 6 feet under next to Lil Ricky, who isn’t even 6 feet under might I add!”

She laughs a little to herself before continuing, “And we wouldn’t have gotten in those situations had Oscar not jumped his little brother into that stupid gang of wannabes anyways! Who does that? Forces his own family into something he didn’t want to be apart of? That’s messed up! And you the complicit one that stands by not saying anything!” Monse says loudly, now catching the attention of those around you. Even Oscar is now looking your way, you and Monse in each other’s faces.

You weren’t planning to make a big scene about this, you just wanted to call her out on her bullshit peacefully, if that is even possible. But if the shoe fits? You lace that bitch up and wear it.

You scoff and step closer to her face, “Cesar grew up in this life, wake the fuck up, Monse! It looks like a duck, it quacks like a duck, it’s a fucking duck! Think this lil duckling was gonna join the rabbit family and live a peaceful life? That is how the world revolves, that is how people like us survive. Whether you like it or not. Yes, it is messed up. And I can promise you, Oscar never wanted this life to begin with, not for him and definitely not for his brother, whom he raised. Was it a perfect life? No. But it was and still is enough.

“So I swear to God, if you can’t say anything nice please shut the fuck up. Don’t say shit. Because if you wanna point out flaws, let’s all do it, hm? Gather around family and friends, “ You look around and say, “We’re gonna play the What’s wrong with Monse game I’ll start, she’s toxic as fuck! She loves to play the victim, she’s dating a freshly jumped in Santo, which she claims are wannabe gangsters!”

Everyone’s attention is on you now, Oscar is trying his best not to laugh at the situation but when you get argumentative, it’s a damn good time. You have valid points and Monse knows it. The people with the most problems never like to admit them. She has a look of embarrassment plastered on her face.

“Y/N...” Cesar speaks up, also with a look of embarrassment on his face. He scratches the back of his head as he looks around and spots his brother in the distant. Oscar raises his water bottle in the air as a notion of, Salud.

You cross your arms and wait for him to say something but he only looks down at his feet and rocks on his heels. Monse’s mouth agape at his lack of input, “What’s wrong? You upset he’s not defending you? That’s how complicit ones are, sweetheart. They see the problem and let it go on so long as it’s not personally affecting them. Which means you probably just a piece of culo. And also means he’s a little puto for not defending his brother. A little bitch! Both of you!”

“Hey, hey mamas. Calmate, com’n. Let’s go get some food, hm?” Oscar appears and starts to pull you away as you spew out the last of your words. He can feel your skin is warm to the touch and it is not from the tanning either.

He is smiling like a fool once you two make your way to the stand, “Wow, my lady defends my name even when I’m not around.”

You shake your head and cross you arms, exhaling a much needed breath through your nose. Monse is collecting her things, angrily and storming out to the parking lot. A frantic Cesar following, you look back to Oscar and both laugh.

“Was I too harsh?” You ask him, he shakes his head in disagreement.

“Nah, bout time someone tells her off and you did just that. It’s hot, y’know? Calling them out for talking shit.” You look to him and whack your arm on his stomach, he wraps his arms around you and kisses the top of you head. “What else would my lil traviesa do for me?”

As you tip your head back to answer, Jasmine walks towards the two of you blasting music from her phone.

I don’t wanna spit, I wanna gulp

I wanna gag, I wanna choke

I want you to touch that lil dangly dang that swang in the back of my throat

You look to Oscar and wink at him, feeling the hardness in his swim trunks as you lick your lips. He clears his throat looking at Jasmine that means to leave. She snobs you two and walks off.

“Aye, you gotta walk in front me. He won’t let up.” You look between the two of you and see his boner. Laughing away, you let him trail very close behind you.

#Oscar Diaz #oscar spooky diaz #oscar diaz imagine #oscar diaz x reader #oscar diaz x you #oscar diaz x y/n #spooky diaz x reader #spooky imagine #spooky diaz x y/n #spooky diaz x you #spooky x you #spooky x y/n #spookysmujer #on my block #on my block imagine #omb #netflix on my block

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thatringboy · 3 years ago

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Me to me: Nooo don’t make an Inazuman oc you already have two OCs from Liyue and Natlan who you said you’d revamp and besides, you’re probably going to lose interest in this one soon Also Me, getting way to invested in Inazuma lore: HEY EVERYONE COME MEET MY NEW OC HIIRAGI YORICHI, A HYDRO SWORD USER WHO’S AUTISTIC LIKE ME

Link to picrew used for profile

Buried Beauty

“My duty is first to the people of my homeland, then the Kanjou Commission. Make no mistake, Baal must be stopped, but not at the expense of the people.”

The firstborn son of the Hiiragi Clan who’s name means “first gift”. He grew up in Sumeru Academy, but has returned to Ritou to take up his father’s yoke over the Kanjou Commission

General Information

Name: Hiiragi Yorichi

Age: 28

Affiliation: Hiiragi Clan

Birthdate: January 17

Starsign: Capricorn

Constellation: Thesauros Sepultus

Weapon: Sword

Vision: Hydro

Voice Claims

CVA: Zhang Jie

JVA: Tasuku Hatanaka

EVA: Kyle Phillips

Voice Lines

Good Morning: Hmm? Oh, yes, greetings Traveler and Paimon. Sorry, I didn’t see you there… I’m not much of a morning person

Good Afternoon: Did I miss lunch again? Eh, oh well. Traveler, wanna run by Miss Ryouko’s to get some food?

Good Evening: If I don’t get back soon, Chisato will certainly send someone out to find me

Good Night: Can you get back on your own? I’m afraid that I must return to Ritou for the evening

When It Rains: Quickly! The rain will cover our tracks!

When It Snows: Huh? Wow it got cold fast! Better go find some shelter before I accidentally freeze us

When It’s Sunny: Be careful, our enemies can see clearly in broad daylight

Favorite Food: Mmm, I could go for some Mondstat Grilled Fish right about now… I had it once during their Ludi Harpastum Festival that my Senpai took me to one year and I’ve just fallen in love with the flavour!

Least Favorite Food: Is… is that cabbage? No no, there’s nothing wrong, just don’t expect me to eat any. Why? Well… I don’t like the texture at all! Eating it feels like slime going down my throat which closes up my airways and then that sensation makes my brain feel like someone shoved a wet blanket between my ears and wrapped it around my brain! Please… never make me eat cabbage…

About: Vision: My Vision? How did I get mine? Well, since you asked so nicely, it appeared to me in a dream during the end of the first year of the Sakoku Decree. I had cried myself to sleep because of the anguish I felt coming from those who had their Visions stolen - those who I had sworn to protect as a Clan Heir - and I cursed out Celestia for allowing this to happen. In my dream, I appeared before seven giant thrones all glowing with elemental magic. In the blue throne sat a woman who gave off so much power that I could not gaze upon her. Yet, her words always resonate in my heart: “Your loyalties may change, but never change your principles. Do no harm to others, but do not let harm fall upon you and those you love.” When I woke up, the Vision was tucked under my pillow!

About: Kanjou Commission: One day, it will be my duty to oversee the Kanjou Commission. Am I ready? Probably not. Do I have a choice? Also no. I just want to make everyone proud… but how can I do that when father has already deemed me an embarrassment to the Hiiragi Clan simply because of who I am?

About: Sumeru Academy: The Academy? I grew up there! Fourteen years I spent roaming the halls absorbing all of the knowledge I could! *Sigh*… maybe if the Travel Ban gets lifted, I’ll show you around my old stomping grounds!

About: Ritou: I’m friends with some of the guys at the Outlander’s Trade Association. What do you wish to see? Want to head by a jewelry shop? Get some food?

About: Interests: Wanna know a secret? Deep down, I’m an alchemist at heart! Anything alchemy related, I’m sure I can be of use! It’s my special interest! Did you know that the luminescent spines of a firefly can—wait wait no I’m sorry. Father says that people get bored of my ramblings, my apologies for wasting your time…

About: Swords: You may have noticed that my sword technique is different from the samurai of Inazuma. That is because I learned how to use my blade at the Academy. I forged this blade myself when I turned twenty. Would you like to hold it?

About Ayaka: Miss Kamisato? I’ve met her once and she seems nice, but I still feel uneasy around her. But maybe that’s just me

About Raiden Shogun: You want to know why I refer to the Shogun as “Baal”? Well, that’s because I didn’t grow up in a place that calls her the “Raiden Shogun”. I’m used to my peers referring to her as “Baal” and I’ve yet to drop the habit. Also, I don’t have much respect for her, but don’t tell anyone that

About Ayato: Never met him, but his description gives me the creeps! Never appears in public, leaving his little sister to do all the work? The nerve of that guy! O-oh… that sounds like me? Ehe-he… oops

About Yoimiya: Oh Miss Naganohara! She makes the best fireworks! She and I are actually a lot alike. What, you don’t see it? I guess that comes from me spending a lifetime hiding my inner enthusiasm while she never quite grew up. We should go to the next firework festival to see her, I’m sure she’d love that! But… from a distance please. The popping noises from the fireworks hurt my ears

About Kaeya: The Cavalry Captain of the Knights of Favonius, huh? I’m curious to see how the pieces fall into place… what was that? Oh, it’s nothing… just gossip from some old colleagues

About Diluc: Diluc? Who’s that? Owner of the Dawn Winery? The Ragnvindr Clan? Nope, doesn’t ring a bell. The Darknight Hero? Of course! Why didn’t you just say that?! Yeah I know who you’re talking about now! What? He’s got a Vision too? I guess that guy’s just full of surprises

About Childe: So, that weasel is actually a Fatui Harbinger? Why am I not surprised... O-oh when did I meet him? After I graduated from the Academy. Did I sound too surprised about his identity? Sorry, when I knew him, he used a different name

About Albedo: Ah… the son of Rhinedottir. His master actually attended one of my lectures when I was younger in secret. I think they were using an alias during that time but I spoke to them in private. It was interesting to learn different things about ancient alchemy techniques from another land. I think Albedo is currently an alchemist in Mondstat, right? I’ll visit him when the Travel Ban is lifted to exchange notes

About Klee: Klee, daughter of Alice? Eh, I haven’t heard good things. I’m not a big fan of explosions... but that doesn’t mean that she’s a bad kid! I’m sure if I met her, we’d be friends

About Lisa: Minci-Senpai! We worked together a lot at the Acadmia! Why did I call her senpai when I’m older than her? Well, because she’s the Grandmage!!! Everyone knows how smart and powerful Minci-Senpai is! Once, she tasked me with finding ways to preserve pure Electro organisms. So, I coated the inside of a jar with Hydro Slime condensate so that her Electro roses can continuously be charged by the Hydro energy… Sorry, I’m getting carried away

About Mona: What, do you think that all Hydro users who practice magic know each other? Well, I do know Miss Megistus, but you can’t assume that! I met her and her master once during a lecture on fortune telling with the use of elemental abilities. Now that I have a Vision of my own, I will see if I can implement their techniques into my own practice

About Sara: To be perfectly honest, I’ve never met her. We may be the heirs to our Clans and our respective Commissions, but I’ve never had a conversation with her. Naturally, as a Vision holder and she as the spearhead of the Tenryou Commission, I am her enemy. However, as the heir to the Hiiragi Clan, I must keep up formalities. Besides, my dear sister Chisato is being courted by another member of the Kujou clan, Kujou Kamaji, and I don’t want to do anything to ruin that. You won’t turn me and my Vision in to her, right?

About Cyno: Ah, Master Cyno, one of the smartest members of the Academy. I owe a lot of my development to him. I don’t think I would have finished my Thesis paper on the eighth nation without his guidance

About: Names: You know, my name means “first treasure”, but despite such an endearing name, my father has yet to reveal my face to the public and claim me as his heir. He was also the one to send me away when I was a boy to Sumeru because I was not like other children. Was I meant to be gift to my family? To the other nations? Was I an unwanted gift? … Oh, sorry about that. I don’t usually get dark like that! Tell me, Traveller, what does your name mean?

About: Politics: Ugh… Sakoku Decree this, honor the Commissions that, I don’t understand any of it. If I’m ever left in charge, I’m sure that I could handle the bureaucratic side, but the people side? I get overwhelmed when talking to people I’m not comfortable with. I shut down mentally, fumble over my words and eventually I end up having a panic attack and Chisato has to pull me from the room. My father thought that I would have grown out of those outbursts when I got older, but I’ve only found a way to mask my behaviors. But you’re different, you haven’t looked at me like a child nor spoken less of me simply because I’m different, why is that?

About: Family: My mother passed away while I was gone, my father Shinsuke is the head of the Kanjou Commission and my younger sister Chisato is his main assistant. When my father gets upset, Chisato is always the one who has my back and in turn, I’ve begun escorting her secretly to Kondo Village to meet with her secret lover, Kujou Kamaji. I guess that’s what siblings do for each other, we protect each other from everything because no matter what we go through, no matter what arguments we have, we always will have each other. Ah, Traveler! I didn’t say anything to make you upset, did I?

About: Khaenri’ah: … You ask a lot of questions, don’t you? What do you think I know about that cursed place? Yeah, I wrote my Thesis paper on Khaenri’ah, but that was a while ago and I’ve learned my lesson. Now, the only connections I have to that place are hearsay from lecturers, rumors at the Academy and the plucked plume of a proud peacock.

About: Time Gap: Huh? Oh yeah, I went to Sumeru when I was seven and studied there for fourteen years. Uh… what did I do for the missing five years of my life before returning to Ritou? Ehe-he… I don’t think I’m allowed to say everything, but I can tell you this: that’s the time that I met a disgraced Knight, a bloodthirsty child and learned how to wield a sword. I was able to travel with them while writing my Thesis paper. Ah… how time flies when working with like minded people

This is the most thought I’ve ever put into an OC, I hope you like him!

#Just casually throws in that Yorichi is part of the same information gathering organization as Diluc #I really like Yorichi and I hope the rest of you do too #genshin impact #genshin impact oc #hiiragi yorichi #hydro character

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abouthoundsandlittlebirds · 4 years ago

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Lmfao the fact that you STILL think Sesshomaru groomed Rin is enough for me to believe you are entirely braindead and never watched the show or even bothered paying attention to it in the slightest. Rin followed Sesshomaru for a year. He LEFT HER with KAEDE to let her CHOOSE HER OWN PATH. HER OWN LIFE. But sure, whatever your little pissy anti pea brain wants to believe to help you sleep at night and feel good about calling random people fucking pedophiles and groomers over fictional, not born in reality, fucking characters. Grooming is an intentional INTENTION FROM THE BEGINNING. Oh so you're gonna tell me Sesshomaru intended to fuck rin and romance her since the moment they met? When your whole other argument is that he saw her as a daughter? LOL yeah ok you can't have it both ways dumbass. You can't decide his motives were pure when you headcanoned him as her father figure and then pull shit straight from your ass when they were confirmed as a couple that he MUST HAVE groomed her. Wow visiting every now and then to let the orphaned Rin know he still cares and didn't abandon her? MUST BE GrOoMiNg!!!! Please. For the love of fucking god, instead of claiming grooming PLEASE PLEASE read and relate the actual dictionary definition, and ACTUAL EXAMPLES OF GROOMING IN REAL LIFE to SOMEHOW, MIRACULOUSLY find a correlation.

Honey, pay attention to my speech. I am anti SESSRIN, I personally don't give a fuck for those who supports this ship. So why are you so angry about it? Did I say you are sick? Did I say you are a pedo? Or groomer? I don't recall doing it, tho. The only thing I've actually said is that I don't agree with controversial acts on fiction stories only because for some people (like you) disgusting pairings should be allowed on it, since there are no laws that forbids it.

I think you should learn what grooming is before talking about it, because it is stupidity of your part to support real life criminal actions on literature. Do you know that is hypocrisy, right? When you support criminal actions on fiction and condem those actions in real life, you are a hypocrite person.

Now, I have read the manga and watched the anime a couple of times through all those years, and I have knowledge about my sayings (darling, I am a teacher by graduation, so I know you must have some basis to talk about something), however I don't believe you are smart enough or are even willing to understand it, since you lack A LOT of information, I mean, even a dog knows simple human words, while you don't make justice for the brain that is inside your head. If you have difficulties making textual interpretation about what I said, how could you understand fictional dialogues and read images? I don't believe for an instant you are a trust worth person and your opinions is only worth as an example of what NOT TO DO when you don't have fundaments that supports your thoughts.

Yet, since I am a teacher and I have a few moments of free time, I will teach you something: IF (pay attention to this saying and read more than one time if you still don't understand. I don't blame you for being a slow learner) Sesshomaru ends with Rin as a romantic pair, THEN he will be a groomer and this ship is disgusting. BUT, I think Sesshomaru does not see Rin as a lover and he takes her as his adopted daughter. I don't hate Sesshomaru or Rin, I actually love those characters and I wish they deserve better than to become a shipper that developed under criminal aspects.

Sesshomaru left Rin under Kaede's care, that is true, but he kept visiting her and leaving presents for her. This is grooming if they end up together. Waiting for her to age up doesn't change the fact that it is still grooming.

People who supports this pair perhaps is not groomers or pedos, because to be it you need to practice it in real life (and I don't expect those people to do it, actually I request for they not to do it! But I also don't search for their personal life and I won't do it, because as I said, I don't give a fuck for your people), so I won't claim something I don't know. What I know as a fact, is that Sesshomaru ends up with Rin, then Sesshomaru IS a groomer. And I personally don't want that the characters I love so fondly to be tangled in a situation like that, so what is the problem for me to be against it!? Do you expect me to support it!? Also, I have seen no theories of your people deffending SessRin without grooming basis. Your people even said that the kimonos Sesshomaru gave Rin when she was a CHILD was courtship. Your people are SUPPORTING grooming actions by doing so, because your people points Sesshomaru's romantic feelings for Rin when she was only 11 years old. Do you realise it is creepy, right? I don't think is against antis you should waste your time and energy, but with your people that does this kind of analysis, because they are the only responsibles for the desmoralization of your ship.

With all that said and solved, I have nothing else to tell you. This is my final answer for you.

#sesshomaru #yashahime #sesshoumaru #hanyo no yashahime #hanyou no yashahime #anti sessrin #anti-sessrin #anti rinsess #rin #rin inuyasha #rin yashahime

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gumnut-logic · 4 years ago

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Callisto (Arrival - Bit 1)

And here we are back on our way out to Callisto with a bunch of grumpy Tracys, their Dad, their Uncle and a former enemy. It’s all sunshine and lollipops...not. :D But there is some great scenery :D

As always, many thanks to @tsarinatorment @scribbles97 @janetm74 and @onereyofstarlight You guys are absolutely amazing and so patient with my crazy. Bri, you are a great teacher for a dunderhead like me :D

Anyways, here we are back on board the Excel. I hope you enjoy. :D

-o-o-o-

Part Three

Virgil ended up dosing Gordon as the aquanaut turned positively green after the second jump.

He dragged his brother to the infirmary and made him lie down for the rest of the ion pause. Gordon protested the anti-nausea injection, but Virgil wasn’t willing to risk airborne innards. He was barely holding it together himself.

John, surprisingly wasn’t much better. Not that the casual observer would be able to tell. His space brother was the master of self-control. But Virgil could see the tightness around his mouth, the slightly pale cast to his skin…he kept an eye on him.

By the third jump, Virgil was dosing himself with anti-nausea meds.

It was the oddest feeling. His body wanted to register it as a g-force, but it wasn’t quite the same. It hit his stomach and his head and it was like spinning in both directions at once.

Ergh, even thinking about it was nauseating.

John didn’t need any medication. Or so he claimed. As far as Virgil was concerned, it came damned close. He kept an eagle eye on his space brother anyway.

As for the rest of the crew...Scott and Alan didn’t appear to even notice the issue, their Dad grunted a little and Uncle Lee made several salty comments.

Michael just arched an eyebrow when Virgil queried him.

Before the fourth jump he forcibly dragged them all through the tiny sickbay, just in case.

The whining was extensive.

But this was new technology. A threat to call back to Grandma was all it took to shift both his father and Uncle Lee. Who could have known their uncle was mildly terrified of their grandmother.

His father was rather amused. The story behind that one was not fully divulged, but it lightened the atmosphere a little.

Michael worshipped Mrs Tracy, as he called her, and was out of his seat so fast, he created eddies in the artificial atmosphere.

Virgil was not going to question that one at all.

Ultimately, Virgil didn’t find anything wrong with any of his brothers or the others, but he did record all observations. Perhaps the reason could be found and negated sometime down the track.

In the meantime, Gordon and himself were suitably drugged up and Alan’s smart-ass comment on the matter stamped on by Scott.

Finally, thank god, they emerged from the fifth jump and Alan was able to shift to more familiar spaceflight permanently.

Beside Virgil, Gordon let out a relieved sigh.

The ship shuddered as the ion engines were once again engaged. Alan’s skill was ever so prominent and Virgil felt nothing but pride for his little brother. He must remember to mention it to the squirt later on.

John, still looking a little green, ran his fingers over his board and brought up their forward view on the main ‘projector.

“Well, I have to say that is quite a sight.” Dad’s voice was suitably awed.

Virgil’s jaw dropped.

Jupiter.

It was massive.

And far more impressive in person than through a telescope.

The huge gas giant was still distant, but the sun behind them lit it up in all its glory. Its brilliant swirls of colour were in such contrast to the black around it, it was like a hole in the fabric of space-time, a window to another dimension.

Its iconic red spot glared at them like an eye.

Virgil knew the planet well from both photographs and Five’s telescopes. Its colours were fascinating and inspirational. He’d done a few pours in acrylic to emulate the gaseous agitation with mixed results. One hung in John’s room, even. But nothing compared to this.

“That is one honkin’ great big ball o’ gas.”

Virgil flattened his gaze and glared at the back of Uncle Lee’s head. Beside him, Gordon snorted.

Typical.

On the hologram, labels suddenly appeared identifying each of the features in the space-scape. Ganymede coasted slowly on the left, Io was a tiny dot casting a shadow on Jupiter’s surface and an arrow pointed out where Europa was obscured by the giant planet.

Jupiter’s ring was located, along with several of its seventy-odd asteroid moon hoard.

A glance at John had Virgil smiling. The expression on his space brother’s face was a sight to behold. It was as if he had discovered the holy grail…which, considering the importance of the Jovian system, was a good analogy.

This was John paradise.

“Receiving recognition signal from Callisto.” His space brother’s expression shifted to one of quiet amusement as his fingers poked his console.

“How the hell did you get here so quick?!” The hologram that suddenly appeared in the middle of the cockpit was energetic to say the least. Graeme Walters was a bald, heavy-set man in his fifties. Fiery eyes set deeply below steel grey eyebrows were striking by themselves, but it was the extravagant moko that was the dominant feature of his expression. The black etched design on the entirety of the right side of his face spoke of his mother’s Maori ancestry.

Those dark eyes didn’t wait for an answer as they glanced around, only to fixate on Virgil’s father. “Jeff?”

“Hey, Gray. Long time, no see.”

The man stared for a long moment, lips pressing together. A drawn in breath. “Good to see you, Space Jockey.” The relieved smile that infused his face was a big one.

But it didn’t last long.

Scott spoke up. “Mr Walters, we are responding to your distress call. What is your situation?”

Dark eyes flickered to the commander, a frown forming between them. “Ju and Kate were exploring the caves beneath the Base. They extend for hundreds of kilometres in all directions. They took three staff and one of our spelunking crawlers towards the north. Kate is fascinated by the Asgard impact zone and in particular Burr crater. They had planned to be gone a week. We lost contact yesterday, only two days in.” A map appeared in the hologram. “We think they made it to Burr, but we are unsure as our sensors are swamped with interference.”

“Interference?” John sat up straighter. “Send me a radiological profile of the area.”

Walters blinked and gestured at something out of range. “It’s yours. Though I’m hoping that big fancy rocket you’re riding has more bang for its buck than our orbital.”

John’s voice was calm. “I can assure you, Mr Walters, we have plenty of bang.” His brother was intent on his console, frowning at whatever the Base commander had sent him.

“Good.” He turned back to Jeff. “Looking forward to a beer in your honour, Jeff. Park your rocket in orbit and I’ll see you down here asap.” A curl of his lips. “Watch the Jefferson. I’ve just had her waxed.” The hologram blinked out.

“The Jefferson?”

Nobody answered him and the cockpit was suddenly quiet.

Virgil wondered if it was pure accident his father didn’t know or if Scott and John had left the name out of the briefing on purpose. Hell, why hadn’t Uncle Lee told him? Perhaps they had meant to approach Dad later in private. Perhaps Virgil should have done that himself, but the rush to leave…

Damn.

The massive space hauler that had brought the Callisto mission to the moon had left Earth in 2056 a year after their father had gone missing.

Virgil sighed internally. ‘Gone missing’ was a euphemism for ‘died’ that they all used. They didn’t name spaceships after people they thought might be coming back.

“On approach.” Alan’s words snapped him out of his thoughts.

His little brother tweaked the view on the main projector.

Dad was tight-lipped as he stared up at the scene.

Jupiter still hung in the distance like a massive Christmas ornament, but its second largest moon was swelling in the foreground.

Callisto was a moon of rock and ice. Unlike her sister, Europa, the surface was not one continuous blanket of white. More a cratered wasteland, the moon’s ancient crust sparkled like it was dusted with glitter. As the Excel powered into orbit, that glittery surface turned its eye towards them.

And it was an eye. Not like the red spot that continued to stare at them from Jupiter, but a single massive crater outshining the millions of smaller ones, glaring up at them from the surface.

Words appeared on the display yet again. Valhalla.

“Wow. Something hit hard.” Gordon’s voice beside him was little more than a whisper.

The Excel swooped past and around the moon, turning away from Jupiter as she caught the curve of a new orbit. Virgil’s attention was focussed on Callisto, so he didn’t see the approach of the other ship at first.

“There she is.” Alan’s voice was awe itself. “The Jefferson Tracy.”

“You let them name a ship after me?”

Again that silence enveloped the cockpit.

Scott sighed. “It was a sign of respect, Dad.” His eyes were sad as he looked up at the display.

Jeff stared at the commander for a long moment. Scott simply stared back, the expression on his face enough to clench Virgil’s heart.

Uncle Lee was either oblivious or strategic in his words. “Jeff, she is a beauty. Just look at those engines. She hauled the entire base all the way out here and didn’t blink.” He grinned at the ship as she slowly floated past. There were enough similarities in design between the Jefferson and Thunderbird Two in the way the hauler carried chained ‘modules’ and sported a massive rocket on her backend for Virgil to admire. But she was many times the size of his ‘bird, had never seen planetfall and never would, having been built in space.

Zero X technology had been the next step in space exploration.

The Zero X had failed.

The Jefferson was the result. Alternate technology named after the man the original technology had taken.

Most of her modules were missing and no doubt deployed on the moon, but the hauler was still massive, her giant hull decked out in blue and silver.

A splash of red on her bow completed the illusion. While she was built more like a giant Thunderbird Two, she drew her paint job from a much smaller craft.

“Well, that looks familiar.” Gordon murmured beside Virgil.

He had to agree. Even the white lettering down the side of the huge craft that spelt out their father’s name was an echo of the Thunderbird lettering down One’s flank.

“Why?” Their father didn’t specify who he was addressing, but it wasn’t necessary.

Scott sat straighter in his seat. “As I said, they wanted to show their respect. I couldn’t see the harm. Tracy Industries was a major sponsor, after all.” And they had been hurting.

Bad.

Virgil remembered far too well. Scott had received the request after a long and hard day. He had been vulnerable and had sought out Virgil’s counsel.

It had been like declaring Dad dead and it had hurt so much. But the opportunity to see their father so recognised, so esteemed by the planet he had sacrificed himself for…in the end there had been no question of giving permission.

It was what their father would have wanted.

They hadn’t expected him to actually see the Jefferson Tracy.

Again Uncle Lee spoke up, this time his voice was unusually quiet. “Berry and Ju just wanted you to keep them safe, Jeff. You were our lucky charm, after all.”

Virgil’s father frowned at the engineer.

Jeff opened his mouth, but Alan cut him off. “Orbital stability achieved and locked in.”

The Jefferson passed them at a respectable distance on its own orbital trajectory and sailed off towards the moon’s curved horizon. Below them, another very large impact crater slowly rotated into view.

The word ‘Asgard’ appeared on the display.

Scott’s voice was sharp as he unstrapped himself. “That’s our target. John, what are the specifics?”

The astronaut turned his seat around to face them all. “The Base is contained within Doh crater, part of the Asgard complex.” An arrow appeared on the display pointing at a tiny shadow at the centre of the massive crater. “The docking facilities are large enough to support Thunderbird Three. Alan, I recommend a rear landing. Let’s not drill a hole in their hangar.”

“Well, yeah, derrr.”

Gordon piped up. “No, it’s D’oh, little bro.” The aquanaut grinned.

John did not roll his eyes. Not quite.

Virgil had no such control and just groaned.

“What? I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Gordon.” Scott’s voice was firm, but Virgil could see the slight crinkle around Scott’s eyes and appreciated Gordon’s effort to break up the atmosphere a little.

John ignored both of them. “Gravity is only 0.126g, even less than Earth’s Moon, so no stupid stunts.” Virgil wasn’t going to argue with the glare John sent in Scott’s direction, but when Uncle Lee picked up on it, the snort was a big one.

“It will be like being home on Alfie again.” The whack Lee planted on their father’s back was a solid one. “Hey, Space Jockey.”

The glare Dad shot at Uncle Lee was scathing. “Don’t you start.”

“Oh, it’s all coming back to me now.”

Virgil’s father grunted in disgust.

Uncle Lee only grinned more.

“We have a mission here, people.” Scott glared at all of them.

That shut up everyone and Virgil felt like throttling his brother. They were on pace. The break in tension was worth the moment.

Virgil straightened. “We have a number of pods available. I recommend a combination of all-terrain. We have the Dragonfly geared for low gravity environment, but it will depend on the size of these caves. John?”

“I’ve only just begun analysis, but as the Commander Walters said, Base sensors are badly compromised. I’ve tapped into the Jefferson with similar results. Using Thunderbird Five I hope to locate and negate the issue. Eos is working on it as we speak. My focus once the last communications buoy is connected, will be finding lifesigns and assistance with mapping the reported caves.”

“Thank you, John. Alan, you’re in Thunderbird Three. Virgil and Gordon, you’re with me. Dad-“

“I’m going down with you, Scott.”

“Me, too.” Uncle Lee was virtually bouncing in his seat.

Scott’s lips pressed together. “As I was saying, gear up and I’ll see you in Thunderbird Three.” The commander’s eyes flitted to Virgil ever so briefly, but the medic got the meaning immediately.

Medical supplies would be fully stocked.

Scott pushed off from his chair.

“Thunderbirds are go.”

-o-o-o-

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #Virgil Tracy #Scott Tracy #alan tracy #John Tracy #Jeff Tracy #lee taylor #Gordon Tracy #callisto

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pedros-mustache-main · 4 years ago

Text

crayons & caresses

summary: you know it’s wrong, that pining after your student’s father is wildly inappropriate, but gosh if john deacon isn’t the most handsome man you’ve ever seen.

word count: 12k+

warnings: pining to the extreme!, slight angst, discussions of parental death, health scare + medical response, alcohol, language, innuendo, suggestive moments (not 18+ but be mindful)

a/n: mechanic/singledad!john is everything i didn’t know i needed in my life. also: WOW this took me a long ass time because i find john the hardest to write, but i love him so. much. so hopefully it’s worth the wait.

(photo: originally from @davidgayhan i think?? ugh look at him. i drool. yes i did set this during the brief short-perm-montreal moment. sue me)

september, 1981.

you love all of your students equally. each one is like a fingerprint on your heart: unique in their own way, made up of patterns and histories you will never be able to appreciate in full before they are whisked away to their next year. it is safe to say you adore the collection of twenty-four seven year olds who walk into your classroom each morning. their bright faces, some still chubby with baby fat, fill the lonely parts of your soul, and you leave your flat each morning with a sense of purpose and duty. you are their teacher, their guide through some of the most crucial parts of learning. it is an honor and a privilege to teach them—each and every one. but there is one student who sticks out among the rest.

his name is beau deacon.

beau is remarkably quiet. he’s small for his age, both in height and in weight. at times, he appears frail, what with the way he sits by himself in the corner during reading hour, flipping through a picture book with glazed over eyes, never really concentrating on what’s before him. he walks slowly during recess, preferring to stay by himself and drag a stick along the blacktop than play a game of kickball with the other boys. he whispers when he speaks and avoids meeting the eyes of those who do try and pry a few words from him.

you try to engage him—really, you do—but nothing seems to stick. not the participation reward system you build just for him, but use for the entire class. not moving his desk closer to yours. not even coercing your best friend ami to bring in her therapy dogs one afternoon early in the year. despite your best efforts, beau remains decidedly uninterested and removed.

it bothers and worries you to the point of questioning your colleague on the matter. martha is sixty, but spry as ever. she’s been your confidant this last year. you’re new to teaching, green as ever, but she has welcomed you with open arms and a plethora of advice. you feel comfortable sidling up next to her in the car-line one friday afternoon. it’s hot outside, summer not yet allowing autumn to take root, so you hold a hand over your eyes to shade yourself from the sun.

“can i ask you something?” you say, keeping your eyes trained on the children who filter out of the school and into their parent’s waiting vehicles.

“as long as it’s not about sex,” martha mutters. “haven’t had a good romp in so long i don’t even know if it still works the same way.”

you swallow a laugh as a trio of students pass you by. their mother waves over her shoulder, shouting her thanks, before shoving the children in the backseat of a tan mini-van. you watch the van pull away, another car rolling forward to take its place, before asking your question.

“beau deacon,” you start, hoping that, if you simply say his name, martha will fill in the gaps herself.

blessedly, martha twists and nods with a knowing smile. “i know that tyke well. had him last year.”

you release a huff of air in relief. “oh thank goodness. i’m almost beside myself. i don’t know what to do with him.” you frown as you attempt to speak as diplomatically about your student as possible. “he’s awful quiet. he doesn’t play with any of the children and barely looks at me when i speak to him. how’d you manage?”

to your dismay, the older woman just shrugs. “i didn’t really. his mum died all sudden like about halfway through the year, and he clammed up. no matter what i did, what tricks i tried to pull, he stayed completely unmovable.”

“oh.” your shoulders drop in defeat. “i didn’t know.” truthfully, your heart tugs for the child. to lose one’s mother at such a tender age? you can’t imagine the world of hurt he lives in. it’s no wonder he sticks to himself.

“you didn’t speak with his father?”

“no. was i have supposed to?”

“no, not necessarily. mr. deacon was helpful on a few occasions last year. we were sort of a united front, i’d say, when things were particularly bad in the beginning. perhaps give him a call. at least to let him know you’re in his corner.” she smiles and squeezes your bicep. “and you can always come to me, love. i may not have all the answers but i do have some.”

“thank you, martha. i think giving mr. deacon a call might be smart—” you turn at the tell-tale sound of feet dragging against the ground. in the few weeks since classes have started, you’ve grown to know the sound of beau deacon’s footsteps better than your own. he’s always on your mind, the sullen little boy with glasses, so it’s hard not to pounce on him with love when you turn around to see him in the school doorway. “oh! beau! we were just talking about you.”

beau stops walking, and his grip tightens on the straps of his backpack. he doesn’t look up at you, doesn’t say anything. he simply stands there, as if he’s listening but doesn’t know how to respond, so you soldier forward.

“do you have any big plans for the weekend, beau?” you ask.

he shakes his head.

“none with your father?”

another shake of the head.

“well, perhaps you’ll do something fun and you can tell us about it on monday, yeah?”

to your surprise, he nods, which is more than he does most days. you can’t help the smile that claims your lips and the way your arm waves a little too hard to his retreating form. he walks to a faded old corvette and opens the passenger door with ease. you can hear a muffled voice—his father’s no doubt—and see the man stretch his arm out to take beau’s backpack.

but then the car door is shut, and the chevy pulls out of the parking lot with too much speed to be safe when a child is in the front.

you glance at martha. she rolls her eyes and mouths men. you can’t help but agree.

a week passes before you finally find the time to phone beau’s father. you find his name—john richard deacon—and a telephone number in beau’s emergency contact form, shoved amongst a stack of other hastily filled-out parent paperwork. there’s no secondary number listed—not even a distant relative or family friend—so if the call doesn’t work, you aren’t sure what your next move will be. even so, after all the children have left and the other teachers are beginning to close their classrooms for the day, you slouch at your desk and punch the numbers into the phone. it rings three times before someone picks up.

“taylor auto-repair. this is rog.”

the voice on the other end is high and scratchy. you’re taken aback, both by the man on the phone and the blaring rock n roll music in the background. you aren’t an expert, but it sounds like zeppelin. not what you’d expected.

“hello?”

you shake yourself free of surprise, and the wheels beneath your chair scrape against the linoleum floor as you sit forward. “oh, sorry. i thought i was calling the deacon residence?”

“deacon? like john deacon?”

“yes, i’m beau’s schoolteacher. i thought—well, this was the number on the contact form.”

there’s a sigh, and the phone brushes against something rough before rog says anything more. “hold on.” when he speaks next, his voice is distant yet poorly muffled. “deaky! there’s some bird on the phone for you! what have i told ya about putting the shop’s number down instead of the house’s? fuckin’ hell, mate.”

you frown, pressing your fingers to your lips as you wait for... deaky... to take the phone from his co-worker. when a new voice does appear on the line, you again find yourself surprised.

“hello? this is john deacon.” john’s voice is almost lilting, like a song. it’s soft, comforting—though how you determine this from four simple words is beyond your understanding.

“mr. deacon, hi! my name is [y/n] [y/l/n]. i’m beau’s teacher. i thought we might have an over-due chat, if you have the time?”

“oh, hello.” there’s a pause on the other end, as if he’s considering whether or not he’ll entertain your out-of-the-blue phone call. “has beau done something wrong?”

you laugh despite the worried edge to his tone. “no, absolutely not! beau is a delight. he’s practically a model student. however, i do have a few concerns... do you have a moment?”

“yes, i can have. just give me a second.” the line goes muffled again, the only sound a fading rolling stone’s song before all goes quiet. you hear a door shut and the squeak of a chair before john speaks again. “i suppose this is about beau’s shyness?”

you choose your next words carefully, uncertain if john simply cannot accept his son’s retreat into himself or if he does not see it. you’d rather not jump to conclusions and alienate him on your first phone call, but you must admit your unease at hearing the word shyness. beau is far more than shy. despite the frown puckering your brow, you hold your concerns close to your chest for the moment.

“shyness is a word one could use, yes.”

“he’s been that way since his mum died last year.”

rolling your lower lip between your teeth, you nod. “i heard. i’m terribly sorry for your loss.”

john makes a noise somewhere between a huff and a grunt and does not acknowledge your paltry offer of condolence. “if you’re calling to ask how you can fix ‘im, i don’t have any answers for you.”

“i don’t want to fix him, mr. deacon,” you say. “i simply want to help.”

“i’m sure you’ve spoken with mrs. cooper then.” he sighs, and the sound seems to rattle the receiver pressed against your ear. “look, i appreciate what you both are trying to do for beau. but he’s young, and the pain of losing his mum— i just don’t want him to rush into moving on.”

“oh, mr. deacon, that’s not my intention at all!” you wince at the high-pitch of your voice and clear your throat. good lord, this was not going as you’d planned. “i just want him to feel comfortable in the classroom, that’s all.”

“that’s kind of you, but i think it might be easier if you just let beau work it out for himself.”

you fall silent and glance down at the hem of your blouse. there’s a blue thread dangling from the article of clothing, and you pull on it, watching the thread unravel until it falls free from the shirt itself.

in all honesty, you’re puzzled by john’s hesitance to so much as entertain your concern. anyone—student, teacher, classroom parent—who comes across beau knows he’s more than shy. it’s written in his face, in the way he holds himself, in the way he shuffles aimlessly to and fro. god, he breaks your heart. you want to wrap him in a blanket and protect him from the cruel world.

but you’re not his mother. you’re merely his teacher, and you must respect john’s wishes despite how wrong you think they are. perhaps, in time, he will come around, see the need for a little concerted effort in helping beau work through his obvious grief-stricken state.

“is there anything more i can do for you, ms. [y/l/n]?”

clearing your throat again, you sit straighter in your chair and fiddle with a pen on your desk. you click the depressor up and down, up and down. “no, there’s not. i’m sorry to have wasted your time.”

“you didn’t,” john says—and his voice has that indescribable soft quality you noted the moment he first spoke. “really, it does mean something to me that you even thought to call.”

“i care for my students a great deal.” you aren’t sure what brings the words to your lips, but the second they fall past your tongue, a flush crawls up the back of your neck. you’re sure you sound like a petulant child, whining at the mere inconvenience of a rejected idea.

“i can tell.” his tone is anything but salty. in fact, the truth dripping from each word leaves you decidedly flustered. you click the pen faster, your leg bouncing beneath the desk.

“yes—well—i’ll leave you to it.” though you add, “if ever there’s something i can do for beau, don’t hesitate to ask.”

“i’ll be sure to.”

after a rushed goodbye, you drop the phone to its base. the hard-plastic clatters, the coiled wire dropping in a pile on the desk. you press your fingers to your eyelids and groan. both deacon boys, it seems, have the power to infuriate and melt you at the precisely the same moment.

this, you think, does not bode well for the rest of the year.

if you’re being honest, you have to admit that you think of john deacon often as the school year falls into a comfortable rhythm. no matter how hard you try to forget the phone call, forget the way his voice lulled you into a strange sense of serenity, he’s like a specter in the back of your mind: always there and definitely uninvited.

still...

when the children work silently at their desks, you sit behind yours and struggle to keep your mind from wandering to either of the deacon boys. when you greet beau as he walks through the door each morning, you resist the urge to drop a question about his father’s well-being. when the faded red corvette pulls to the curb each afternoon, you bite your tongue and fist your hands at your sides to keep from introducing yourself properly through the open window.

it’s embarrassing, really, how much the phone call with john deacon has affected you. it’s embarrassing how... interested you are in his life. you’re a schoolgirl with a crush—a crush on a man you’ve never even seen! if you were to admit your undue fascination with the deacon household to your best friend ami she would laugh in your face and remind you how desperately you need to get out more. you keep your wonderings and your daydreams to yourself to save her the trouble of telling you what you already know.

come mid-november, when the students are well-adjusted to their daily routine and you’ve learned how to juggle so many personalities at once, you finally pause to take a breath. the breath comes at the end of a school-day. it’s drizzling outside—not raining, but not dry either. the sky is a wash of gray and a deep purple. there’s a storm coming, a bad one too from the looks of it. humming to yourself and contemplating whether or not you should stop by the grocery on your way home, you tug on your jacket and step outside the school into the chilled autumn air.

you’re about to cross the parking lot to your car when you hear a harsh sniffle come from your left. you pause, keys in hand, and twist to see a huddled form on the curb. it’s clearly a student and a young one at that. knees drawn to their chest, backpack large over their back, fingers interlaced on their knees, they are the picture of a frightened schoolchild. the hood of their blue raincoat obscures any defining features, so you hustle to their side and kneel down, but not before glancing at your watch.

nearly four. someone’s been forgotten.

“hey?” you tilt your head to try and catch a glimpse of the face beneath the shade of the jacket hood. “did mum not come through the car line?”

you barely stifle your gasp when the slick raincoat crinkles as the student turns to meet your gaze.

it’s beau deacon.

his eyes are puffy, tears still clinging to his blotchy cheeks. beneath the wide frames of his glasses, fear swims across his gaze. he draws in his lower lip and rubs his hand under his nose. his eyes flicker to the ground, his toes tilting inward.

you press a hand to his shoulder. he feels so small beneath your palm, like a fragile piece of clay, molded by tragedy and loss in such a short span of time. “where’s your father, beau?”

he shrugs. “dunno.”

“i guess he’s running late.” you look at your watch. very late. “should we give him a call?”

beau nods, and you stretch to your full height, offering your hand to help him from the curb. beau does not take it as he stands. he pushes his glasses up his nose and follows you inside the school office where he hesitates in the doorway as you borrow the receptionist’s phone to call the auto-shop.

no one answers.

lowering the phone to its base, you look over your shoulder. through the venetian blinds you can see the sky darkening as you hem-and-haw. in the distance there’s a flash of lightening, and fat raindrops dot the tan sidewalk.

you could leave beau with the receptionist. it’s not uncommon for parents to run late or completely forget about their child. normally, betty calls the child’s guardian and gives the waiting student a granola bar and coloring page or picture book to flip through as they wait for the mortified adult to speed to school. there’s nothing obligating you to stay.

just as there’s nothing obligating you to offer to drive beau home.

you look at betty and calculate the words of your offer. “would it be wrong of me to drive beau home? he lives on my way ‘s all.” boldfaced lie—at least, you think—but what betty doesn’t know can’t hurt her.

betty doesn’t stop clacking on her electronic typewriter. “i don’t think so.” she peers over her glasses at the clock hanging over the door, still typing. “i’ve got a dentist appointment in half an hour, so i don’t have time to wait around today. you’d be doing me a favor, love.”

“alright, it’s settled then.” you slip the thin strap of your purse over your shoulder and turn to beau with a toothy grin. “i’ll drive you home. maybe your father just isn’t feeling well today and overslept?”

beau frowns, and inwardly, you cringe, your smile faltering. beau’s mother died of an illness, so it likely disconcerts him to think of his father in a similar state. in a piss poor attempt at an apology, you grab a piece of chocolate from the bowl near betty’s desk and slip it in beau’s hand as you make your way to the parking lot. the faintest flicker of a grin crosses his face as he methodically unwraps the candy. you take that as a sign of forgiveness.

once beau is snug in the backseat of your station wagon, you pull into traffic with a bubble of giddiness in your stomach. what you’re doing is ridiculous. though you feel horrid beau was left behind, there’s a sick park of you that is glad for it. it’s unlikely you’ll ever meet john deacon unless fate throws you together. he did not attend back to school night, and as a single father, you doubt he has time for any of the other parent-student events on schedule for the rest of the year. in all honesty, you’re taking this opportunity to put a face to the man behind the phone call that’s plagued you with daydreams since it occurred.

if you can just see his face, just learn what he looks like, perhaps the fascination with fade. unless, of course, he turns out to be as attractive as your mind has made him out to be and then you’ll be in even hotter water than you are now.

adjusting yourself in your seat, you glance in the rearview mirror. beau has his head pressed against the foggy glass of the window, his eyes scanning back and forth as he takes in the surrounding scenery. rain droplets create dark shadows over his face, and you wonder if that’s what he feels like on the inside: foggy and rainy and shadowy. you shake the thought free; you read too many melodramatic novels.

“so, beau, what’s your address?” you ask, your tone obnoxiously chipper. he tells you, and you shrug as you tighten your grip on the steering wheel. “gotta give me more than that, hun. do you remember how to get home? do you think you could tell me?”

beau nods and scoots away from the window, leaning nearer the space between the driver and passenger seats. there a gleam in his eye. you catch sight of it as you turn right at his instruction and see him hovering near your shoulder. it seems that with each turn you make his voice inches a decibel louder until you can hear every word with a clarity previously unknown. he’s confident when he’s instructing you, when he knows what he’s supposed to do.

he’s confident when he’s helping.

you tuck the bit of knowledge away for later as you pull into the cracked driveway of a red-brick bungalow. the house is small and unadorned, the homes on opposite sides just as plain and simple. a single spruce tree, like something out of a holiday catalog, is the only foliage in the yard. gauzy curtains are drawn to block the sunlight coming through the two bay windows framing the white front door.

you turn the car off as beau slides across the bench to open the car door. grabbing your handbag, you all but tumble after him, hastening up the sidewalk.

“wait a minute! beau!” you punctuate your call with a breathy laugh and smooth the sides of your hair back as you approach the front door. the bubble of giddiness from moments before has turned to a bubble of nerves, and once again, you realize this moment is entirely ridiculous. still, you adjust your blouse and straighten the crooked edge of your collar.

beau’s left the front door open, his shoes and backpack already tossed on the living room floor. you hesitate at the threshold. you haven’t been properly invited in, but the open door might just be beau’s way of telling you it’s alright to invade his home. at least, that’s the message you decide to take.

crossing the threshold, you hold tight to the strap of your purse and glance around the cramped front living area. beau’s nowhere to be seen, and the home is silent as the grave. you bite the tip of your tongue when your gaze falls over a photograph of a woman holding a baby. it’s beau and his mother; has to be.

maybe... maybe you’ve overstepped your—

“beau, is that you?” the sound of heavy footfalls on stairs snaps your attention away from the photograph. before you can slip away and forget you ever had the silly notion of meeting your student’s father with the intent of something other than a professional hello, a man rounds the corner.

your eyebrows shoot up your forehead. it’s not the john deacon you’d imagined.

he’s shorter than you pictured, only several inches taller than yourself. his jaw is sharp, peppered with a five o’clock shadow, and a thick mustache almost covers his upper lip. a white wife-beater tucked into green trousers completes the ensemble, and his bare feet pad across the floor as he sticks his hand out in greeting.

“you must be the teacher!” he pumps your hand up and down, his grip crushing but his smile wide. his voice is friendly and welcoming, though you can’t be sure it was the voice you heard over the phone. so many days have passed since then, perhaps you just forgot, though it’s highly unlikely.

“i’ve been trying to call deaky ever since i got here, but the damn fool just won’t pick up. i don’t even know where beau’s school is so i couldn’t come and get him myself. the ship we run here isn’t very tight.” he rolls his eyes with a grin. “thanks for bringing him home, darling.”

your head swims as you struggle to keep up with the man’s fast pace. so, he isn’t john deacon? and john deacon isn’t here? you open your mouth to ask the first of several questions but he beats you to it.

“hell, you look positively confused. shut the door, won’t you? the rain’s getting in, and molly was always worried about the the hardwood. i’ll put on the kettle.”

“oh, i don’t—”

he bumps your hip toward the door. “nonsense! deaky will want to thank you for driving beau home.” he’s around the corner before you can refuse, so you shut the front door against the steady rain and slip off your shoes, leaving them beside the two pairs already against the baseboard.

you’re quick to follow him to the kitchen. the walls are a muted yellow, the countertops clear but the sink full of unwashed dishes. the refrigerator in the corner is bare save for the back to school letter you gave to each student to bring home to their parents. that—and a photograph of four men in a basement. it appears to be a homegrown band of sorts, and the man behind the drumkit is shouting at the man who looks like an overgrown string bean. you’re not sure which one is john, so you turn away, feeling rather out of place when the man at the stovetop says:

“beau’s probably in his room. he always holes himself away as soon as he gets back. doesn’t come out until supper. that’s when deaky gets home.” a pair of mugs clatter against each other as he pulls them from a cupboard. “brian says it’s just a phase, that he’ll grow out of it once he processes molly’s death, but i’m not certain.” the man’s eyes flicker to you, and he laughs, loud and short. “oh dear, i’ve done it again! i forgot you’re not in the loop. i’m freddie,” he explains. “part-time nanny, full-time diva.”

you accept the mug of tea as freddie passes it to you, a smile lifting your tight mouth. “[y/n] [y/l/n]. so you’re beau’s... nanny?”

freddie drops to the round kitchen table shoved in the space between the kitchen counter and the wall. you follow suit and stir a drop of sugar in your tea. “you could call it that. i just watch him in the afternoons, between school and deaky getting home.” he sighs. “since molly... well, things have been hard to juggle.”

“i thought mr. deacon picked beau up from school? unless that was you in the car i saw?”

“heavens no! i don’t drive!” freddie laughs again. “that was deaky you saw. he takes his break at the garage long enough to pick beau up and bring him here. i guess he and rog were overrun today. bet beau was terrified. poor dear...”

you glance over your shoulder, down the dim hallway leading to, you assume, beau’s bedroom. there’s a half-full laundry basket deposited outside another open door, perhaps the bathroom. a few mislaid toys litter the carpet. it’s reassuring, knowing that beau has a few good men in his life, willing and ready to raise him. still, there’s a pervading sense of loneliness throughout the bungalow. you saw it in the photos on the living room wall, but it’s here too: in the dead roses, brittle to the touch, in the table vase; in the index-card note tucked on a notch in the cupboard, the feminine handwriting unreadable from your spot at the table.

freddie’s voice is somber when its breaks through the thick air. “complications of pneumonia,” he says, following your gaze to a wedding photo on the hallway wall. “it came on quick but didn’t last long, thank heaven.”

unbidden, tears prick the corners of your eyes. you’ve never felt more like an intruder—and you know why.

your crush on john deacon is misplaced. you see that now. realizing what you’ve done in coming here—twist a child’s terrified moment of abandonment for your gain��makes you sick to your stomach. what kind of person are you? assuming a recently widowed father would be at all interested in his son’s pesky teacher? the thought brings a flush to your cheeks, and you rise from the table all too fast. the mugs of tea wobble when your knee connects with the underside of the table.

freddie frowns at you. “you okay, love?”

“i—” how to explain yourself without sounding a total fool or heartless woman? “i think i’ve overstayed my welcome” is all that comes to mind, and you aren’t surprised when freddie uses his foot to push your chair back out from under the table.

“sit down. john will be home soon. let him thank you then you can go.”

from where you stand, you look to your right. the front door practically screams for you to politely decline freddie’s insistence and high-tail it to your car, to get out while you still have the chance. but he’s making it too easy to stay for what you’ve come for: a peek at the illusive john deacon. you know you should go, that you should leave well enough alone, but despite your best intentions, you find yourself sitting down again and allowing freddie to bombard you with questions about teaching life.

half an hour later, when your sides hurt from laughing while freddie regales you with the dramatic story of beau’s birth, the door to the garage opens and closes with a loud click. you twist in your seat, arm draped over the back, and bite your lip hard to keep from drawing in a sharp breath.

by god, he’s a stone-cold looker. better than you could have imagined.

john deacon stands in front of the garage door, his head of tight curls wet from the rain. he’s tall but not towering, his shoulders made broad by the leather jacket across his back. he hasn’t noticed you or freddie as he’s too preoccupied with wiping the grease on his fingers across a piece of soiled cloth. he turns, not towards you, but towards the hallway when beau tumbles out of his room with a shout of joy. beau races down the hall, his arms extended, and jumps into his father’s waiting embrace. john mumbles something in his son’s ear, ruffling his hair, before dropping him back to the ground. the sullen little boy jumps around his father’s feet, chattering in great detail about his day at school, though he forgoes mentioning his father’s absence in the car-line.

you exhale, a wash of new tears covering your eyes as you stare at beau. he can be happy. you’d thought it impossible.

you must have exhaled louder than you thought because john looks over at the sound. his brow tightens in a frown of confusion, his eyes flicking back and forth between yourself and freddie, but freddie is quick to explain. he stands from the table and takes your hand, pulling you to your feet.

“deaky, this is [y/n] [y/l/n], beau’s teacher. remember you spoke to her on the phone?”

your cheeks heat at the thought of him mentioning the phone call beyond the walls of the auto-shop. warmth spreads over your face even further when he gives you a tight-lipped smile and extends his hand. you slip your fingers over his palm, and he shakes your hand.

for a moment, your hands linger as john glances at beau, who is tucked behind his leg. he cringes, groaning. “please tell me you didn’t go out of your way to bring beau home today?”

you drop your hand from his and clasp your fingers before your waist. scrunching your nose, you tilt your head to the side. “well...”

“bloody hell,” john murmurs. he screws his eyes shut and runs a palm down his face. “i’m sorry,” he says. ��you shouldn’t have had to do that.”

“it was no trouble, really. in fact, you live on my way home.” the comment isn’t a falsehood. you’d realized as beau pointed his way home that your flat lie only a minutes down the road. just as it had then, the realization sends a nervous clench to your stomach now. the thought of the deacons so close...

“you must think me a horrible father.” as he says this, john reaches around to smooth his hand across beau’s back. the gesture, done mindlessly, almost makes you laugh. how could anyone find him a horrible father?

“absolutely not, mr. deacon.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward in something close to a smile. “john, please.”

you roll your lips together and blink rapidly to keep your eyes from going wide. john. “lots of people miss the car-line. it happens more often than you think.”

“well, let me give you something for your trouble.” he slides past you, the scent of cologne and car oil in his wake. his movements are stiff, hampered by beau who insists on clinging to his father’s leg, his ankles crossed over john’s foot.

“i don’t want anything, john.” you almost trip over his name. it tastes good, strong and steady. god, you’ve got it bad. “it wasn’t a hassle.”

john ignores you as he slides open a kitchen drawer. unsatisfied with its contents, he reaches for another before meeting your eyes with a wry smile. “all we’ve got is take-out menus anyway.” he shuffles nearer, beau still heavy on his leg. “thank you, ms. [y/l/n], for bringing him home. i got sidetracked at the shop and—” he sighs. “anyway, just... thanks.”

“again, you’re welcome—and call me [y/n].”

there’s a moment where you’re simply staring at one another, the room around you lulled to a comfortable silence. john is handsome, of this there is no doubt. perhaps he’s not striking in a classical way but you’re sure someone would have killed to chisel a bust of his face during the sixteenth century. it’s regal and sure in all the right places, but soft where it counts: around the eyes. when he chuckles at something freddie says, his eyes fold around the edges, and your heart all but gives out.

“what do you say, [y/n]?”

“sorry?” hopeful no one caught you ogling, you bring your attention front and center, turning to freddie. his proposal dawns on you a second too late to be anything but obvious. “stay for dinner? no, i can’t do that.”

“why not?” freddie reaches out to pinch your forearm. “it’s our way of saying thanks, and neither of us will try to poison you with our cooking. we’ll just have brian bring something ‘round.”

you shake your head and scoot around freddie to lift the handbag hanging from a kitchen chair. “i’d like to, but i’ve stayed too long already. perhaps another time.”

prying beau from his leg, john trails behind freddie as you make your way to the front door. freddie wishes you well, reminding you to drop by any time, and john simply lifts his hand in a motionless wave. on the front stoop, hair tangled around your face by a sharp wind, you lean your torso across the threshold.

“mr. deacon—i mean, john,” you say quickly, willing your voice to sound stronger than you feel. “if you’d like, i can drive beau home in the afternoons. i live not five minutes from here, and it wouldn’t be any trouble.”

john hesitates. beau stands in the kitchen, his head poked around the corner. john looks over at his son then back at you. “that’s a kind offer, but i like coming to the school.”

your eyes flick to beau, to his round, soft face and intelligent eyes. yes, if you were his mother you’d enjoy coming to pick him up too.

with a nod, you retreat into the wind. “well, the offer still stands.”

as you slide into your car and pull out of the driveway, waving to beau who now stands in the doorway, you hope against hope that john will accept the offer one day—just so long as it means you get to see him again.

he calls during the middle of show-and-tell. you nearly forgo the call as abby sinclair insists on lifting her pet toad for all to see and you’re worried she’ll drop it, but you’re waiting for a message from the front desk—missing package again—so you pick up on the last ring.

“hello?”

“hi, ms. [y/l/n]. it’s john deacon. is this a bad time?”

“oh, mr. deacon!” you wince at the delight coloring your voice and tear your eyes away from abby, who has handed her toad off to max. “i was expecting a call from the front office.”

he snorts out a rushed laugh. “sorry to disappoint.”

you brush a lock of hair behind your ear. “no, not at all.” out of the corner of your eye you catch max squeezing abby’s toad between his palms, and you push the phone away from your ear. “oy! max, knock it off! abby, please put the toad back, dear?”

john is chuckling on the other end of the line when you return to the call. “sorry,” you say. “show-and-tell.”

“i know. beau was excited this morning.”

with a smile, you glance at the boy in question. “he did very well. everyone was impressed with what he brought.”

“brian made that for him as a birthday gift, so he can’t take any of the credit.”

“he didn’t! he explained who made the planets, but he did want to be clear about who painted the stars.” you hesitate, the sound of laughter over your shoulder reminding you not to get too entangled by the sound of john’s voice. “is there something i can do for you, mr. deacon?”

“right, yes. well, it’s a bit awkward... do you remember a few weeks ago when you drove beau home?”

you nod, the memory lifting from your heart with ease. how could you forget? you only replay the evening like a film every night before you fall asleep. “of course”

“do you remember offering to drive him home again?”

“yes.”

“i’m in a jam at the shop and can’t leave this afternoon. would you mind? taking him home, that is.”

you answer without hesitation. “i can do that. it’s not a problem.”

“you’re a life-saver. it’s just with freddie not driving... i guess what i mean to say is thanks. it helps me out a lot.”

“i’m happy to do it, john.”

“i promise i’ll make it worth your while this time. proper take-out and all.”

“you really don’t have to do that,” you say, hoping he does anyway.

“no, freddie will insist. i’ll let you get back to class for now. thanks, [y/n].”

“don’t mention it. good luck with your jam at the shop. i hope it’s cleared up soon.”

“me too. all the sooner to get back to beau—and you.”

he hangs up before you can respond, and you’re left with your jaw scraping the floor and your heart in your throat.

all the sooner to get back to you.

the words circle your head like a drug for the remainder of the day. you can barely focus as you teach, stumbling over your words and through math equations and spelling tests.

surely he didn’t mean it like that. he probably just tacked you on at the end of the sentence in his haste to get back to work. he probably wasn’t thinking when he spoke.

but, by god, you were listening.

you’ve never been so head-over-heels for a man in your life. each day when you wake up with john at the forefront of your mind, you wish for a morning where you can stay in bed and dream of him all day—his voice, his smile, his gentle way with beau. it all makes you crazy. ami calls your fascination puppy love and claims it will fade with time, but you wonder if it’s gone deeper. you’re interested in more than john deacon’s looks. you’re interested in what makes him tick and whether or not he’s in a band with the three other men who constantly appear in every conversation you share and whether or not he misses his wife and what his hair looks like when he wakes up in the morning. you what to know him and be known by him.

all the sooner to get back to you.

perhaps it’s wishful thinking—a dreamy idea on the part of a lovesick woman—but part of you wonders if he feels the same way about you.

driving beau home becomes part of an unspoken routine. after sharing dinner at the deacon household that second evening, john admits when walking you to your car how overwhelmed he can feel between his job at the auto-shop and his responsibilities with beau. with a tentative hand on his forearm, you promise you’ll help lighten the load. he thanks you by squeezing your fingers with his, and then he’s gone.

it begins by driving beau home every monday, wednesday, and friday. you enjoy your time with him. as soon as he settles in the back seat of your station wagon, he comes alive. the protective shell he wears in the classroom is replaced by the bright and earnest eyes of a seven year old boy, curious about the world and all it has to hold. he asks you questions and tells you stories, and you laugh as you watch the light dance in his eyes. he’s a sweet child, and you truly treasure the afternoons you spend with him.

one friday, you drop him off and find the cozy bungalow empty. beau has stopped retreating to his room once returning from school—at least, this is what freddie tells you—so you’re not completely surprised when beau invites you in for an afternoon snack. you are surprised by the empty house, however. freddie is nowhere to be seen and neither is john. what concerns you even further is when beau opens the refrigerator and slams it shut with a huff.

“nothin’,” he mutters, slumping to the table with a groan.

“what?”

“there’s nothing in the fridge.”

“what do you mean by that?” you cross the floor and open the fridge, hoping beau’s comment is nothing more than a hungry child displeased with the array of choice and nothing to his liking, but you find his statement to be true. the fridge is woefully stocked—naught but a half-filled carton of orange juice, three apples, and a sandwich wrapped in tinfoil. you glance over your shoulder. “is it always like this?”

“no.” beau circles about on his chair. “but it’s happened a few times since dad and uncle rog got more busy at the shop.”

“well, that won’t do. grab your shoes, beau, we’re going to the market.”

once returned from your grocery run, you teach beau how to make spaghetti. he stands beside you on a stool, pushed up on his toes as he watches you prepare the boiling water and pasta. as you wait for the pasta to soften, you set about crafting a homemade pasta sauce. it’s your mother’s recipe, and it’s easy to make. easy enough that you allow beau to carefully slice the tomatoes under your supervision and dice the onions and sprinkle the spices.

the kitchen smells like your childhood: fragrant yet simple, sweet and comforting. somewhere in the waiting for the sauce to simmer, beau turns on a radio and draws you to the center of the kitchen. he holds your hand tight and kicks his feet to the music. you laugh and mirror his movements. he grabs your other hand and steps on his stool, forcing you to bend in an awkward twirl around his finger. you struggle but complete the movement, though he attaches himself to your shoulders like a barnacle. you whirl around on your socked feet in attempt to toss him off, but he holds tight, his fingernails digging into the skin of your collarbone. he squeals in your ear, a mixture of laughter and gasping breath and shrieks.

“mama, mama, stop!”

he says it without thinking, his head lolling against your shoulder as you stop short at the sound of his breathless voice. he giggles against your back then releases himself and slides to the floor. you stare at him, feel his words in the back of your throat like an uncomfortable burn, and then you hear the garage door shut.

you swallow hard and force your eyes from the yellow-and-white linoleum floor. beau hops from his stool, sauce-covered spoon in hand, and rushes to his father’s side.

“daddy, look, we made dinner! miss [y/l/n] and me!” he tugs on john’s shirtsleeve, but john’s just staring at you, his face unreadable. beau turns to one of the other three men crowding the hall behind john. “uncle roggie, taste it!” he forces the spoon in the face of a mulleted blond.

eager to break the thick tension, you motion to the spaghetti. “i—there wasn’t anyone home so...” your sentence trails off, and you bite the inside of your cheek.

so many eyes on you. you feel exposed against them all, caught in a domestic moment with a child that’s not your own in a home that’s not your own.

john looks over his shoulder, eyes flashing in anger. “fred?”

freddie winces. “about that, deak.” he rubs the back of his neck and glances at beau. “i can explain later.”

“you’d better,” john mutters.

“i should go,” you say at once, hastily grabbing your things from the table. your keys jingle in your hand with the force of your anxiety, and you stub your toe against the floor in your hurry to put your shoes back on.

john’s hand on your arm stops you. you look up, stooped as you try to slip the back of your sandal over your heel. he looks down at you, face still remarkably unreadable. “no, please stay,” he says. “you made supper.”

you shake your head and rise to your full height. “i’ve intruded enough already.”

you’re embarrassed, too. the gaggle of men heard beau’s slip up; they heard him mistake you for his mother—and certainly they saw the immediate flush of happiness rise over your cheeks at the sound.

mama. you’d always hoped, always wished, someone would call you that one day. you just didn’t think you’d hear it from a student with a deceased mother and a father you pined after first.

“[y/n], stay.” john’s voice is soft, breathy, and his eyes flit back and forth between yours with a startling amount of intensity.

how can you say no?

once the dinner has been divided, you sit beside john on the couch in the living room. the kitchen table is too small to host the gathering, so the living room was deemed appropriate just this once, to beau’s great delight. he sits on the floor at the coffee table, a tall glass of milk beside his plate of pasta, his eyes bouncing over everyone in the room with unrestrained joy.

“beau, why don’t you introduce everyone for miss [y/l/n]? she doesn’t know all your uncles.” john nods to his son in encouragement, and beau is only happy to take the job.

standing, beau crosses first to the impressively tall and curly-haired man sat beside him on the floor. “this is uncle brian. he likes space and teaches all the big kids at uni.”

he moves to freddie, who sits on a plush armchair. “this is uncle freddie, but you already know him.”

the last man leans against the foyer table, his ankles crossed and sunglasses still perched on his nose. beau pats his arm. “this is uncle roger and he works with daddy.” in a stage whisper, he adds, “he thinks he’s a lot cooler than he really is.”

roger guffaws and lightly pushes beau’s head to the side. “oy, you twerp, take that back!”

glancing about the room, you nod in greeting. “it’s nice to meet you all. i’ve heard quite a bit.”

brian smiles at you from the floor. his legs are bent awkwardly beneath the coffee table, and you’ve noticed the way he helps beau cut his side salad and keep sauce from dripping to the area rug. “all good things i hope?”

“oh yes, of course.”

“[y/n], dear, you really must tell brian what that student of yours did last week,” freddie pipes up. “it had me laughing well into the night. i’m sure some of his twenty-year olds are much the same.”

“i shouldn’t, fred.” you look at beau, who is watching you in interest.

freddie nods in understanding and tugs on his earlobe. “little ears, yes. maybe another time.” he pushes brian’s shoulder with his foot. “really is a riot of a story.”

as supper progresses, conversation twists and turns down different avenues. you explain how you came to teach in the area and find you used to work with one of brian’s newer colleagues. freddie tells the group about his recent run-in with an angry bird watcher in the park. his gestures are so grandiose he whacks roger in the chest, who has come to sit on the arm of fred’s chair. there’s more laughter than there is silence, and you settle back in the couch. at one point, john drapes his arm over the back of the couch—not around your shoulders, but close enough to send your heart into overdrive. it’s all you can focus on—the proximity of his muscular arm behind your head—as brian explains to beau the difference between the big and little dippers. even as roger describes the ramshackle band they four participate in on the weekends, you barely register the words because you swear to the high heavens you feel john’s pointer finger purposefully brush against your shoulder.

beau begins to yawn sometime near the eight o’clock hour, and you jump from the couch when you realize you’ve stayed so late.

“good lord, i’ve got to go!” you shuffle about the room, gathering your belongings, as john rises behind you. “i didn’t know it was so late!”

his hands are in his pockets, and he studies you as you put your shoes on. “got a big date tomorrow?”

you frown. “no,” you say on a laugh. “i’ve actually got breakfast with my mum.”

he looks away for a moment, but you can’t help but note the edge of a smile.

he grabs his jacket from the coat-stand when you’re ready. “i’ll walk you out.”

at the door you wave to the others. “good night, all! it was nice to meet you.”

roger tips an imaginary hat. “i’m sure we’ll meet again, [y/n], if deaky has anything to say about it.”

freddie kicks the back of roger’s leg, and the injured man doubles over in a yelp of pain. “you fucker!” freddie mutters. “you know that—”

john ushers you out the door before you can see or hear any more.

the night air is chilly, and you warm your arms around yourself. you reach for your keys in the depths of your purse and slide them into the lock on the driver’s side of your car. it’s dark out. you can barely make out john’s features beneath the light of the moon, but when he shuffles to the side, an automatic flood light turns on above the garage. you blink against the sudden light and smile, chuckling beneath your breath as your vision adjusts. you’re not eager to leave quite yet, and he doesn’t seem eager to send you away, so you both stand, looking at one another in the darkness of the drive.

“your friends are nice,” you say.

he hums in agreement. “m’yes, they are. we just started as a screw-around band a few years back, but when molly got sick...” he pauses, clasps his hand on the back of his neck, and shrugs. “they’ve been my lifeline, y’know?”

“i can’t imagine what that was like, losing her. i’m glad you had them around.” you suck in a deep breath. “about earlier... i didn’t know beau was going to say that, and i’m sorry it happened. i realize that my... involvement might appear to be me wheedling my way into your family, but that’s not it, really! i mean, i like you and beau—as friends—but i’m not trying to...” you sigh, shaking your head. “i’m sorry it happened ‘s all. i don’t want you to get the wrong idea.”

before you know what’s happening, john’s reaching out to cup your cheek. his smile is soft in the glow of the moon and the floodlight, and your heart stops in your chest.

his thumb brushes over your cheekbone. “i haven’t seen beau that happy in a long time. you’ve brought a lot of joy back into the house, [y/n].”

you’re sure you’re sweating despite the chill of night. you shake your head, but his hand holds fast against your face. “no,” you whisper. your voice sounds heady, even to your own ears. “beau’s just a good kid.”

“yes, and you’re a good teacher.”

is his face inching closer? you’ve suddenly forgotten how to breathe.

“a good teacher and a good person.”

if it weren’t for your firm hold on the car door handle, you think you might slip to the ground in a puddle of goo.

his lips are on yours, then, and you fall into his arms as he holds you against himself. you have dreamt of this moment far too many times to count, but you never thought it would happen. really, you thought you would finish the year without ever knowing the taste of john’s deacons lips.

but there he is, and there you are, and he tastes like the wine he drank during supper. he is more eager than you thought he would be, and soon he has your back pressed against the door of your car. you huff into his mouth and feel your eyes roll back into your head when he drags his lips across your jaw, inching closer to that spot behind your ear. your arms practically quiver around his shoulders, and you open your eyes long enough to catch a glimpse of a particularly bright star winking down at you.

he catches your lips again, and you feel hot and delicious all over.

“john,” you mumble against his mouth. “john.”

loathe as you are to stop the moment, you do, pushing his shoulders until he pulls himself away. his hand still cradles your hip, and he looks flushed in the moonlight. you’re sure you look equally as rumpled.

you grin. “well.”

he matches your smile, though it’s fleeting. “call you, yeah?”

unlocking your car door, you nod. “please do, mr. deacon.”

he shakes his head on a chuckle and shuts the door, waving gently as you pull out of the drive. when you’re several homes away, out of eyesight, you drift to the side of the road and blast the air conditioner. then you pound your fists against the steering wheel and let out a muffled squeal of delight.

he doesn’t call you.

when you sit down to think about it, it’s not that great of a surprise. you’ve been around him only a handful of times, and though you’ve both been comfortable in those moments, you don’t blame him for resisting whatever it is he feels for you. there’s beau to think about. you’re his teacher; surely there’s some line you shouldn’t be crossing? there’s molly too, and her memory and the years they spent together and the child they had together.

if anything, you figure he’s using you to test the waters of romance again. those stolen touches and deep stares and that kiss in the drive—it’s all just experimentation. the conclusion drawn from those experiments? he’s not ready.

you sigh, take another sip of wine. maybe you should stop driving beau. you like john; you like him a lot. and after that kiss, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him. you thought about him before, but never this much. he threatens to consume your every waking moment, and it scares you because he’s not interested. desperately pining after a disinterested man means one thing: ruin. if you stop driving beau home, put some distance between yourself and the deacons, the puppy love and infatuation will fade over time.

it has to or you’ll go crazy.

it’s early evening, and your stomach grumbles. your flat is quiet as you putter around the kitchen in search of a suitable supper. there’s not much in the cupboards and even less in the fridge. you desperately need to go to the grocery store. take-out it is. withdrawing a handful of menus, you spread them out on the counter and flip through them mindlessly.

your thoughts are elsewhere. always on john.

you wonder what compelled him to kiss you. he’s an enigma, john deacon. you’ve seen him in moments of great levity—when he’s around beau or his friends or recounting a story from his youth. he has an infectious laugh, delightful crinkles around his eyes, and a quick wit. but he can be hard, too, like an immovable stone. he’s quick to toss a glare at anyone in his way in those moments of weakness, and his biting wit can turn sour at the drop of a hat. you chalk it up to weariness, those moments. weariness, loneliness, frustration. it doesn’t phase you, though perhaps it should.

with a groan, you drop your forehead to the cool counter and shut your eyes. the kiss lingers on your lips; it has the entire week since. you want him badly—in more ways than one.

the telephone rings, and you startle, clutching a paper menu to your chest. “fuck,” you whisper. you need to get a hobby other than daydreaming. pressing the phone to your ear, you barely get out a word of greeting before someone’s shouting at you on the other end.

“[y/n]? it’s fred! we’ve got a fuckin’ problem over here.”

you frown. “freddie? what’s going on? why are you are john’s? it’s a saturday.”

“no time for that! how fast can you get here?”

“well, i don’t know. i’ve got to—”

“beau’s sick! he’s on the bathroom floor, moaning and groaning and—shit!—[y/n], i don’t know what to do!”

“i’m sure it’s just a tummy ache, fred,” you say. “i see it all the time in my class. give him some pepto and he’ll be fighting fit in the morning.”

“no, [y/n]!” something in fred’s tone—a raw, animal fear—has you standing straight, your heart stuttering in your chest. “he said he feels like he’s gonna die just like molly did!”

“okay, okay.” you begin to move toward your bedroom, but are yanked back by the phone chord attached to the wall. you stumble backwards with a grunt. “okay, i’m coming, fred. just hold tight.”

“fucking hurry!”

you slam the phone down, rush to your bedroom to change from your nightclothes, and jump in the car without a pair of shoes. as quickly as you can you race to the deacon household. the sun dips low, casting an orange glow over the suburban streets lined with family cars. you grip the steering wheel tight, your heart thumping a prayer of protection for beau.

the driveway of the bungalow is empty, the garage door thrown open. the old convertible john toys with in the evenings is parked inside, but his everyday vehicle is gone. cutting the engine of your car, you run through the garage and into the house. fred stands in the hallway, pressed against the bathroom door. he looks ridiculous, clad in a bright yellow bathroom and bunny slippers, but he pounds his fist against the door, pleading for beau to unlock it and let him in. he turns at the sound of your bag dropping on the carpet.

“oh, thank god,” he breathes. he grabs your arm and wrenches you to his side. “beau, miss [y/l/n] is here. why do you talk with her, huh?”

before you say anything to beau, you frown at freddie. “where’s john?” your whisper sound harsh in the dim lighting of the hallway.

“at the shop. overtime. i can’t reach him.”

you jerk your head to the phone sitting on a side-table in the living room. “go try again and i’ll stick with beau here.” when he’s gone, you slide to a sitting position on the floor and press your ear to the thin wood of the door. “beau? beau, honey, it’s me.”

beau only groans in response.

“beau, can you please open the door? i want to help you. that’s it; just help.”

there’s a pause then you hear: “no. go away.”

“it’s okay if you’re embarrassed, beau. we all get sick sometimes. fred and i just want to help you feel better.”

there’s the sound of water sloshing and then a hard sniff. “i want my mommy.”

“oh, baby, i know.” you clear your throat to work past the lump rising to the surface. “come on, just let me in. i promise it’ll be okay.”

“but... what if i die like her too?”

“that’s not gonna happen, beau. i promise.” he doesn’t respond, so you plead once more. “please let me in.”

he shuffles to the door, unclicks the lock, and cracks it open. through the opening, you can see his pale face gleaming with sweat. gently, you push the door open further.

beau’s curled on the floor, his head bent toward his knees. his arms tighten around his stomach, and a spasm ripples through his body. he’s dripping with sweat, his star wars pajamas soaked through. hot air clogs the room, and you switch on the overhead fan. pressing your fingers to his forehead, you cringe and draw back. he’s burning up.

“beau, baby, what hurts?” you finger some of the sweat-matted hair away from his forehead.

“my tummy.”

“what’s your tummy feel like?”

beau shakes his head into the floor. “bad.”

“do you feel like you’re gonna be sick?”

“already did. on my floor.” he opens his eyes long enough to stare at you through thick lashes. “i’m sorry.”

“don’t apologize about that. we’ll get it cleaned up later. i’m just gonna go get you some water, okay?”

he groans, shifting against another spasm of pain. “okay.”

stepping back into the hall, you grab freddie’s arm before he can slip into the bathroom. you tug him to the safety of the kitchen. his eyes dance between yours, expectant.

“well?”

“did you get ahold of john?”

“no, the fucker.”

“we’ll have to go pick him up then.”

fred’s brow twitches. “what? why? what’s wrong with him?”

you throw a glance down the hall when beau whines. “i think it might be his appendix. my dad’s burst last summer and he looked a lot like beau does now.”

“fuckin’ hell.” freddie runs a hand across his mouth. “just what deaky needs.”

you nod in agreement. “i know. we’ve got to take beau to a hospital, though, before it gets any worse.”

“yeah, yeah, i know. go get the car started and i’ll meet you in a minute.”

several minutes later, you’re en route to the auto-shop, freddie cradling beau in the backseat of your station wagon. the drive is tense, your bare foot hard on the gas pedal. beau wrestles and whines against freddie’s hold, continuously asking for his parents and where you’re taking him.

no one wants to say the word hospital, so his cries go unanswered.

freddie directs you to the auto-shop, his phrases terse, and you pull into the drive with a sharp squeal of tires on gravel. with the car still running, you hurry across the parking lot, loose pebbles catching on your feet. music blasts from a stereo within the garage. it’s loud and obnoxious and keeps you from locating john fast enough.

“can i help ya, miss?” a lithe man steps out of a side office, his hairline receding and face near gaunt.

“yes—i’m looking for john deacon.”

the man continuously wipes his hands on a dirty rag. none of the oil and grease on his fingers budges. “he’s down there.”

dirt and grime covers the bottoms of your feet as you race down the shop. cars of all varieties line the wall to your left, some stationary on the ground, others lifted towards the vaulted ceiling. there’s a handful of men at work, but you don’t recognize any of them as john. you’re prepared to start shouting his name when a familiar voice stops you.

“[y/n]?” it’s roger. “can’t get enough of our deaky, can you?” he’s chuckling as he steps out from behind a truck. “what are you doing here?”

“it’s beau,” you say, and his face falls.

“over here.” roger wastes no time in finding john beneath a volkswagon beetle. only john’s legs are visible, his knees bent and leather boots firm on the floor. he curses when roger hooks the toes of his shoes around a curve in the sliding plate on the floor and drags john out from under the car.

“what the fuck, rog? i—” john stills when his eyes land on you. his muscle tee is loose over his chest, and a line of grease mars his forehead. he swallows. “[y/n]... i...” he sits up. “i’ve been meaning to—”

though you’re curious about the end of his sentence, you cut him off. “beau’s sick. we’ve got to take him to hospital.”

the blood drains from john’s face in an instant. the wrench in his hand clatters to the cement ground, and he’s grabbing your elbow, pulling you toward the exit, before you can say anything more.

“crystal, i’m gone!” he shouts, practically shoving you in the direction of the car.

there’s either no reply or you don’t hear it because john shouts for freddie to move the fuck over and give him beau. you slide behind the wheel and pause, twisting to catch a look at the scene in the back.

beau looks like a newborn swaddled in his father’s arms. his face is wet with tears and sweat, and he sobs in his father’s grasp. john feels beau’s forehead and frowns, muttering an oath under his breath. then his eyes flick to yours.

“what are you waiting for? go!”

you don’t need to be told twice.

it’s another fifteen minutes before you reach the hospital. your head throbs under the stress of it all: beau’s pitiful moans for help, john urging you to go faster, freddie barking directions as he slaps the headrest behind you. before you’ve pulled to a complete stop, john is out, beau in his arms. you shoo freddie after him.

“go! i’ll park the car.”

by the time you’ve found a parking space and picked your way across the parking lot, beau’s been admitted for emergency surgery. his appendix, as you suspected. it’s a routine procedure, and he’ll be fine within the next hour. relief floods your system at the news, and you find john and freddie sitting beneath a large fish tank in the waiting room. you take the open spot beside john and cross your ankles.

“your feet are disgusting,” fred says. he points to the bottoms of your feet, dark with dust, dirt, and grime.

you shrug. “forgot shoes.”

the quiet of the waiting room is both a comfort and annoyance. a clock on the wall ticks loudly, and the fish tank bubbles at an uneven rate. every breath you take feels too loud, and the antiseptic smells cling to the inside of your nose.

still, the quiet gives you a moment of rest. you catch your breath. you let the knowledge of skilled and capable doctors working on beau ease your heart-rate. it will all be okay; he’s going to be okay.

you glance at john. his fist is pressed against his mouth, his eyes shut. his leg bounces, and you dare to reach over and lay your hand against his knee. he stills, his eyes flashing to you.

“he’s going to be okay, john.”

on the other side of john, freddie jumps to his feet. “i’m going bananas just sitting here.” he rubs the side of his head. “might burst. i’m gonna give brian a call.” he stalks away, his bunny slippers slapping against the linoleum floor.

you shake your head, biting back the urge to smile.

but then john’s fingers curl around yours, and you can’t help but give into the grin.

you look up, meet his eyes.

“i didn’t call you,” he says.

“no, you didn’t.”

he shifts in seat and looks to the floor. “you should be wearing shoes.”

at the turn of conversation, you frown then follow his gaze. “yes, i suppose.”

“take mine.” he releases your hand to bend down and undo his laces.

“no, john, don’t be silly. i’m fine.”

“please, [y/n], take the shoes.” he slides the boots toward you, and you begrudgingly slip your feet into the warmth of his shoes.

you look silly, the pair of you—your ill-fit mtv t-shirt, loose jeans, and oversized leather boots; his muscle tee with the aptly faded word muscle scrawled across the chest, his faded jeans, and socked feet. one of his toes pokes through the end of his sock, and his exposed arms look cold in the frigid air of the waiting room. you laugh.

“we look like a pair of bikers or something.”

the corner of his mouth twitches upward. “not much of a biker. that’s crystal’s territory.” he doesn’t look at you when he continues speaking. “i’m sorry i didn’t call.”

on a sigh, you drag the boots across the carpet. though it pains you to do so, you let him off the hook. “it’s not a big deal, john. it was just a kiss. no promises.”

“i know.” his head tilts to the side. “but i wanted to call you. nearly did twice, but i chickened out.” he turns, then, and meets your eye. “i like you, [y/n].”

you smile, but know it doesn’t reach your eyes. still, you reach for his hand again. “i like you too, john. i’ve enjoyed getting to know you and your family.”

he shakes his head, and when he speaks, his voice is firm. “no, i like you. that’s why i kissed you and that’s why i didn’t call. because you make me so bloody nervous.”

your shoulders drop, as does your jaw.

“ever since you dropped beau off that first time, i’ve been thinking about you and about you and him together and then he called you mum and i saw the way you acted with him and—” he pauses for a breath. “molly was different with beau. i mean, she loved him, but she was always so fragile and worried and—and that’s not the point! the point is that you make beau happy and you make me happy. and i want to be happy again.”

“john...”

his grip on your hand tightens as he leans closer. “make me happy, yeah? i’m stubborn as a mule and shy, too, but i want you—badly.”

the fire in your heart spreads at his words. it spreads throughout your body until you feel like you could burst and shine a light into even the darkest corners of the earth. a laugh bubbles forth from between your lips. you lift a hand to stifle it.

“you want to know something?” you ask.

“what?”

“i’ve been pining after you, john deacon, ever since i heard your voice over the phone. i was content to just wallow in my daydreams, but this seems better.” you lift your fingers to brush his chin. “a lot better.”

“i can’t promise i’ll make a good boyfriend. i’m pretty rusty.”

“me too. we can be rusty together.”

he grins, leans forward further, his nose brushing yours. “can’t promise there won’t be hiccups. i’ve got baggage.”

“i can carry it.”

he kisses you, his hand on the back of your head, keeping you firm against his mouth. you grin, your teeth knocking his as you laugh. his curls are soft against your fingertips, and you hold on for dear life when he chuckles into your smile.

“mr. deacon?”

john kisses you once, twice more, before pulling away to look at the doctor. “yeah?” he doesn’t sound the least bit embarrassed to be caught in such a position in the middle of a hospital waiting room, but you hide your face against his neck. your cheeks hurt your smile is so wide.

“beau’s ready to see you now.”

john stands and extends at hand. “comin’, dove?”

your footfalls are hard against the ground, the boots heavy around your ankles, as you walk with him hand-in-hand to beau’s hospital room. you lean against his side, breathe the comfort of him in, and smile.

yes, this is much better than your daydreams—baggage, boots, beau, and all.

#john deacon #john deacon x reader #john deacon fic #queen #queen fic #j writes

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writing-prompts-for-friends · 5 years ago

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Notes from Stephen King’s “On Writing” 07: The Revision Process

Next, King walks us through his revision process. He makes it clear that this method is not the only method. It is merely a method.

How Many Drafts?

“For me, the answer has always been two drafts and a polish (with the advent of word-processing technology, my polishes have become closer to a third draft).”

King admits that this number of drafts is not the golden rule. Kurt Vonnegut rewrote each page of his novels until he got them exactly the way he wanted them. This meant that when the manuscript was finished, the book was finished. (I certainly am not that big of a perfectionist, nor am I that patient lol.)

For beginner writers in particular, King offers the following advice:

“Let me urge that you take your story through at least two drafts; the one you do with the study door closed and the one you do with it open.

“This first draft--the All-Story Draft--should be written with no help (or interference) from anyone else. There may come a point when you want to show what you’re doing to a close friend because you’re proud of what you’re doing or because you’re doubtful about it. My best advice is to resist this impulse. Keep the pressure on; don’t lower it by exposing what you’ve written to the doubt, the praise, or even the well-meaning questions of someone from the Outside World. Let your hope of success (and your fear of failure) carry you on, difficult as that can be. There’ll be time to show off what you’ve done when you finish...but even after finishing I think you must be cautious and give yourself a chance to think while the story is still like a field of freshly fallen snow, absent of any tracks save your own.”

Basically, King just wants you to get it all out onto the paper, with no external forces influencing you (for better or for worse). Just get that first draft out, and then open it up for closer examination both to yourself and others.

Let It Breathe and Then Dig In!

Okay, so you finished writing the first draft! Celebrate! Rejoice! Maybe cry!

...And then throw that manuscript into a drawer, lock it up tight, and don’t look at it for a minimum of six weeks. And in the meantime, do something totally unrelated to what you wrote. Get into knitting. Write a short story that is nothing like what you just finished. It’s consumed you for months now--so give your mind and imagination some time to reset and chill.

King recommends a minimum of six weeks, but even longer is okay. Resist all temptation to peek at it. And once the six weeks have passed, do the following:

“Take your manuscript out of the drawer. If it looks like an alien relic bought at a junk-shop or a yard sale where you can hardly remember stopping, you’re ready. Sit down with your door shut, a pencil in your hand, and a legal pad by your side. Then read your manuscript over.

“Do it all in one sitting, if possible. Make all the notes you want, but concentrate on the mundane housekeeping jobs, like fixing misspellings and picking up inconsistencies. There’ll be plenty; only God gets it right the first time and only a slob says, ‘oh well, let it go, that’s what copyeditors are for.’

“If you’ve never done it before, you’ll find reading your book over after a six-week layover to be a strange, often exhilarating experience. It’s yours, you’ll recognize it as yours, even be able to remember what tune was on the stereo when you wrote certain lines, and yet it will also be like reading the work of someone else, a soul-twin, perhaps. This is the way it should be, the reason you waited. It’s always easier to kill someone else’s darlings than it is to kill your own.”

You’ll also be on the lookout for any glaring holes in the plot or character development. And if you spot any of these big holes, you are forbidden from feeling depressed about them. Don’t be hard on yourself. Everybody makes mistakes, and they can all be fixed.

Generally King goes through the first reading fixing all the superficial issues, like typos and unclear antecedents. But as he’s doing that, he’s also asking himself the Big Questions:

Is this story coherent?

If it is, what will turn coherence into a song?

What are the recurring elements?

Do they entwine and make a theme?

What’s it all about?

“Most of all, I’m looking for what I meant, because in the second draft I’ll want to add scenes and incidents that reinforce that meaning. I’ll also want to delete stuff that goes in other directions. There’s apt to be a lot of that stuff, especially near the beginning of a story, when I have a tendency to flail.”

I can understand what King is saying here about the flailing at the beginning. Because I do not plot when I write, I have ideas that crop up halfway through that would require being introduced earlier, for example. Or perhaps as my understanding of the characters evolved as I wrote more, I realize that they behaved out-of-character earlier on. This is certainly one downside to not plotting. But isn’t is also kinda liberating to be able to take detours and wind up at a different but equally interesting destination?

Okay. So go ahead and fix all of the issues you found, and your first revision is complete.

Second Opinions and the Second Revision

“Do all opinions weigh the same? Not for me.”

Now you’re done with the first draft. You’ve patched over any plot holes and smoothed out those typos and grammar mistakes. You’ve polished the symbols and themes until they shine.

Once this is done, King gives a copy of work to his wife and several close friends (4-8) to receive detailed feedback. In other words, he has several close friends beta for him.

“Many writing texts caution against asking friends to read your stuff, suggesting you’re not apt to get a very unbiased opinion from folks who’ve eaten dinner at your house and sent their kids over to play with your kids in your backyard.

“The idea has some validity, but I don’t think an unbiased opinion is exactly what I’m looking for. And I believe that most people smart enough to read a novel are also tactful enough to find a gentler mode of expression than ‘This sucks.’ Besides, if you really did write a stinker, wouldn’t you rather hear the news from a friend while the entire edition consists of a half-dozen Xerox copies?”

What he gets back is 4-8 very detailed and different analyses of what he wrote. What’s very important to remember is that every reader looks at a work through a different lens. If half of them say a character’s portrayal is far-fetched but the other half say the opposite, than their feedback regarding that point has balanced out. However, if the majority of them say that something doesn’t work, then King goes back and sees if he can improve it.

Also, different readers pick up on different details. This is the age of internet and now we are able to check facts whenever we like, but it is still nice to have something of a subject matter expert on hand, because they are liable to pick up on details that the writer may not.

For example, I often beta fanfiction for anime. I am fluent in Japanese, live in Japan, and have studied Japanese culture and history. While I would never claim to be a “subject matter expert” on Japan, I am able to make certain corrections regarding, say, the type of kimono a character should be wearing, that the writer would not have considered.

It’s very easy to accept feedback that deals with facts (i.e. a beta corrects you on the standard procedures for CPR). However, it’s much harder to handle subjective feedback (i.e. “The ending felt inconclusive.”). Having put as much work as you have into creating this, it can feel like a personal attack because this story is a very dear part of you. What do you do if your beta tells you something like this?

“Subjective evaluations are, as I say, a little harder to deal with, but listen: if everyone who reads your book says you have a problem, you’ve got a problem and you better do something about it.

“Plenty of writers resist this idea. They feel that revising a story according to the likes and dislikes of an audience is somehow akin to prostitution. ... But come on, we’re talking about half a dozen people you know and respect. If you ask the right ones, they can tell you a lot.

“Do all opinions weigh the same? Not for me. In the end I listen most closely to [my wife], because she’s the one I write for, the one i want to wow. If you’re writing primarily for one person besides yourself, I advise you pay very close attention to that person’s opinion. And if what you hear makes sense, then make the changes. You can’t let the whole world into your story, but you can let in the ones that matter the most. And you should.”

I think, especially in the age of prolific fanfiction in which the author usually updates as they write the story, the author feels a lot of pressure from their readers. Readers chomping at the bit for the main characters to have a naughty scene, or demanding to know about that one secret thing that you keep alluding to. A lot of fanfic writers struggle to tow the line of “writing a good story based on reader feedback” and “pandering.”

My advice to fanfic writers out there is to tell those thirsty readers to read a one-shot if they’re looking for a quick fix of smut, and to have some goddamn patience. You’re trying to tell a story, one that builds and progresses, and that takes time. Don’t give in to those “OMG MAKE THEM KISS ALREADY” reviews. But if a lot of readers say something like, “I feel like this character wouldn’t do that,” then perhaps you should re-evaluate that.

On Pace and Reducing Glut

“Formula: 2nd Draft = 1st Draft - 10%.”

So now you have your first draft done. You have your feedback from your trusted betas. And now you need to go and make the final changes.

King states that you should rely on your most trusted betas to gauge whether or not your story is paced correctly and if you’ve handled the back story in satisfactory fashion. “Pace” is the speed at which your narrative unfolds.

”There is a kind of unspoken (hence undefended and unexamined) belief in publishing circles that the most commercially successful stories are novels are fast-paced. I guess the underlying thought is that people have so many things to do today, and are so easily distracted from the printed word, that you’ll lose them unless you become a kind of short-order cook, serving up sizzling burgers, fries, and eggs over easy just as fast as you can.

“But you can overdo the speed thing. Move too fast and you risk leaving the reader behind, either by confusing or by wearing him/her out. ... I believe each story should be allowed to unfold at its own pace, and that pace is not always double time. Nevertheless, you need to beware--if you slow the pace down too much, even the most patient reader is apt to grow restive.”

So how can you strike a happy medium? Rely on your most trusted betas and their input. King says, “Every story and novel is collapsible to some degree. If you can’t get out ten percent of it while retaining the basic story and flavor, you’re not trying very hard. The effect of judicious cutting is immediate and often amazing. You’ll feel it and your betas will too.”

On backstory, King issues some opinions and advice:

It’s important to get the backstory in as quickly as possible, but it’s also important to do it with some grace.

A reader is more interested in what’s going to happen instead of what already did.

Even when you tell your story in a straightforward manner, you’ll discover you can’t escape at least some backstory.

“The most important things to remember about backstory are that (a) everyone has a history and (b) most of it isn’t very interesting. Stick to the parts that are, and don’t get carried away with the rest.”

Source: King, Stephen. On Writing: A Memoir of the Craft. Hodder, 2012.

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imaginefan · 4 years ago

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Never Noticed

Elijah Mikaelson X Reader

Word Count: 2127

Requested: Anon

Request: You like Elijah but you don’t notice until people, the Mikaelson’s tell you but you think they’re wrong until one night you almost lose him and you realize your heart stopped like different kind of fear than it would of been for a friendship then you end up admitting to yourself they were right . One shot with originals and she is human.

You had been friends with the Mikaelson's since they appeared in Mystic Falls, you were from a family of hunters but you kept yourself away from the supernaturals of Mystic Falls unless they intended to hurt someone innocent, that was how you found out the Caroline was a vampire, you were at the carnival when she attacked someone and you managed to save the guy and hold her off until Stephan and Elena got there and took her away. They had tried to get you to help them but you refused to get mixed up in their drama, you had a way that you liked to fight and that was what you were sticking to when Elijah showed up for the first time you knew where he was but you didn't do much past that. Elijah was the one that came to find you, he knew of your family and heard that some of you were in Mystic Falls. "May I sit?" He asked as you stood in front of your table in a small cafe. "Do I know you?" You asked. "Not personally, my name is Elijah Mikaelson." He introduced himself and you nodded towards the chair allowing him to sit in front of you. "Is there something that I can do for you?" You asked. "I need your help." He explained and you looked at him and frowned. "I intend to stop my brother from breaking his werewolf curse and you seem to be one of my best options." "Why would you think that? You don't even know me." You said as you took a sip of your drink. "I know your family, I've met other members of your family and they have been some of my most reliable allies." He explained and you looked at him and smiled. "My grandfather spoke about you, the only supernatural friend that he made, he saved a lot of people supernatural and human but you were the only person that he claimed a friend." You said, "that is the only reason that I will help you." "Thank you." He smiled. "And if your involving the school kids this will only become more difficult." You said as he stood from his seat. "I have no choice Elena is the one that my brother is after." Elijah shrugged and you looked at him sighed. "Guess there's no other option." You agreed.

Now all in all your plan failed and Klaus did break his curse so you spent a good portion of your time making sure that his newly turned Hybrids didn't go around killing everyone that they crossed paths with and one day Klaus was around when you sent one of his Hybrids packing. "You're the one that helped my brother," Klaus smirked as he leant against the wall of the alleyway. "Are you here to kill me for it?" You asked and he shook his head. "Now where's the fun in that? You're not even scared." He laughed as he stepped forward. "Well many others have threatened to kill me." You shrugged. "Mmm." He hummed. "Where is your brother anyway?" You asked, "He just disappeared." "You think I have something to do with that?" He asked. "I do." You nodded "You know you have a tendency to put your siblings in a box when they disappoint you." "How do you know that?" He asked. "Well, your family history is part of mine." You explained. "My family hunt those who hurt the innocent and while they haven't been able to kill any of you, they've done well to track you through history and steer you away from too much trouble. They've even fought your father to keep him away from you." Klaus' hand latched around your throat. "Careful with your next words hunter." He warned and you took the stake from under your shirt and stabbed him in the shoulder. "Don't threaten me." You warned as you walked away.

The next time that you heard from the Mikaelsons was when they were holding a ball, you had an invite through the post and while you were going to ignore it when you saw the handwritten message on the back from Elijah you hadn't heard from him in a long time and it was clear that Klaus was finally letting him out of the box, so you went you walked into the ball expecting to keep an eye on everyone from the sidelines but Elijah must have seen you the moment that you walked in "You came." He smiled as he put out his arm for you. "I did, I mean you asked me to." You said softly. "I wasn't sure that you would come." He answered honestly. "Well I mean you disappeared off the face of the earth." You shrugged. "I at least wanted an answer for that." "My brother was to blame for my absence." He admitted and you nodded. "I thought as much, said so too, ended up with his hands around my throat." You explained and he frowned. "Are you okay?" He asked. "Of course." You answered as you walked towards the bar. "So you're the one that managed to capture my brother Elijah's attention." You looked up at a beautiful blonde. "I'm Rebekah." "Nice to meet you." You smiled.

From then on you became good friends with Rebekah and while you and Klaus never saw eye to eye, he didn't try to kill you and you didn't try to kill him. You were sitting in The Grill watching Klaus and Kol across the bar, Elijah had asked you to keep an eye on his brothers while he tried to figure out what had happened the night of the ball. You watched as Klaus left with Caroline and Damon and Alaric followed Kol out, you followed after them figuring that they were distracting Klaus with Caroline. Matt was the one who had the stake when you got out there and you easily wrestled it from him and kicked him away "Wow you guys are really desperate aren't you?" You asked as you handed the stake to Kol. "What are you doing?" Damon asked as Alaric helped Matt up. "I thought you were a hunter." "I am." You answered as you crossed your arms "I just like the Mikaelsons way better than I like you." "What is going on?" Kol asked and you looked at him. "Get Klaus and then find Elijah." You ordered, Damon looked like he was ready to stop him but you threw the state strapped to your arm at his shoulder, he caught it but that gave Kol the window he needed to get to Klaus.

For the next couple of months you talked a lot with Rebekah and occasionally run into Klaus but it seemed that Elijah was ignoring you and no one knew where he was for you to be able to ask him yourself so you distracted yourself, Rebekah said that she wanted the cure so that she could be human and you promised to help her find it and then teach her the human ways to protect herself. You promised that she would always have a friend in you no matter what she was, so you were stuck in a car with Rebekah and an emotionless Elena as you drove through the country trying to find Katherine who had taken the cure from the tomb. You found her in a cafe and you sat next to Elena while Rebekah sat down next to Kathrine. After interrogating Kathrine, you and Elena went to meet her friend, you hid but then Elijah appeared. The reason that he wasn't answering your calls was because he was running around with Katherine, you walked over to them as he grabbed Elena "Elijah nice to know that you're alive but I'm going to need you to let go of her." You mumbled as you leant against the pillar of the canopy. "(Y/N) what are you doing here?" He asked. "Helping your sister." You answered. "I don't understand." He frowned. "You would if you picked up the phone." You muttered "but you should know that you girlfriend killed her brother and the only reason that I came after her with the other two was because she killed someone innocent." "(Y/N)-" "No it's fine I need to get back to Mystic Falls anyway." You mumbled before you left. When you got back to the cafe you saw that Stefan and Damon were there "Rebekah give me the keys to the car." "Elijah he's here." Rebekah said. "Oh I know and I'm done here. I'm sure three of you can deal with Katherine." You said as you held your hand out. "What's wrong?" Rebekah asked as she followed you out. "Your brother hasn't spoken to me in months and then I find out that this is why... I don't even know why I care but I really need to leave so please can I have the keys." You pleaded. "You care because you like him." Rebekah smiled. "Please, the keys." Rebekah sighed before handing them to you and walking back into the cafe as you made your way home.

You ignored Elijah's calls after that instead Rebekah was the one that called you "Elijah stopped answering my calls." She said. "I care why? He's done this before maybe he's just found a new brunette to keep his fancy." You asked. "I know you're angry but he could be in trouble. The last time that he talked to me he was with Nik." Rebekah explained. "You lucky I know how dangerous your other brother is." You grumbled as you got out of bed "pick me up in half an hour." Upon arriving at New Orleans it was clear that Klaus had done something and while he and Rebekah argued you looked around the house."He's not here Bex!" "You brought Elijah's newest love interest." Klaus smirked. "Where is he Klaus?" You asked, he just shrugged. "Alright so the lat time this happened he had a dagger in his chest and I assume you've done the same this time, the question is where are you storing him because he's not here." "Smart girl." Klaus complimented. "We'll find him." Rebekah warned. "I'm sure you will sister." Klaus nodded.

After finding out that Klaus had given Elijah over to a very powerful witch and being put on the back burner, you were tasked with looking after Hayley while the others worked on getting Elijah back. It seemed that they were close to getting him back "You knew Elijah before?" Hayley asked as you sat with your feet up on the coffee table in the living room. "You could say that." You confirmed as you looked at her, she was leaning against the doorframe of the living room before she decided to sit down. "Did you guys have a fight?" She asked. "Yes, well no, I was hurt about something but I guess there was no reason for it." You answered as you picked at your fingers. "Rebekah said that you liked him." Hayley smiled. "He was trying to call you but you weren't answering." "Mmm." You hummed before closing your eyes. "What happens if we can't get him back?" She asked. You didn't realise it but you didn't like the idea of never being able to see Elijah ever again, yes you were angry but that didn't mean that you never wanted to see him again or wished him dead.

They got Elijah back after a few days and you had taken to avoiding him based on your new feelings but it wasn't long before he cornered you "It would seem that you are still angry about Katherine." He said and you looked at him. "I'm not angry about Katherine, what you do in your spare time is your business." You answered as you attempted to walk away. "I admit that I should have called but I wasn't thinking." He answered and you nodded. "That's obvious." You said more to yourself and he pulled you back to him. "And you claim that you're not angry." He smirked and you attempted to turn away from him again but guided your face back to his. "I had time to think when you stopped answering my calls and I noticed that I found myself wishing that I would see your name." "What are you saying?" You asked. "That I would really like to kiss you because given the current circumstances we don't have time for the date." Elijah said softly and you giggled softly before pressing your lips to his in a shy kiss, Elijah pushed himself forward and connected your lips in a fuller more passionate kiss that you found yourself lost in.

Requests and general question!

#the vampire diaries #the vampire diaries imagine #the vampire diaries one shot #the originals #the originals imagine #the originals oneshot #elijah mikaelson #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson one shot #imagine #oneshot #one shot #reader insert

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justatiredghost · 3 years ago

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Living for the Moment Ch21 A series of glimpses at Klaus’ life if he’d met Dave in his mid 20s. His life isn’t magically transformed, love can’t fix either of them when they’re both homeless and in a bad place. They’re not even really ready for a relationship yet. But maybe a supportive friendship can set them on a better path, the two of them inspiring each other to take care of themselves. It’s going to be a long and bumpy ride, and the question is, when will they actually admit to themselves that they have feelings for each other? Read More AO3

Klaus was pacing, too much energy and nothing to do with it, all too aware that he hadn’t had a hit in much too long. He wasn’t sure if the nausea or shakes were because of the withdrawal or panic, but it was only going to get worse, especially once the ghosts started showing up. He crossed his arms tightly, feeling like he was going to crawl out of his own skin. He never had been very good at waiting.

And this was the worst place he could think of to have to wait around in. He hated being back at the Academy. It brought up too many memories, making him feel like a kid again, useless and miserable. Then again, not much had changed there. He was proud of how useless he’d remained.

Even though he knew Grace had said no one else was home, he still kept glancing at doors, listening for telltale footsteps, anything to indicate Reginald was on his way. It had always seemed like Dad had a sixth sense dedicated just to knowing when to show up to make his life a living hell.

He should steal something from the old bastard. For old time’s sake.

When the door opened, it startled him out of his thoughts and he half expected Reginald to be standing there. He wasn’t sure if Grace, her usual smile replaced with a look of trepidation, was actually better. It felt like his stomach dropped, like he was falling, and whenever he hit the ground, it would probably be more painful than anything he’d ever experienced.

“Your friend is resting now,” she said, which, so far so good, Klaus supposed. “But we won’t know the extent of the damage until he wakes up. I just want you to understand, he lost a lot of blood.”

Klaus knew there was an unspoken, ‘if,’ there. ‘If he wakes up.’ And his mind was all too helpful in providing plenty of horrible outcomes, from permanent organ damage to a coma. What were they supposed to do then?

‘They.’

The realization that he really, truly, meant that hit him hard. He wouldn’t leave Dave to face this alone, whatever happened. It was stupid, this was exactly what he’d worked all his life to avoid. He was a useless fuckup and this could only end horribly for the both of them. And yet, for some reason, he still wanted to try. Whatever the cost to himself.

It was strange, remembering that only a few hours ago he hadn’t been able to decide if he should meet Dave or not. But this was different. He could live with, for once, putting aside his selfishness so Dave could live a happy life without him fucking it all up. But now? He wouldn’t abandon him like this.

“Why don’t you go see him?” Grace said, reminding him that they didn’t have all the information yet. He didn’t even know if Dave would survive the night. She put a comforting hand on Klaus’ shoulder and smiled encouragingly for whatever it was worth.

“Thanks, Mom.”

He felt shaky and detached as he made his way to the infirmary, like this was just a dream. Until he actually saw Dave, that is. Seeing his too-pale form lying there snapped him back to reality and the weight and terror of it all hit him hard. As he sat beside him, he couldn’t help but watch Dave carefully, counting every rise and fall of his chest as he breathed; proof he was alive.

He shivered as he sat there, feeling completely drained, emotionally and physically. He thought about raiding the liquor cabinet, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave Dave’s side. There wasn’t anything he could do, now, but he’d come so close to losing him and right now, all he wanted was to be near him.

“Don’t you die on me,” Klaus said, even though he knew he couldn’t hear him. “Not now.”

The idea of losing Dave, after everything, made him want to laugh in a horrible sort of way that he was afraid might turn into something else. He didn’t want to even think about it. About how much he’d changed because of Dave, despite himself; about the glimpses of what his life could be, things he never thought possible, things he didn’t even believe in that suddenly felt like they could be true.

He was this whirlwind that had come into his life and shaken everything up, making him care about something other than himself for once. Making him want more than the oblivion he had spent his life searching for. It wasn’t fair. Dave was good, actually genuinely good, this couldn’t be how he ended up. Klaus deserved this kind of end, but not him.

He could feel exhaustion weighing on him after the day he’d had, but instead of giving in, he started pacing again. He didn’t know what else to do.

Klaus did fall asleep eventually. He’d slept poorly the previous night, so he’d been running on hardly any sleep even before everything happened, so he wasn’t all that surprised to find himself slumped over in an armchair near Dave’s bed. Grace’s heels clicking across the floor had likely been what roused him, and when he glanced over, he was met with the sight of Dave, awake and alive, and he was pretty sure it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen.

Grace was in the process of taking his blood pressure, so it took a moment before Dave saw he was awake as well, so at least he’d managed to get his facial expressions under control by then. He wasn’t sure what Dave would have seen otherwise.

“Hey,” Dave said with a smile. He still looked pale and weak, and he didn’t seem strong enough to sit up, but it was just so good to hear his voice.

“I turn my back for a second,” Klaus joked, but something like guilt flashed across Dave’s face, although he wasn’t sure why.

“I’ll need to monitor you for a bit. Try to get some rest,” Grace said, reaching over to ruffle Klaus’ hair before leaving.

Klaus had never really felt awkward around Dave. He had no shame anymore, so he rarely felt awkward around anyone. But Dave especially, they just got along too well, he had always felt completely comfortable around him. Right now, though, he felt awkward, mostly because of the revelation of how far he’d go to help Dave, and what that meant. Maybe there was something wrong with him. So he did what he always did and avoided the topic. Besides, there were other things they needed to talk about first.

“So, are you going to tell me what happened, or what?” he asked, scooting his chair over so he could lean on the edge of the narrow bed.

“It’s not that big of a deal,” Dave said, bringing a hand up to rub tiredly at his face.

“I mean, I’m pretty sure most people would consider getting stabbed a big deal, but you’re lucky I’m not most people,” Klaus joked, trying to get him to stop looking so upset. “I am pissed that a fight went down and I wasn’t even invited, though.”

“I guess I do owe you an explanation,” Dave sighed. “I just mouthed off to the wrong people, it was bound to happen eventually, I guess.”

“Mr Katz, are you telling me you actually picked a fight?” Klaus said with exaggerated shock, hand over heart. “I’m so proud of you.”

“Not the smartest thing I’ve ever done, but then, I never claimed to be smart,” Dave tried to shrug but seemed to think better of it.

“Come on, don’t be stingy with the details,” Klaus prompted.

“I’m afraid I don’t have much more information for you,” Dave admitted. “I don’t even know who they were.”

“Wow,” Klaus said, struggling to think of a time Dave had actually seemed genuinely angry. Especially with strangers, he was usually the type just to ignore assholes and move on. It occurred to him that tbe two other fights he’d gotten into had been because of Klaus. Maybe he was a bad influence on him. “What did they even do to push your buttons that much?

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed,” Dave said, sarcasm tingeing his words. “But I’m not exactly what people think of when they imagine the ideal soldier. I mean, they’re not supposed to be gay, or critical of the military, and they certainly don’t relapse six times in the last month alone.”

“Oh,” was all Klaus could say, because he hadn’t known, how could he? He and Dave had hardly spent any time together. But Dave always did seem so strong and confident, Klaus couldn’t help but assume sobriety was going well for him. Obviously he had his own struggles and Klaus mentally kicked himself for not paying better attention.

“Yeah,” Dave said, staring up at the ceiling. “My uncle is more like what people expect, which, fair enough. I don’t think these assholes were associated with the VA, I think they just happened to be passing by, but who knows. They’re not exactly above prejudice.”

“So, they started spewing bullshit, and you snapped?” Klaus asked skeptically.

“Not exactly,” Dave said. “I wanted to just ignore them, but then they started hassling a kid I’d seen around the VA, and that was when I snapped. Security chases us all off before a fight could break out, but they must have followed me.”

“We have got to get you better at spotting a tail.”

“Yeah, probably,” Dave said with an exhausted chuckle. “I don’t think they meant for this to go so far. One of them pulled out a switchblade he’d clearly never used before, and as soon as they saw blood, they all freaked out and ran away.”

“Not even gonna be professionals about this,” Klaus said, clicking his tongue in disapproval. “Well, hopefully they got it out of their system and won’t be doing any more stabbing for a while. Maybe we should—”

“I’m sorry, can we talk about this later?” Dave said, closing his eyes. “I’m really tired.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Klaus said, taken by surprise. It had just been so nice to hear Dave’s voice again, he had to remind himself of the trauma he’d just survived. He shouldn’t be pushing him like this.

“Thanks,” Dave said, eyes still closed. “For everything.”

“Whatever,” Klaus said, waving a hand dismissively as he got up and headed for the door. “You’ve already bailed me out of a few tight spots, so we’ll call it even.”

On the other side of the door, he had to take a moment just to breathe. He wasn’t sure what was wrong with him. He wasn’t used to going through so many emotions in one night and he still felt shaky. Then again, maybe that was withdrawal. Good thing he still had a stash in his room.

While he was here, Klaus figured he might as well take advantage of the situation. He’d apparently slept through most of the day, and he spent the rest of it enjoying a ridiculously long bath. Then, he went to raid the kitchen. He had his head in the refrigerator with a drumstick in his mouth as he piled more food into his arms. But when he turned to spread his spoils out on the table, he heard the floorboards creak.

He froze guiltily, ready for his dad or Luther to storm in to tell him off, but after a moment, it became clear that no one was heading this way. And, whoever it was, they weren’t all that steady on their feet, walking slowly. Klaus abandoned the drumstick and went to peek around the corner to find Dave, back turned to him, making his way to the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Klaus said. “If you pull a stitch, Mom’s gonna be really disappointed in you, and no one wants that.”

Dave actually cursed under his breath at that, leaning heavily against the back of a chair. “You know,” he said, his voice artificially light. “I was trying to make this easier on the both of us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’m not continually forcing myself back into your life on purpose,” Dave said, turning to look at him. He looked utterly exhausted, barely keeping his feet under him. He ran a hand through his hair, tugging at his curls in frustration. “I know you’d rather move on and you’ve already done a lot for me, you don't have to--”

“Whoa, no, no,” Klaus interrupted. “I tried to meet you. I mean, I was there, but then I got arrested.”

“Arrested?” Dave asked skeptically.

“Yeah! That’s why I found you, I’d only just gotten out and was hoping you’d stuck around. Very, very late, I know, but--”

“You don’t have to do this just to be nice.” Dave crossed his arms across his chest, looking more like he was holding himself, and Klaus didn’t think he’d ever looked so small.

“Hey, this is me, remember? When do I ever do anything just to be nice?” He walked over to Dave, placing a hand on his arm, just wanting him to know he was serious. Dave leaned into the touch, still not quite meeting his eyes as he took a deep shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I know I can lay it on pretty thick sometimes, and I think barging into your life like I did and punching that guy certainly counts. I was afraid of losing you, but I wasn’t thinking about what you wanted, and that isn’t fair of me.”

Klaus just stared at him for a moment, before he remembered he was supposed to say something. Usually, Klaus was the one being accused of being too much. No one had ever wanted him in their life like this, and no one had ever been so concerned with what he wanted.

“I’m here, aren’t I?” was all he could really think to say.

“And I have a stab wound,” Dave chuckled, but it sounded forced. “Promise you’re not just here because you feel like you have to be? I know I’ve been laying on sob story after sob story lately, I didn’t really want to get into all this, you shouldn’t have to worry about my crap. And I definitely don’t want you to feel like I’m twisting your arm”

“It’s cute you think you could possibly manipulate me, of all people,” Klaus said, patting his cheek. “I’m immune to sob stories.”

“That’s not—” Dave started, but trailed off, clearly frustrated and unsure how to get across what he was trying to say, so Klaus continued.

“Besides,” Klaus continued quickly. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been dealing with my crap for a while now, isn’t that what friends are supposed to do? That’s a genuine question, by the way, I have no idea.”

“I guess,” Dave said with an uncertain shrug.

“Well, don’t worry, this is completely selfish on my part. If I were a better person, I would have let you leave.”

“I’m selfish too because I’m glad you didn’t,” Dave admitted.

“I’m still not really sure how this is supposed to work, but—“ Klaus hesitated, so close to saying how completely he trusted Dave. Instead, he shifted direction. “Hey, maybe we deserve to be a little selfish.”

“If you’re willing to put up with the disaster I’ve made of my life, I think we can figure something out.”

“You’re a disaster? Have you met me?” Klaus said, gesturing to himself.

“I’ve just really been struggling,” Dave admitted, looking so completely hopeless and worn out. “I already told you about relapsing. Everything is just so hard and I’ve let it isolate me. I even let it pull me away from my best friend.” Here he gestured at Klaus, to his surprise. “I can’t live like this anymore. Something has to change.”

“What does that mean?” Klaus asked. “You’re not giving up, are you?”

“No,” Dave said with a heavy sigh. “I just have to figure it out, but right now I just feel helpless.”

Klaus didn't really know how he was supposed to reassure him when he didn’t even believe things were going to work out. He’d learned a long time ago not to hope for the best, so he couldn’t advise him, and he certainly couldn’t comfort him. At least he could help him back to bed before he started bleeding again. It was all he could do at this point.

“Come here,” Klaus said, reaching out to take Dave’s arm so he could help support him back to bed.

Apparently Dave misunderstood, though, because the next thing he knew, Klaus was being pulled into a hug. It took him completely by surprise and he froze up before remembering he was supposed to hug him back. Dave leaned into him slightly, a comfortable weight as Klaus helped support him and he hated how much he liked it. It felt safe and warm, completely surrounded by Dave, overwhelming all of his senses.

“Wait,” Dave said after a moment, and now he was the one freezing up. “You weren’t going in for a hug, were you?”

“No, I was going to help you back to bed, but this works too.”

“Wow,” Dave said, but he didn’t actually release him. “Well, this is awkward.”

“You’re such a dork,” Klaus chuckled. “Come on, give me your arm.”

“I think I’d rather sink into the floor,” Dave said, but he finally let him go, letting himself be led along, his face bright red. Klaus wasn’t sure if he was slouched, ducking his head slightly, from embarrassment or just the pain.

“You can do that later when you’ll actually be able to get back up again. You do that now and you’ll probably be stuck there.”

“That’s fine,” Dave said. “I think I’ll just live in a hole in the ground. Any chance you’d be willing to never mention this again?”

“Are you kidding? I’m gonna hold this over you every chance I get.”

It was so nice, getting back to their usual banter. He’d missed Dave, of course he had, but being with him was always so much better than he had remembered. He was just so much more fun, so much kinder and softer, more adventurous and so, so strong.

Klaus cleared his throat and forced himself to focus on something else. There he was, getting carried away again. He had no idea what to do with himself. Maybe there was no saving either of them in the end.

#klaus hargreeves #dave katz #klave #klaus x dave #umbrella academy #the umbrella academy #fanfic #living for the moment #my fic

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smokahuntis · 5 years ago

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Watch and Learn

Pairing : Derek Morgan x Reader

Prompt: “watch and learn...”

Warning: Smut! Sub!Morgan!

Summery: The new girl is quiet and shy, so he tried to help her out a bit with questioning, only to find she may not be as shy as she claims.

“I want Reid, JJ and I down at the station, “ Hotch started giving out orders as he pointed his pen to the people in question. “Rossi and Prentiss at the first crime scene, Morgan and (Y/L/N) at the latest, there is people there that need questioned and it needs looked at again.” He said and everyone agreed instantly and began discussing the case at hand.

It wasn’t to long before they landed and everyone went where they were assigned. On the ride over Derek found himself trying to start conversation with (y/n), it really did bother him that she hadn’t said anything to him but her name and that he can drive. He did however find she liked talking to Reid, they got along well, it made him think maybe she was just as smart as him if not smarter, but anytime he listened in on their conversations they were usually book related instead of science or math.

“Soooo... you ever questioned someone before?” He said glancing over at her, causing her to look up from the case file. She just shook her head and looked back down at the papers in her hands.

“I don’t really know much about you, ya know?” He chuckled and raised an eyebrow at her as he drove, glancing between her and the road. “Most of your file was marked out, there a reason for that?” He asked trying to pull what he could from her, it really bugged him he didn’t know his own team mate well enough to say what she did before the BAU, and she’s been here for almost a month. She sighed and closed the file looking at him.

“So do you always ask so many questions ?” She asked ignoring his question, which rose suspicions in him, but he has to trust her, plus he liked the way she talked.

“So you can speak.” He said smiling those beautiful white teeth at her, “how about I give you a few pointers on how to question people okay?” He said trying to be nicer as the pulled up to the most recent crime scene that only happened a few hours ago.

“Okay...” she said back to being quiet and calm, they stepped out of the car and she made sure her gun clicked on her side tightly as they walked towards the two people that were separated from the crowd of people watching and trying to peak inside. Just before getting to them he stopped and looked at his partner.

“Watch and Learn.”

Morgan approached the young blonde who was dressed for a run, in skin tight pants and a shirt, headphones hanging loosely around her neck. (Y/n) stood in her spot a bit away from them as she listened in and focused on him. He couldn’t wipe that smile off his face the whole time, giving subtle flirty remarks back and forth with the girl as he asked his questions, it worked for him well, it really did. The way the blondes eyes raked his figure and how he soothed one of his hands over her arm to calm her down. He got what he needed from her ad walked back over to (y/n).

“See it’s not that hard.” He shrugged and glanced at the male witness. “Your turn princess.” He said and she gave a small smile before handing him her glasses and walking over to the guy.

He was dressed much more fitting for the neighborhood they were in, he wore a suit and had his hair fixed perfectly, shockingly perfect for the blood that covered his hands still.

“Hello you must be Mr.Corbet, “she said smiling at him and handing him a handkerchief to wipe his hands. “I’m (y/f/n) with the Behavioral Analysis Unit, of the FBI, mind if I ask you a few questions?” She said smiling at him, her smile was beautiful and radiant, seemed to real to be as fake as it was, she would have definitely had to practice that. But Morgan loved seeing it never the less.

“Of course, anything that helps.” He said taking the clothes from her hand and giving a small thank you before starting to answer questions. His answers lasted much long then the girls since he tried to revive the victim and saw a little bit of the unsub, but his flirty didn’t stop. (Y/n) didn’t notice it but Derek did. The way Mr.Corbit bit his lip as she wrote down his answers, and the way his eyes trailed her body and chest when she looked away, it made Morgan sick and he couldn’t figure out why. She was almost done when he heard the guy ask for her number ‘in case he remembered anything else’. That was when Morgan stepped it, laying his hand on the small of her back and smiling at the guy.

“Come on (y/n) there is something you gotta see.” He said before leading her away and into the house, putting her glasses back in her pocket as he did so. Once inside and alone she looked at him.

“What was that about?” She asked quietly.

“Don’t let them flirt with you like that...” he said before walking away leaving her dumbfounded in the living room.

—

That was almost a month ago, and (y/n) still hadn’t opened up to Morgan, but she had to tonight, they were partners again at a club. The club wasn’t far from Quantico so they were getting ready at head quarters.

(Y/n) wore a tight black dressed with her hair down, completely out of character for her, and Derek wore a nice suit the screamed he had money. (Y/n) was walking to Garcia’s bat cave at the moment in search for something to really complete the look. She was to focused on trying to get a bracelet on however to notice who was there.

“Hey Garcia do you have any lip gloss I can-“ she was cut off once she looked up and saw Derek standing there and not Garcia, he looked good, almost to good. “You’re not Garcia...”

“No I am not, but I can tell you the answer is yes, she told me to give this to you.” He said handing her a clear sparkly lip gloss.

“Thank you...” she said taking it, noticing her struggled with the bracelet he walked over and latched it for her, his hands gently moving over her skin as he did.

“I need you to stay close to me tonight okay?” He said calmly as he watched her face, how her eyes tried to look everywhere but him.

“Yea, of course...”

“Good... now let’s go, Buttercup.” He said walking with her. Once they got to the club the team went in one at a time, scattering to have eyes on (y/n) and Derek at all times. If everything went correctly the unsub would speak to (y/n), she was his type after all, (h/c) and (e/c), it was what he looked for in his victims. And she fit the bill, almost to perfectly for him to not go for her.

Everything was going smoothly but Derek could tell this was not (y/n)’s kinda crowd, and so when she excused herself for a drink he really didn’t think that much of it since he was close to the bar and everyone had eyes on her. She leaned over the bar and spoke to the bar tender quietly as a man approached her, he didn’t fit the profile so No one worried, specially when we could hear him over her Com.

“What’s a beautiful thing like you doing in a place like this?” He asked smiling at her, leaning over the bar. She blushed and let out a small giggle playing a long so no one knew she was an agent.

“I’m Andrew” he said holding out his hand,

“I’m -“ just as she was about to say her name and take his hand Derek stepped in, his hand grabbing Andrews in a firm hand shake and the other around (y/n)’s waist tightly.

“And I’m her boyfriend, nice to meet you.” He said smiling kindly at the guy who hurried away, Derek looked down at her raising a brow. “What was that?” He asked.

“Why do you care?” She asked looking back at him. He shook his head and they continued with the case.

—

Jefferson City, Missouri, it was late everyone was tired and they left in the morning, right now they were at the hotel getting some sleep, or supposed to be. And today (y/n) had had enough of ‘Derek to the rescue’ any time a man spoke to her. It was honestly tiring, but with her training or way of life she kept quiet, everytime he did it she didn’t say a word. She was trained not to speak or let things bother her, and sometimes she just couldn’t keep it in, so when she saw him at the ice machine she made sure to not look at him, because with one small step in the wrong way and she would loose her cap.

Though of course, he is Derek Morgan and he had to say something. “You okay Buttercup?”

She snapped.

“You know Morgan, I can defend myself! I don’t need you to run in every time you see someone talk to me! I’m an agent on this team, not just a random girl at a bar, you can’t just sweep me off my feet!” She yelled looking at him, he was taken back by her words but she wasn’t done. “I’m probably more qualified for this job then you are! With your little “watch and learn.” This and “ watch and learn” that! I don’t need your help! I was a fucking Spy for christ sake Morgan! I could take out anyone who laid a hand on me let alone speak to me!” She finished and let out a sharp breath looking down at him. When he didn’t reply fast enough she rolled her eyes and left the room going back to her room, leaving him completely dumbfounded by her comments.

He was taken from his thoughts by a laugh, looking over seeing Rossi who had saw the whole thing.

“You saw that?” Morgan said looking at him.

“From start time finish buddy.” He said patting his shoulder. “You should probably apologize...”

“For what?”

“It doesn’t matter, just apologize.” Rossi said looking at him. That’s how he found himself knocking on her door, which was a long way from his, 2 floors actually, so when she opened the door to see him instead of Reid who she did share the floor with, was a shock.

“Morgan...” she said before sighing, guilt riddled her face as she shook her head. “Look I’m so-“

“You’re a spy?” He said looking at her.

“Wow they really blacked out my file didn’t they...” she said moving away from the door letting him in. “Yea i was Interpol Intelligence...” she closed the door behind him and looked up at him. His eyes darted around her face trying to figure out if she was lying but he found nothing. She sighed and walked more into the room.

“I spent 8 years under cover, and I guess being quiet and submissive just became my thing after.” She say on the bed and looked up at him.

“Who else knows...” He asked quietly sitting next to her.

“You, Hotch, Rossi...” she said looking over to him, he chuckled rubbing his brow bone trying to process everything he was taking in. “ I needed something calm, something to get me back on my feet, so I ended up here.”

“What were you like before?” He asked his hand coming up rubbing circles onto her back. She looked at him and her eyes meeting his honeyed brown ones. Something about the way she looked at him in that moment, that moment of weakness. It sent him over his edge and he leaned forward kissing her soft lips. She kissed back almost instantly but pulled away and looked at him.

“You wouldn’t like the real me...” she said looking at him, and he shook his head.

“ teach me, teach me who you really are (y/n), please.” He said pulling her back into another kiss, her hands came up wrapping around his neck as she moved straddling his lap. His large hands moved down to her waist, gripping the skin the escaped her small pajama shirt. Their lips never left each other as they fell back onto the bed with her on top.

“We shouldn’t do this...” she said, and she clearly meant it but neither of them wanted to stop.

“If that’s what you want...” he said his hands not leaving her hips. “But I need you to know, that there won’t be a second that goes by I won’t regret walking out that door...”

“Don’t be to loud...” she said kissing his neck.

“Oh buttercup, you won’t need to worry about me, it’s you we should-“ he tried to flip her but she stood her grown and firmly pushed on his chest laying him back down.

“Watch and Learn Morgan....” she said before she started to grind onto his forming erection. It pulled groans from his lips like no other women has, yet she was silent and calm, she looked unfazed, and he almost thought she was until he felt the wet spot on his sweat pants causing his to grip her hips again.

“Come on baby, let me take care of you...” he said and she Tsked him and swatted his hands away.

“You want to learn the old me,” she said taking his hands tightly into hers and putting them above his head before pulling his hardened cock from his sweat pants. “The old me was Dominant,” she growled out as she grinned down on him harder, back and forth.

“Careless,” she moved side to side.

“And Independent...” she said before moving her shorts to the side and sliding down onto him, letting out a quiet yet satisfying moan of his name, as he stretched her walls and went deeper then any man has ever gone. She loved the feeling of him inside her, tearing her at the seams but she didn’t care, and neither did her. Specially not when she began to move up and down and rounding her hips as she rode him, her hands fell to his chest as she used it for leverage. He thought she was stunning as she used him, and she really did use him. It was the most pleasurable thing he’d ever felt as she rode his cock like it was her job, like she knew it like the back of her eye lids.

Part of him never wanted this to end, but it was his luck, the best women he’s ever had sex with, was his partner. The best women he’d ever felt or seen, and he’s not even seeing all of her, just what was exposed from her pajamas and what the moon light lit up. She was an angel really, she was so good at it it didn’t take him long to cum, and without warning.

He moaned out loudly almost yelling her name, she had to kiss him to muffle the moans he created as his thick seed coated her insides. It threw her over the edge as she came around him clawing at his chest as she did so. It was heaven for both of them, a fall they never thought they’d make. But the landed to quickly as she fell onto his chest and his arms found there way around her body. Kissing her head and layer back again closing his eyes.

“We are in so much trouble in the morning.” He said as he drifted off to sleep. She giggled and kissed his neck one last time.

“It’s your fault, loud mouth...”

Taglist: @hxldmxdxwn and the girl who anonymously requested it!

#Derek Morgan #Derek Morgan smut #criminal minds smut #derek morgan fluff #morgan #criminal minds #spencer reid #aaron hotchner #aaron hotchner smut #spencer reid smut

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