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letarasstuff · 3 years ago

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Ranting

(A/N): This was requested by an anon, I hope you like it :)

Summary: In the middle of midterms, Spencer's daughter has enough and for the first time in her life, she rants to the team

Warnings: one swear word, school, school stress, mental breakdown, shitty friends, a bit of angst (but there is fluff to balance that out), weird grammatical sentences that are according to google correct

Wordcount: 2.3k

✨Masterlist✨ _____________________________ As a teenager, Spencer was pretty closed off. But this had several reasons, like being a child (or moreover a teen prodigy) at college and getting his first Ph.D, or that he hadn’t had a safety net of people he could have gone to. So as he became a father himself, he tried everything possible to assure his own daughter that her feelings and thoughts are always welcome and valid.

Unfortunately (Y/N) herself has developed the same habit starting high school and ever since Spencer can’t do anything to get her to open up to him. It’s not like they don’t have a good relationship, they have one of the strongest father-daughter bonds the BAU has ever witnessed. The girl simply has other ways to cope with her feelings and how to act them out in the safety of her own four walls. Her father learned to accept it, knowing that he can’t and won’t force her to talk to him.

So what follows now not only shocked Spencer. But also his work family.

It’s the time every teen in high school dreads: Midterms.

A word a teacher can mutter and a shiver goes through the rows of students in the classroom. Or at least it feels like it to (Y/N). She takes her school work very seriously. In her mind every single grade determines her future.

The rational part in her knows that the grades in her sophomore year doesn’t matter. That they are even long forgotten when she graduates. There is just so much pressure on her. But it isn’t coming from her father.

Spencer is pretty laid-back regarding school. He knows his daughter is trying her best and that it’s just the tenth grade and not the end of the world. School is not everything life has to offer, especially he has to know it as a scholar and profiler flying through the country in a jet back and forth.

It’s (Y/N)’s classmates, who pressure her to get good grades.

“We depend on you and your notes”, Tyler exclaims as he jogs next to her through the busy hallway. “Ty, I know. But I don’t have the time to get them done for all of you to understand by tomorrow. They are still a mess that only I know to see through. I still have to finish my history project and I go to my Dad’s work this afternoon, which means I won’t get much done and I still have to do the homework I got today before sorting my notes for the test in two days.”

At her locker, the boy still doesn’t let go of the subject. “Do you want to say that our grades don’t matter as much as yours? Because this would be a true selfish statement.” Maybe it is the lack of sleep, because she pulled three all-nighters in two weeks, or the fact that she is slowly getting fed up being treated like an unpaid private teacher, but (Y/N) can’t stop her sassy answer. “Tyler, you wouldn't even know how to tell apart your ass from your head if it weren’t for me and my help in biology. You wouldn’t even know how to spell selfish if I didn’t let you copy my answers in spelling tests in elementary school.”

Done with the day and her friend’s shit, she slams the door of her locker shut and leaves a flabbergasted boy behind. Half an hour later the teenager enters the bullpen with her visitor badge clipped to the pocket of her sweater.

On the way there she was fuming. The audacity of her friends. It’s not only Tyler, who tried to get her notes of a unit, she was the only one listening, even though the teacher said loud and clear that this will be important for midterms. A few other friends out of the group she usually hangs out with texted her the same question of when her notes will be given to them. Understandably, (Y/N) comes into the office in the worst mood anyone from the team ever saw, including her own father.

“Hey Sweetheart”, he tries to greet her with a hug. Even though both of them are not big on touch, they are extra affectionate with people they are close to.

To everybody’s surprise, the girl takes a step back, effectively avoiding his open arms. “Hey”, she grumbles out before taking a seat in the chair already waiting for her. Nobody is allowed to sit in this one, except for her. Not even Derek has ever put his butt on this one, knowing the sacredness of it.

Without sparing anyone another glance, (Y/N) gets the needed stuff for that history project out and continues working on it. The team resorts to throwing a questiongly look to Spencer, who shrugs his shoulders with a look of despair. So everyone resumes their work without even daring to say a word.

The general silence is occasionally broken by an unnerved sigh leaving the teenager’s lips. “Is the conference room occupied?” She asks, her voice clearly showing how annoyed she is. Her father shakes his head. “No, not that I know of. Do you need help with your school work?” This is obviously the wrong thing to say. “Do I look like a baby? I don’t need anyone to help with that, I have been going to school for ten years now, I think I can handle this project as perfectly fine as I did since day one. It’s just your keyboard typing that will be the reason for my first grey hairs if I don’t get out of here soon.”

Quickly (Y/N) gathers her stuff and storms off into the conference room. Immediately the team crowds her father’s desk. “What happened?” “Who hurt her?” “Go, talk to her!”

“Guys, I don’t know what’s going on. I’m at the same loss as all of you. The only thing I know is that (Y/N) is under pressure, because it’s midterms. But judging by the way she reacted, I don’t want to go near her. It’s safer to try to defuse a bomb than talk to her in that mood. Last time I saw something similar, her favorite show was declared finished, got a revival and then didn’t get one and nobody mentioned it again. She was so mad, I think it took three years of her life.” A silence of uncertainty spreads through the room.

“What about we give her some room until she calms down?” JJ suggests, being unsure herself how to deal with a teenage girl. But the rest agrees and goes back to filling out their paperwork.

This continues for about 20 minutes, till a loud bang and a frustrated scream is heard followed by “DON’T THEY WANT TO GET IT OR ARE THEY JUST STUPID?!” Alerted by that, seven people (yes, even Dave and Aaron leave their offices, while Penelope was already in the bullpen) storm into the round table room only to see a more than outraged (Y/N).

“Sweetheart”, Spencer speaks to her in the gentlest voice they ever heard from him and slowly moves towards his daughter, “What’s going on?”

Her response is delayed by several deep breaths she has to take in order to be able to talk without seething. “ALL OF MY SO CALLED FRIENDS ARE ASKING ME FOR MY NOTES, like do I look like a personal tutor? And when I tell them that I got a life, a life outside of school and grades, because otherwise I go completely bananas, just like all of you say, they get mad. Now they act like I’m the most selfish person in the whole world. I’m so done, can’t they understand that they are old enough to take care of their own stuff? I’m not responsible for them, their grades or anything regarding their lives. Otherwise I would be the mother of at least four toddlers and one baby and at the age of sixteen I’m not ready for that kind of responsibility. I know friends are there for eachother, and I really don’t mind helping them from time to time. But what they are doing is terror. Terror.

“Oh and don’t get me started on their tormention if I get something lower than an A-. Then they suddenly transform into geniuses, like they suddenly know everything possible. Of course, I’m the dumb one. I should have studied more.

“I am under an insane amount of pressure, because I know they rely on me, but enough is enough. I tell them that if anyone asks me for anything school related again and they act like I owe them an answer, I’ll cut off all ties to all of them. What am I, a roboter just there for their needs, without some of my own?”

After her long rant, (Y/N) takes a couple more breaths. It’s pretty much the only sound right now, because the team is stunned. None of them heard her talking, no ranting, like that. Not even her Spencer has seen her like that.

Realizing what she just said, the teenager fidgets nervously with her hands. “I’m, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to, you know, blow up like that. I, I really don’t know where this came from.” Nervously she scratches the back of her head. It really wasn’t her intention to let it out like that. Her plan was just to come home tonight and deal in the confinement of her own four walls with all of her feelings. It’s easier to be honest to yourself when you are alone than having an audience watching you losing it.

Suddenly (Y/N) finds herself engulfed in a massive bear hug. “Oh, my sweet sweet summerchild. You needed to rant to us and I’m so happy you did. Even though your uhm, friends, sound like big douchebags, we can help you sort something out”, Penelope tells her while keeping her arms around the teen.

“Just like lil mama said, we are here for you, Baby Reid. Don’t ever be afraid to tell us something, may it even be as small as you having stubbed your toe.” Morgan ruffles her hair and gives her a reassuring smile.

Just like them everybody shows her their support, be it encouraging words or affectionately gestures. Rossi invites her to a calm and quiet dinner at his mansion, cooking class included. Hotch assures her that she will get through this rough patch, with or without these fake people. JJ suggests (Y/N) comes over to her home and she can participate in a family game night at their home.

When it’s Emily’s turn, she makes sure to get her message loud and clear by looking the teen in the eyes (not as deep as it sounds, because some people make an intense stare really uncomfortable): “If those kids give you a hard time again, tell me. I’ll pay them a visit in classic protective godmother fashion, because nobody traits MY godchild like this. Just give me their names and I’ll handle the rest.” Obviously she doesn’t say this aloud in front of everyone, else Hotch will have her head, knowing she goes through with her threats. Instead she whispers it into the teen’s ear. Still, it makes (Y/N) smile, having such a strong support net.

Sensing the family’s need for time of their own to talk about the whole situation, the team leaves the room. Spencer gestures to her to take a seat after moving two chairs opposite each other. He wants her not to feel trapped.

“Do you still want to talk about it? It doesn’t have to be now, we can do it tonight, tomorrow, in a week or in a month. Just, please don’t shut me out. I know it’s difficult to be a teenager, especially in times like these. But it won’t do you any good keeping all of this for yourself. Today you took it out through anger. How will it look next time?

I don’t want to pressure you into talking. We don’t need to. We can find other coping mechanisms. We can try and reduce your stress. Anything. But we both know that this is not the right way.” While speaking, he takes his daughter’s hand, making her look up to him.

(Y/N) nods. Her eyes fill with tears. “I just can’t keep going like this.” She whispers, feeling all the stress, pressure and the intensity of the last few weeks crashing down on her. Quickly Spencer gathers her in his arms, letting her cry in his embrace.

After calming down, she looks up to her father with bloodshot eyes. “We can talk tonight. But I need you to do me a favor.” “Anything”, he assures her, stroking a hand along her back. “I, uhm, I need a new phone. I may or may not have thrown mine against the wall after getting a text from Tyler.”

Spencer looks at the crooked cell laying on the floor, the screen cracked. “I think we can get that sorted”, he tells her with a smile and gives her a kiss on the forehead.

The two of them leave the office earlier, having many things to talk about and many problems to solve. But with the help of her family (Y/N) gets through this, a time where people unfortunately only like her for her smarts and not being herself.

Taglist:

All works:

@dindjarinsspouse @big-galaxy-chaos @jswessie187 @kneelforloki

Criminal Minds:

@averyhotchner @mggsprettygirl @herecomesthewriterwitch @ash19871962 @ellyhotchner

#spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x teen!reader #spencer reid x daughter!reader #Emily Prentiss x teen!reader #Penelope Garcia x teen!reader #Derek Morgan x teen!reader #x teen!reader #x daughter!reader #reid!reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #reader insert

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fruitcoops · 3 years ago

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Could you maybe do that part 5 of truth or drink you alluded to?? :) with Jules and the lupins and basically Jules spilling ALLL of re’s secrets & Marley loving it 🥰

Oh, Jules, how I missed you. The truth or drink referenced in this ask is here (it's been an age since I did one, wow!) and SW credit of course goes to @lumosinlove!

“Please can we have alcohol?” Jules swung his legs under the table with wide, pleading eyes.

Marlene barked a laugh. “Over my dead body, baby Loops.”

“It would be,” Remus agreed with a teasing grin.

“Welcome back to Lion Pride, both of you,” she said, ruffling their hair. Both scrunched their faces up in identical expressions of displeasure. “There are fifteen cards in your deck, and if you don’t want to answer the question, you have to take a drink of apple juice. Not alcohol.”

“You used to be cool,” Jules sulked. Marlene rolled her eyes and Remus reached over to flick his ear. “Hey, that hurt!”

“No, it did not.”

“I’m gonna tell mom you hit me.”

Remus turned to Marlene with a long-suffering look. “Can I have alcohol?”

“Get crackin’, boys, the world wants to know your secrets.” She tapped the deck of cards with a wink and wandered behind the cameras again.

“Alright, here we go.” Remus sighed. “My name is Remus Lupin, I’m the Lions’ right wing, and I’m here with my baby brother to answer some questions. Take it away, Jules.”

“I’m not a baby,” Jules clarified to the camera. “I’m twelve. Who’s the most attractive sibling?”

Remus frowned. “Me? Just ‘cause I’m older.”

“As if.”

“Oh my god,” he muttered, reaching for his own card. “Oh, this should be fun. Name your favorite parent.”

“Dad,” Jules answered without hesitating. Remus’ eyebrows shot up. “What?”

“First, you’re not supposed to answer that fast, and second, what?”

“Dad’s cool!”

“Dad is not cool!” Remus laughed. “I don’t have a favorite parent—”

“Liar.”

“—but mom is the cool one. Dad’s a dork, and we love him for it.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe this. Mom would literally do anything for you. She learned to skate for you.”

“It’s not like I don’t love mom!” Jules protested as he took a new card. “I love her so much! And I know mom is your favorite, so it’s only fair. Which of us is the most successful, and which is the screwup?”

“I don’t have a favorite parent,” Remus insisted, leaning back in his seat. “And neither of us are screwups.”

“You’re more successful.”

“That doesn’t mean you’re a screwup. It means you’re twelve. Who’s the overachiever?”

“You,” Jules snorted. “You’re such a nerd. It’s embarrassing. What’s the meanest thing I did to you when we were kids?”

Remus rested his chin on his hand and thought for a moment, then turned to look behind the camera. “Since we were only kids together for, like, three years, can I say something from a little later?”

“Anything before age 25,” Marlene called.

He nodded decisively. “Sweet. In that case, it’s the time this little monster let a rat into the house, freaked out when he didn’t know what to do, then locked it in my bedroom and didn’t tell anyone until I went to bed and something ran across my sheets.”

Jules shrugged. “You survived.”

“Yeah, and you almost didn’t.”

“So dramatic,” he muttered.

Remus whacked him over the head with the next card before reading it. “Oh, god. Share the most mortifying memory you have of me. If you drink that apple juice and don’t answer, I’ll get you ice cream on the way home.”

Jules leaned back with a hum, already grinning. “Let’s see…”

“No,” Remus groaned.

“Probably—” Jules broke off to giggle. “Probably when you took me into the locker room to meet the team and the whole time I was talking to Sirius, you looked like you were about to melt into the floor. You had this stupid grin on your face—”

“Shut up.”

“—and almost tripped over your own feet, like, four times. This was before you guys were dating, too.”

“You are the worst,” Remus said, though his voice was muffled by his forearms. “Next question?”

“I can keep going. There was the time you gave yourself a black eye hanging Christmas lights, and when you bounced off an enforcer when you tried to check him, and when mom asked you to defrost the chicken for dinner and you forgot so you put it in the microwave and almost set the house on fire, and—“

“Marlene.” Remus raised his head with a pitiful look. “Please make him stop. Please.”

“Okay,” Marlene laughed, a little breathless. “Alright, one sec. Jules, your turn.”

“Ugh, fine. Do you let me win at things?”

“When you were five, sure.” Remus tilted his head to the side. “Otherwise, no. Do you want me to let you win?”

“I’d be so upset if you did. I only get better because I want to kick your ass one day.”

“Language. Am I a good brother?”

“Well, yeah,” Jules said as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. He blinked at Remus, clearly confused. “Duh. You’re weird and annoying, but you’re one of my top three favorite people?”

“Before or after dad?” Remus teased, but it was soft with fondness.

Jules narrowed his eyes and leaned his elbows on the table. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Have I ever disappointed you?”

“Never. I don’t think you could if you tried. Who’s smarter?”

“Me.” Remus gave the camera a disbelieving look as Jules took a new card. “Ha! I like this one. Which of us was a mistake?”

“Oh, that is a good one. Honestly, I don’t think either of us were planned. Mom and dad definitely weren’t expecting a kid at 21 and 25, and absolutely weren’t planning on another one fifteen years later.”

Jules cast the camera a bright smile. “Oops!”

“But we’re their best mistakes,” Remus said solemnly with the ghost of a smile, as if he was repeating a sentiment that had been said many times before. “Okay, I need to have a talk with whoever set up these questions. Do an impersonation of me, or drink to—”

“Oh, look at me, I’ve got a fancy degree,” Jules mimicked, dropping his voice comically low. “I’m so cool, I’ve got a secret boyfriend and I’m not gonna tell anyone about it for three whole months even though I suck at keeping secrets. I’m tall, so I’m gonna grab my awesome little brother by the ankles and shake him around—”

“You asked me to—”

“Shh! I’m not done!”

Remus gave him an incredulous look. “They get the point!”

Jules stuck his tongue out, but grabbed a new card from the stack. “What are your best and worst memories of mom and dad?”

“Aw, man.” Remus tapped his short stack of cards on the table and bit his lip. “Best and worst…best would probably be Christmas two or three years ago, when we all went skating on the lake.”

“That’s a good one,” Jules mused.

“It’s hard to think of my worst memory of them. Um, maybe after I stopped playing hockey in college? There was a lot of walking on eggshells and it was really uncomfortable.”

Remus read the next card and his frown dissolved into laughter; he reached for the apple juice and filled both glasses to the brim, then pushed them across the table to Jules without a word. “What are these for? You have to read the card, dummy.”

“The most spoiled sibling has to drink,” Remus said with a wide grin.

“It’s not me!” Jules protested, though it was weak. “You were an only child for fifteen years!”

“Yeah, and?” His amusement only grew as Jules struggled to make a comeback. “See, you can’t even deny it! You’re the baby of the family and everybody loves you. How many times have you been to Gryffindor?”

Jules opened and closed his mouth a few times, going red with indignance.

“How many?” Remus’ expression was pure glee. “Buddy, I didn’t leave Wisconsin for anything other than roadies until you were old enough to travel, and then mom and dad had to show you off to everyone.”

“They love you, too!”

“I know they do,” Remus laughed. “They’re great parents and we both had amazing childhoods. You’re still the more spoiled one.”

“I don’t like this game,” he muttered as he drank one of the glasses. “And I’m not drinking that other one. Okay, last question. Should we see more of each other?”

“Of course,” Remus said. “I wish we lived closer to each other all the time. Do you think so?”

Jules reached for the glass, then burst out laughing when Remus’ jaw dropped. “Oh, I got you so good! But yeah, I miss you a ton during the school year.”

“You little…” Remus bit back his threat and ruffled Jules’ hair despite his protests, cheeks turning pink with embarrassment. “Keep that up and you’re gonna get flipped again.”

“You wouldn’t. Not on camera.”

“Try me.”

Jules bolted from his seat and tried to make a run for it, but Remus was faster—he caught him around the waist, hefted him under one arm, and turned him around until he could get ahold of his skinny ankles. “No!” Jules shrieked through his giggling as Remus started swinging him lightly back and forth. “No, no, put me down!”

“Just making sure you really don’t want to see more of me,” Remus said, alight with happiness. Jules’ fingers nearly touched the ground. “You’re almost too big for this.”

“Good,” Jules wheezed. “Are we done yet?”

Remus looked back to the camera. “Thanks for tuning into Lion Pride, everyone. Make sure to like and subscribe if you want a slow-motion tutorial on how to transform your little brother into an emergency pendulum.”

“No!”

“Can you get down by yourself?”

Jules stretched his arms toward the floor, but Remus pulled him up an inch just as his fingertips brushed the tile. “Hey! Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“Pulling me up!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Remus said, adding another inch.

#remus lupin #julian lupin #jules #coops #marlene mckinnon #lion pride #my fic #fanfic #sweater weather #vaincre #lumosinlove #social media #truth or drink

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ragingbookdragon · 3 years ago

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These Words You Should Always Remember: To You, My Heart I Surrender

Batsis x Ghost-Maker One-Shot

Word Count: 4.6 Warnings: Explicit Language, Violence, Angst

Author's Note: This wasn't supposed to be 4K words y'all. I swear. But y'all better love me for it. Enjoy! -Thorne

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

There were the occasional sounds of fists meeting faces and shins hitting sides echoing in her ears, but she paid them no mind, eyes trained on the screen before her. She was content to let her brother and oldest friend beat the ever-living shit out of each other if it meant they’d eventually put their feelings aside and make up. Of course, it was a long-shot pipe dream and one not so easily reached—she could hope though.

Over the sound of the continual fighting came footsteps, followed by, “Aunt (Y/N). How’s it hangin’?”

Glancing over her shoulder, she smiled at her second nephew. “Jason,” she greeted warmly, and he bent down beside her, letting her press a kiss to his temple. “What are you doing here so late? I thought you and Roy were going to Panama City tomorrow? Shouldn’t you be in bed?”

He shrugged. “Plane leaves in the morning. Figured I’d hang around here for the night to say a couple ‘see you laters’.” Jason’s eyes followed the screen. “Is that the human trafficking ring out of Saint Petersburg?”

“Yeah,” (Y/N) answered, turning to click at the mouse. “Some lawyers from the courts around here got caught in a hotel room with a few of the girls.”

Someone new appeared in her peripheral, two people actually, Tim and Dick. “Didn’t they arrest everybody in the hotel room?” Tim asked, propping his chin on her shoulder.

She reached up and scratched his scalp the way he liked. “They did. The girls were sent to a secure facility for treatment and the lawyers have unsurprisingly lawyered up. None of them are talking.” (Y/N) clicked on the screen, opening a tab that led to an interrogation room. “Gordon’s not having any luck. Whoever’s running this operation is obviously terrifying enough that none of these guys are cracking. Even with the threat of getting sent to prison for life.”

“Want some help?” Dick offered and she shook her head.

“Nah. We adults have it.” (Y/N) looked at them and smiled. “You guys go do what young people do. Hang out with your friends, drink, party, be young.”

“I feel like you’re saying that to the wrong trio,” Tim said. “None of us drink except Jason and even then, none of us party.”

She shook her head again, this time in shame. “God, you people need to live.”

Jason happened to glance over her head, and he frowned. “Speaking of needing to live…you might wanna stop Bruce and GM from killing one another.”

(Y/N) turned in the direction of her friend and brother and sighed. “Am I a terrible person for considering letting them punch each other unconscious?”

“Nope!” came unified response and she chuckled, rising from her seat.

“Thought so,” she said, walking over to where Bruce and Ghost-Maker were about to go at it again.

She stepped in between them, gracefully dodging a throw punch and a kicked-out leg, shoving both of them back in return. “Hey, enough.”

“Move.” Bruce commanded and she glared at him.

“I said, enough.” Her head turned to Ghost-Maker. “We all know this little sparring match has gone a bit farther than just training.”

“No one’s getting hurt, (Y/N).” Ghost-Maker said, and she narrowed her eyes.

“Maybe not right now, but someone will get hurt and we don’t need that.” She pointed to the opposite ends of the room. “Separate and cool off. Both of you.”

Seeing that she wasn’t going to budge, Bruce let out a puff of air and turned, striding into the showers, leaving her and the other man on the mats. (Y/N) sighed quietly, rubbing her temples, and griped, “I swear you both make it so difficult to be around.”

“Only because he lets his emotions get in the way.”

(Y/N) looked up at him, watching as he wiped the sweat from his face. She caught his hand. “You busted your knuckles.”

“I’ll be fine.” He started to pull away and she tightened her grip.

“Don’t even start with me, Ghost.” She tugged him to the med bay and shoved him towards a seat. “Sit.” He obeyed, though she could tell he was probably making a face at her, and she busied herself with finding the antiseptic and some wraps.

Turning back around, she perched herself on the desk and placed his hand in her lap, gently wiping the blood and dirt away from the wounds; then she set the rag aside and wrapped his knuckles with the fresh gauze, carefully, as if he were made of glass.

When she was finished, she couldn’t help but do the childish thing she’d come up with all those years ago during their training; (Y/N) softly rubbed her thumbs over his knuckles, blowing quietly, then she murmured, “There. All healed.”

A rare smile came over his lips, though she could tell it was more of a sneer than one. “You’re still doing that?”

(Y/N) huffed a laugh and shoved his hand off her legs. “Yes. How do you think I managed to heal all the wounds me and the family have gotten over the years?”

“Hmm, stitches and alcohol.”

“Smart-ass,” she grunted, rising to her feet. “You hungry?”

Ghost-Maker stood from his seat. “No. I have to get back to The Haunt.”

“Hot date waiting?” (Y/N) cracked, elbowing him in the side and he snorted.

“No. I need to read up on the information Icon’s run through since I’ve been gone.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, gazing at him. “You know I’m doing that right now with our scans, right?”

“Of course, I do. But you’re not Icon.”

(Y/N) rolled her eyes. “Great, I’ve been beaten by an AI.”

“An AI that I designed.” Ghost-Maker added, and she glared at him for a moment before chuckling.

“With fear, so I’ve heard.”

He shrugged. “I figured I would give him the one thing I lack.” He looked over at her. “Do you want to come with me?”

She wanted to, but she sighed heavily. “I can’t.” her eyes found the shower room door. “Someone needs to stay behind and talk to him.”

“I’m not surprised you’re staying.”

It was all he said before he disappeared from her sight and (Y/N) bit the inside of her cheek as something aching tugged deep in her chest. She hated how easy it was for her to understand when Ghost-Maker was disappointed in her decisions. How easy it was for him to impact her feelings. It’d been almost two decades since they actually held real conversations and every memory of the time they’d spent together, her, him, and her brother came back to her. Every moment of watching the two boys go head-to-head, and her torn between her family and the man she loved—it’d always been that way…and sometimes she wished she were like Ghost-Maker, unfeeling of love and empathy.

She shook herself from her stupor and walked into the locker room, leaning against the wall of the closed shower door; she could see his feet beneath the door. “Why do you always let yourself get so angry when it comes to Ghost?”

“You know why.” Bruce retorted. “You know how he is.”

“And I know how you are,” (Y/N) countered. “Yet you refuse to admit that on some level he’s got good points.”

He stuck his hand out from the opening of the door. “Towel.” She waited. “Please.”

Handing it over, she said, “You and I both know the longer we do this the darker it gets…the darker we get.”

“I’m not killing people, (Y/N).” Bruce griped as he stepped out of the shower, the towel around his waist. He’d busted his eyebrow and lip.

“I’m not saying you have to, Bruce. I wouldn’t expect you to. All I’m saying is you won’t admit that Ghost is right about things.”

“About what!” He shouted, turning on her. “That I should just start slitting throats up and down the street! That I should give up what we started as children! What (Y/N)!”

She merely stared at him amidst his yelling and then she calmly stated, “That you can’t save everyone.” He didn’t react, just looked at her as she explained, “You are so hellbent on the idea that everyone can have a moral redemption arc, but the truth is that not everyone has one nor does everyone deserve one.”

(Y/N) shook her head. “Sometimes I think Ghost was right. Trying to save everyone? Giving up every part of myself to make sure everyone lives? He was right. It eats until there’s nothing left inside you.”

“So what? You’re going to stop saving people?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Bruce.” She gave him a sharp look and said, “I’m going to stop saving the people who don’t deserve saving. And if that means I let someone bad die? I can live with that.” Walking off, she ignored him as he called out for her to stop, leaving him alone.

***

The little hovering tray floated into her peripheral and she blinked, turning to look at it. “Good evening, Miss Wayne. Refreshments?”

She smiled, plucking a champagne glass off along with a few grapes and cheese slices. “Thanks Icon.”

“You’re welcome.” The tray wandered off and she walked over to where he was sitting down, silently reading through the reports.

“Find anything interesting?” she asked, popping a grape in her mouth as she nudged his elbow off the armrest to perch on it herself. His arm unconsciously rested around her waist, fingers brushing the side of her pants.

“Leonidovich is having a party tonight.”

(Y/N) hummed, watching as he clicked through the pictures of the party’s setup. “Big place. Open. Good for plain clothed security to get around in.” she narrowed her gaze. “This is the ball room of the Winter Nebula Hotel. Who’s renting out the penthouse?”

Ghost-Maker smirked. “Our host for the party.”

She nodded. “Then that’s where the real party is going to be tonight.” Glancing at him, she asked. “Any big ballers on the VIP list?”

“Oh, a few internationally wanted arms and drug dealers.” He looked at the screen. “Leonidovich picked up a new shipment of girls earlier. He’s probably going to make a deal with the dealers tonight in exchange for them.”

(Y/N) nodded. “I guess it’s time to put our noses to the grind then.” She shimmied off the seat and started towards the closet. “Have any dresses back here?”

“You’re going inside?” he questioned, almost sounding surprised.

“Well, you can’t go it,” she retorted. “Your wily ways of fucking and flying means that people know your face.”

“Half of it.”

(Y/N) stuck her head out from the curtain, neck, and shoulders bare. “You’re not going to go in without your mask on. We both know that.” She pulled back in, grunting and shuffling around until she was finished.

Pulling open the curtain, she stepped out in a thigh length white heart-bodice dress, form fitting to her body and off the shoulders. (Y/N) slipped in the black metal teardrop earrings. “Part of me wants to ask why you have female clothing in your closet, but the other part wants to ask why on God’s green earth do you have to buy everything in white.”

Her face pinched. “It’s sterile. At least paint some gray in here somewhere, Jesus.” Ghost-Maker merely chuckled at her complaints and stepped behind her, gently placing something around her neck. “What are you—”

He let the black necklace fall to her chest and gently grabbed her chin, the other plucking a small device from the tray that Icon had next to them. Maneuvering her head to the side, he reached up and stuck it behind her ear, snug and out of sight. “Your hair should cover it,” he said.

“What is ‘it’?” (Y/N) asked.

“Listening device.” Ghost-Maker nodded to the screen, and she looked over, seeing a black box on the screen with a marker that was ticking. He raised his fingers to her ear and snapped; the blue marker etched with the sound, and she couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“Nicely designed, Ghost.” She remarked, glancing back at him. “Get my invitation?”

“It’s printing.” He met her eyes. “You need to be careful.”

(Y/N) knew he was being serious, but she couldn’t help but mess with him a bit. She smirked. “Why, Ghost, are you worried that I can’t handle a bunch of international criminals by myself? Me? That mighty Widow-Maker?”

“I’m not worried about you.” He said, and it hurt a lot more than she expected it too. “But I’d be down a sparring partner if you got yourself killed.”

She blinked at him. “I’m not sure what’s more upsetting—that you only think of me as a sparring partner or that you legitimately think I can’t do this by myself.” (Y/N) tipped her head. “Ghost, I’ve got this.” He opened his mouth to say something, but she turned away, walking to the door. “Where will you be tonight?”

He watched her back. “I’ll be doing what I do best. Surveying until you get into the penthouse.”

“You can’t bust in until I get enough on Leonidovich to have him arrested.”

“I’m not going to arrest him, (Y/N).” She turned, staring at him, but she said nothing, and he cocked a brow. “You’re not going to stop me?”

Her gaze fell to the tile floor, and she shrugged. “I don’t think I can, even if I tried to.” She let out a breath and turned. “Good luck tonight.”

***

To a novice, the party would’ve just been a normal high-class function, but to her knowing eyes, both from her own billionaire life and her vigilantism, this party was crawling with criminals. She’d caught at least seven drug deals go down in the past five minutes since she walked in, and at least nine men went off with escorts.

She inconspicuously grabbed a champagne chute from a waiter’s tray and sipped it lightly, scanning the room for Leonidovich. He was in the corner of the room, sitting next to a few women who (Y/N) recognized from the missing persons in Gotham.

His eyes flashed to hers and she gave him a flirty wink, disappearing to the bar, knowing he was going to take the bait. Sure enough, a hand touched the small of her back and she hummed as his lips brushed her ear. “I wasn’t expecting a goddess like you to come to this party tonight.”

She smiled and leaned back into his chest. “This goddess goes where she pleases.” Tipping her head slightly, she caught his eye. “And where her boss will find the best deals.”

“Deals, hmm?” he hummed. “What kind of deals are you expecting?”

(Y/N) smiled. “Oh, the ones where lots of money is involved…and merchandise.”

He gazed at her for a few moments then murmured in her ear, “The code word for entrance to the penthouse is ‘подземный мир’.”

“I’ll remember.” Leonidovich pulled from her with a smile and disappeared into the crowd. Something made her want to shiver from disgust, but she concealed it, watching and waiting for him to enter the elevator.

When he did, she waited another few minutes before walking over to it; the security stopped her and she cocked a brow, muttering, “подземный мир.”

The two guards looked at each other then stepped aside, letting her into the elevator. Another guard was inside, and she smiled politely as she stepped in, glancing at the little panel as it blinked.

It dinged, signaling their arrival and when the doors opened, she was greeted by an extravagant penthouse. To her surprise, there weren’t many people inside, just Leonidovich and his personal entourage.

“Ah, you’ve come,” he greeted, holding out a hand.

She took it, letting him place a kiss to her knuckles. “I told you, this goddess goes where she pleases and where she’s needed.” Looking around, she murmured, “My boss would prefer our business done alone. Is that possible?”

The guards seemed to turn even frostier but Leonidovich merely chuckled, nodding his head as he let her go and gestured to a side door. “The office is just through those doors. We can draw up a contract.” He turned to his thugs. “Wait here.”

(Y/N) nodded, following him as he led her into the office, noting how he locked the door, and he motioned to a chair in front of the desk. “Please, sit.”

Taking her seat, she crossed a leg over her knee. “You wouldn’t happen to have something to drink, would you?”

“What can I offer you?”

“Vodka.”

He chuckled. “Ah, a woman after my own heart.” He waltzed over to the bar and poured them both glasses, walking back to hand her hers. “Here you are.”

(Y/N) took it and clinked her glass to his. “ваше здоровье.”

They both downed their glasses and for effect, she held her façade. “You speak and drink like a true daughter of Russia.”

She smiled. “I’ve had more than a few drinks with many sons of Russia.” Glancing out the window, she added, “My boss is interested in your inventory. A few of them actually.”

Leonidovich hummed, turning back to wander over to the drink counter. “Tell me about your boss.”

“He’s a multi-billionaire out of Hong-Kong. Made his fortune by building cell towers and selling opium on the side.”

“Opium is a highly sought-after drug.”

“That it is,” (Y/N) agreed. “He’s been branching out into Kolkata, wanting to get into the spice trade.” She gazed into her empty glass, staring at her reflection. “But the men over there want something in return…more than money, if you catch my drift.”

“I do.” He said, matter of factly. “Perhaps I can offer them something better.”

“And what would that be?” almost there. She thought, but she never expected—

“You.”

(Y/N) turned her head just as he swung his arm as hard as he could, the vodka bottle in his grasp. She barely even had time for her eyes to widen when it collided with her temple, shattering into a thousand shards, cutting deep into her skin.

She fell out of her seat and hit the ground, dazed and in a massive amount of pain. Reaching up, she felt the blood pouring from her head and she sucked in a shuddering breath, trying to wipe away the fluid from her eyes so she could see.

Of course, he didn’t give her time because he was pressing his knee into her back, fingers yanking the listening device from behind her ear. Leonidovich glared at it and smashed it between his fingers. “I know who you are working for. I’ve seen this tech before.”

(Y/N) rolled onto her back, throwing out her elbow, which to give her credit, she did catch him in the jaw, but he was quick to respond, punching her across the face. Blood pooled in her mouth, and she spat at him, then his hands were winding around her throat, squeezing tightly. It reminded her of the training in the Amazons where she had to learn to uncoil anacondas from her body.

His grip became tighter and tighter just like the reptiles and she bared her teeth as she tried to suck in air, digging her nails into the flesh of his hands, his wrists, anything she could scratch at. He was heavy enough that she couldn’t flip him and with the dress tight around her thighs, she couldn’t cock her legs up to his shoulders or waist to get any distance between them.

She gasped when he put his knee in her stomach and that was the last bit of air she had to hold in. Her lungs started burning, begging her for air she felt the panic starting to rise in her as she thrashed beneath him, trying to throw him just an inch, but nothing was working.

Dark spots started to ebb out from the corner of her vision and like the phrase had come alive, she saw every moment of her life flash before her eyes. Every wrong decision, every right one. Every goodbye, every hello. Every person she’d ever lost and every one she’d ever saved. Her nephews’ and nieces’ faces darted across her vision followed by Bruce’s and then his.

She didn’t want to die now. Not since he’d come back to see them after so long. She wanted to stay. Wanted to tell him she loved him, even if she knew he would never be able to feel the same. She wanted to live.

Gunshots sounded from the outside, but they were like whispers as her eyelids started to droop shut, brain fogging from the lack of oxygen. Her hands started to go slack as the door was kicked in and as her arms went limp, something damp splattered across her face and the weight of Leonidovich’s body fell away.

(Y/N) sucked in a lungful of air and rolled, with what strength she’d received from the freedom, over onto her side, coughing violently. Her head was swimming with pain and her brain felt like someone had taken a mallet to an overripe melon.

Someone gripped her shoulder and she screeched, flailing on them when they grabbed her wrists. “(Y/N). It’s me.” They pulled her against them, folding her to their chest and placed a hand to the back of her head. “You’re safe.”

Sandalwood and metal oil wafted up her nose and she heard the familiar hum of his suit. “K?” she breathed, terrified to pull away and look at him.

His thumb caressed the back of her head. “It’s me, (Y/N).”

Something broke inside her and she buried her face in his cloak, sobs wracking her body as she clung to him. Words passed her lips, and she wasn’t sure what she was saying but it didn’t matter because all she could think about was how he’d saved her in the nick of time. The man she’d turned her back on at twenty to go home with her brother, had saved her again.

***

When she awoke, she sat up straight in the bed, vaguely unaware of how she’d gotten there in the first place. She started to move when she heard, “I wouldn’t get up if I were you.”

Stilling, she looked over, seeing Ghost-Maker with a book in his hands. Sun Tzu’s The Art of War, one of his favorites. When they used to train together when they were children, they used to lie under the stars, and he’d tell her all about how each chapter in the book had been devoted to a different art of warfare; she loved how passionate he would get when he talked about it.

“What happened?” she asked, fingers twitching against her side where it had started to ache.

“You were found out and almost strangled to death in penthouse suit.” He snapped the book shut. “When the bug went down, I moved in and took care of the criminals in the suite before killing Leonidovich and saving your life.”

(Y/N) frowned as he set the book down and leaned over, checking inside the bandage that was wrapped around her head. “Thank you.” Her eyes found his behind his mask. “What happened after?”

“You don’t remember?” he inquired curiously, and she tried to shake her head, but his grip was firm, keeping her in place.

“No. I remember you saving me but everything after that is a giant blur.” Suddenly she felt too transparent and pulled from his hands, turning her back to him as she threw her legs over the side of the bed. She rested a split second and stood, though his earlier warning rang in her ears as her knees buckled beneath her, head swimming.

He was there in an instant, arms wrapped around her waist as he caught her, lowering her back onto the bed. “I told you not to move.”

(Y/N) grunted at him and when he moved to pull away, she held on, resting her head on his shoulder. “Just…wait, K.” She whispered softly. “Please, just a moment.”

Ghost-Maker didn’t move though she felt the way he tensed at the first letter of his name. “You called me ‘K’ back there too.”

“I was relieved to see you.”

“And what you said afterwards?” She fell silent. “You don’t remember, do you?”

(Y/N)’s lips pulled downwards. “I have an idea of what I said. But I doubt you’ve been oblivious to it all these years.”

“Why do you love me?” he inquired, and from the tone of his voice he was either genuinely curious or completely baffled, she was hoping for the former and not the latter.

She turned her head, ignoring the prickling of pain as her temple brushed his shoulder, and pressed her forehead into his neck. “Because you saw who I was when no one else did.” Tears started swimming in her vision, and she reached up, curling her hand in his suit jacket. “I love you because you’re you, K. Because you’re my oldest friend and the one who’s always known me.”

Ghost-Maker closed his hand around the one in his suit and fell silent for a long while and (Y/N) stayed quiet too, simply letting the tears fall from her cheeks to the skin of his collarbone, her lips quivering against his skin.

“I can’t love you the way you love me.” He finally admitted.

(Y/N) blinked the tears away, whispering, “I know.” She started to pull away from him, reaching up to wipe her eyes. “I’m sorry, K.” It was hard to look at him, but she managed it, barely. “Just…give me some time and let me work through all,” she gestured around herself, her heart, and her head. “This.”

“You’re not angry at me.” He remarked and her brows furrowed.

“Of course not. Why would I be?”

“Because I don’t feel what you do. Love.”

(Y/N) couldn’t help but laugh despite the heartache. “K, I’m not going to get angry because you don’t feel love.” She reached up and placed a hand to his cheek, her thumb brushing against the fabric he kept covering his nose and eyes. “I know that in your own way you do care. Even if it’s not love.” Her hand shifted and she ran her thumb over his lips. “I can live with that.”

Ghost-Maker slid his hand up the side of her neck, pulling her to him; he pressed his lips to hers and she closed her eyes, letting herself be lost in the bliss of the moment, if only for a moment, then she pulled away and opened her eyes, gazing at him.

She offered him a sad smile and managed to find her feet again, rising from the bed, leaving him there. “I’ll see you sometime soon, K.” she said, walking to the door.

“Do you want me to call Bruce to pick you up?”

“No. I’ll walk for a bit.” (Y/N) got to the door and stopped, pausing to look back at him. “K?”

He glanced over, meeting her gaze. “Hmm?”

“Do you know what my biggest regret is?”

“I don’t.”

(Y/N) grimaced. “It was leaving you.” Even behind his mask, she knew the surprise was in his eyes; she knew him that well. “And if I could do it all over again…I’d stay with you instead of getting on the plane that night.”

Ghost-Maker looked shocked for a moment, then it gave way to a smile. A real smile. One she hadn’t seen in years from him. “I think I would liked that.”

“Goodnight K.”

“Goodnight (Y/N). Stay safe.”

250 notes · View notes

renaerys · 3 years ago

Note

37. For Blossutch 👀 can’t wait to binge read all of these lol -Star

37. “If you want to act like a slut, you can dress like one.”

T-posing for feminism.

This fic is part of a prompt challenge that is now closed to new requests, but you can read all the completed submissions here. Reminder that the challenge is to make everything SFW, so we’re getting creative here.

xxx

Dane Blakely was 140 pounds of protein powder in a five and a half foot body, and still he seemed to tower over anyone in his way. He’d cornered So-eun Park on her way to second period because he could not take a hint, and now there was no getting around him.

“I saw you with that loser at the Shankaplex on Saturday, don’t even try to deny it,” Dane said.

So-eun had her back to the lockers, but she held her ground. “Elmer’s not a loser, and it’s none of your business who I go out with.”

Rookie mistake dating the first guy who asked her out when she transferred to Townsville High School at the beginning of the year. So-eun had corrected that poor decision quickly, but Dane was one of those unfortunate guys whose parents had forbidden the word no in their house when he was a child.

“I’m just saying your standards have gone way down.”

“Oh my god, I’m not having this conversation with you.” She went around him, and he didn’t stop her.

“Yeah, fine. If you want to act like a slut, you can dress like one.”

There were not many people around to hear, and Dane didn’t shout it, but she suddenly felt a hundred invisible eyes on her all the same. Unthinking, she gripped the collar of her sweater dress and flushed. Her first instinct was to check the length of her skirt, and she flushed even harder, ashamed of her own weakness.

Her second instinct was to jump out of the way of class superstar Blossom Utonium, who’d been making her way down the hall with fire in her eyes.

“What did you just say?” Blossom confronted Dane, who immediately backed up…

…right into a T-posing Butch Jojo.

“Dude, what the fuck?” Dane whirled on Butch.

“The lady asked you a question, dude,” Butch said, still T-posing and taking up half the hallway.

So-eun was not the only person to wander over, curious about the confrontation unfolding at the Senior locker bank. From the moment So-eun stepped foot in these halls, she’d learned about the Powerpuff Girls, aka literal Superheroes walking among the mortals. Blossom and her Super sisters were known for interfering in fights and disagreements that got out of hand, since no one was going to go against a girl who could shatter your spine with a flick of her fingers. But Butch and his brothers tended to avoid getting involved in high school drama. So-eun had never even seen him more than twice since the school year started, and only then from afar. It was a big school, and he probably skipped more often than not. Not that she would know; she’d never exchanged more than a passing word with either of the Supers.

“All right, seriously. Get out of my way,” Dane said.

“Butch, don’t you dare. Not until he apologizes to So-eun.”

So-eun startled at all the attention on her. She didn’t think Blossom even knew her name. She was just the newest nobody on campus, one of a thousand students in the Senior class alone.

Dane seemed just as startled, and his gaze flickered to So-eun just staring openly over Blossom’s shoulder.

“Hey, I’m talking to you,” Blossom said. She had the audacity to snap her fingers in his face.

To Dane’s limited credit, it was easy to forget what Blossom was capable of when she came in such a pretty pink package and a mountain of red hair. “Take a number.”

He tried to get past Blossom this time, and she T-posed to match Butch behind him. The sight was so absurd that So-eun had to cover her mouth not to laugh at Dane whirling in between them like a confused dog confronted with stair guards on all sides.

“What is this?!”

“This is the part where you apologize for slut shaming So-eun,” Blossom said.

“Wow, that’s weak, bro,” Butch said.

“I didn’t!”

“Did that sound like an apology to you, Butch?”

“I think the fuck not.”

More students had gathered around to witness the bizarre turn of events, including Elmer. He casually slipped his hand into So-eun’s. “What’s going on?”

So-eun shook her head. “I think it might be justice.”

“I’m gonna be late for class, just—move!” Dane tried to duck under Butch’s arm, but he bent at the waist (still T-posing) and Dane only succeeded in smacking his head against Butch’s rock-hard tricep. He swore and ping-ponged back into Blossom, bounced off of her knee, and ended up on his ass on the floor.

“Butch, he’s fallen to the floor,” Blossom said.

“Should we help him up?”

“Unfortunately, we’re contractually unable to help unrepentant slut shamers.”

“So unfortunate!”

Dane, now red in the face and breathing hard from the stress, scrambled to his feet by himself. He frothed at the mouth. If Butch were anyone else, So-eun was one hundred percent sure he would have punched him. “Fuck you both.”

“Hey Blossom, is fuck you both Spanish for I’m sorry, you think?”

“I’m afraid it simply isn’t!”

“What a shame!”

The late bell rang, and Blossom didn’t so much as waver from her T-pose. She didn’t care that she’d be marked as tardy. She was not leaving until Dane apologized, and no one else was leaving until she did. Dane seemed to come to the same conclusion as So-eun.

“All right, Jesus Christ. I’m sorry, okay? Fuck.”

“I’m sorry for what?” Blossom swung open her T-pose and looked directly at So-eun, and so did everyone else.

Dane gnashed his teeth. He glanced around at all the other students watching him, recording everything on their phones, not a single person worried about the consequences of being late for class. Finally, he looked up at So-eun, and she squeezed Elmer’s hand harder. “I’m sorry…for slut shaming you.”

Butch whooped. “He did it!” He went in for a high-five with Blossom, and the smack sent a seismic ripple through the hall that rattled the lockers.

“He sure did! Give it up for Dane Blakely, everyone!” Blossom clapped, and others clapped with her. Soon the hall erupted into hoots and hollers of Congratulations! and You did it! as Dane stomped off even redder than before and people recorded his every humiliating moment on their phones.

Everyone dispersed soon after when some teachers came out into the hall to investigate the racket, and So-eun was one of them. When lunch rolled around and she looked around the cafeteria for Elmer, who’d promised to meet up, she found him waving from a table she’d never in her life have expected to sit at.

Bubbles scooted over to make room for So-eun in between Elmer and herself. “Hi, So-eun! We’re in the same block for History, right?”

“Um, yeah?” Of course So-eun knew that, but it was a big class and Bubbles was Bubbles and everyone knew her name like they didn’t know So-eun’s and this was just too weird.

On Bubbles’ other side was Boomer playing a game with Buttercup on someone’s cell phone, while Brick had his Beats on as he copied some of Blossom’s notes and ignored everybody. Blossom herself sat across from So-eun and smiled.

“Hi, I don’t think we’ve properly met. I’m Blossom.” She actually held out her hand to shake as if she weren’t one of the few people every single person in school knew.

So-eun let out a squeak that must have passed for hi, because Blossom smiled wider and elbowed Butch next to her, who was busy shoveling mashed potatoes into his mouth.

“Mmph,” Butch said, waving to So-eun.

“I’m sorry…what’s happening?” So-eun asked.

“Halo Infinite is happening!” Mike Believe, Wes Goingon, and Kim Chan slid in around Brick and Blossom. “Todd got the advance copy and he’s hosting this weekend!”

Brick looked up from the notes for that one. “I call dibs.”

Bubbles giggled. “You get used to it,” she whispered to So-eun like they were old pals.

What was happening was that her sort of maybe new boyfriend, Elmer Sgloo, had neglected to mention that he’d been close friends with the literal Powerpuff Girls since kindergarten, and now they wanted to welcome So-eun into their extended circle. As in, the definitely not a bunch of losers circle because it was the honest to god Powerpuff Girls and that was kind of a lot for one seventeen-year-old nobody to wrap her head around.

“Oh shit, you guys are going viral! Check it out!” Buttercup passed Butch her phone, which played a video of Butch and Blossom T-posing for feminism. “Who even is that loser?”

“Some chode,” Butch said. “Bane, or something?”

“No one important,” Blossom said as she leaned on Butch’s shoulder to watch the video. “Right, So-eun?”

So-eun put her shoulders back and popped a tater tot into her mouth, feeling like a champion. “Not at all.”

xxx

If you enjoy my writing, check out more of my fics on AO3, link in my profile. I’m currently updating Trinity House and The Alchemy of Us. Thanks for reading!

#powerpuff girls #powerpuff girls fanfic #blossutch #ppg blossom #ppg butch #september fic prompts

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mackeydoodledoo · 4 years ago

Text

I Only Swim Free: Chapter 6

Pairing: Bela Dimitrescu x (Fem!)Reader

Summary: You’ve done swimming all your life. You’ve gotten to your dream college on a scholarship for your outstanding freestyle technique back in high school. Relationships never crossed your mind however, that was before you met your swim team captain: Bela Dimitrescu.

Warning: None for this Final Chapter!

A/N: I thought I was going to make this series longer, but I decided to end it here! But, I might make some smaller stories branching off from this series if you guys are interested in that! But, thanks for enjoying this series!

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

As you stepped through the locker room doors, you were face to face with many people you weren’t familiar with. However, you immediately spotted Dean Dimitrescu, Cassandra, Daniela and your folks.

“Now, we would like to welcome Dimitrescu University Women’s Swim and Dive Team!” The announcer announces through a P.A Box

Aside from the cheering ringing into your ears, you also felt your heartbeat; not only in your chest but also in your ears. You often don’t enjoy that however, it being your first College state finals, you both felt the emotions of happiness and anxiety.

“First up is the 200 m Freestyle Event!” The announcer blurts out

You strip off your swim team jacket and hand id to Bela as you put on your goggles, the back straps hitting the back of your wrapped head as you step up onto the block.

“Take your Marks,” A referee announces

Lifting your bottom into the air, you use as much force to leap into the water when you hear a ‘beep’ go off in the arena. Like the watching your first initiation on your first day on the swim team, Bela watches your muscles flex every time they broke the surface of the water. From under the water, you could hear the cheers of your teammates and everyone around you. However, you begin drowning them out unconsciously.

What’s going on?... Why can’t I... Hear them?

When your fingers dive back under the water, you could feel a current ‘splitting’ between your arm. You remembered that feeling, when you went to the beach for the first time in your life when you were 5. Of course, you were in the shallow end but, you experimented the same thing you had just done with your arm.

Everything’s... Peaceful.

You weren’t sure what had happened in the last several laps however, when you spread your fingers to touch the wall of the pool, you, again felt the same current you felt when you were 5. You lift your head out of the water and look up at the time board, Dimitrescu Swim team came first.. You could hear Cassandra, Daniela, your folks and your team cheer for you as Bela helps you out of the water. You looked up at the time board again and noticed you were a whole two seconds ahead.

“How did you do that?!” Bela asks

“I don’t know...” You say, but still smiling

You watch the other events go down and you do a couple of other Freestyle events. It came to Bela’s Butterfly event, you we’re basically on the sidelines, hoping to get the best out of watching Bela.

“Take your marks,” The referee announces

Once the usual ‘beep’ echoes through the arena, you watch Bela’s form dive into the water like the graceful woman she is. You cheer her on like the rest of your teammates but you also watch her back muscles flex as she breaks the surface of the water to breathe and propel herself through. However, you look at another team’s butterfly swimmer and they’re gaining on Bela. They manage to pass her as she smirked at Bela.

“You got this Bela!” Your scream of encouragement echoes through the arena

She seemed to have heard you as she began to pick up her pace, Like a butterfly in the wind, Bela turns the round and begins feeling the water ‘fly’ past her.

Why do I feel like I’m flying all of a sudden? Where’s everybody?

Just as Bela’s palm hits the end of the wall, she looks at the time board for her event; she was also two second ahead of everyone else.

“Bela!” You scream happily for her, running over to her to help her out of the water

“How did you do that?!” You ask her this time

“I have no idea,” Bela gives the same answer as you do

You and Bela decided to have some alone time while your diving team was going on.

“So, let me get something clear,” You start, “You felt like you were flying as you felt the current of the water become wind-like?”

Bela nods, “likewise with the way you were swimming in your event, you felt actual water currents?”

You nod, “I just feel so at peace with water and when I’d feel a current, I have a tendency to swim faster, against or with the current.”

“You sound like a fish,” Bela teases you

“A fish you fell in love with,” You tease back

Bela leans over and places a few fingers under your chin to lift your lips up to hers. The both of you share a small kiss before the both of you hear knocking.

“You two, it’s time for the final event!” Your guide calls

Bela exits the door first, with you in tow.

“Show e a sight I’ve never seen before,” Bela teases you one last time

As your heart races, you see the first two teammates ahead of you. You were going last. You watch your backstroke swimmer plop into the water to grip onto the bottom of the block to prep her backstroke.

“Take your marks!” the referee announces

They all lift themselves slightly; arching their backs like perfect arches at a museum, diving into the water. Your breast stroke swimmer preps herself onto the block, taking her mark; leaping when she touched the wall. You watch Bela prep for her butterfly however, he turns to look back at you and you swore your heart skipped a beat, again.

“Go captain!” You cheer her on when Bela leaps for the butterfly

You take your mark on the block, prepping for your freestyle. You take a big inhale, holding it.

“Go y/n!” Bela’s head emerges from the water

To her, you became a dolphin. You swam a whole lot faster than at practice or other meets.

“Captain you need to get out,” Her teammate says

Bela snaps out of her daze when she notices you rounding the corner. You feel the similar current between your fingers and you begin feeling the current beginning to drag you behind. However, you begin flexing your muscles to push yourself even further.

“Go Y/N!” Bela and your team cheers

You could hear them from the other side of the water. Your hand breaks the surface of the water and you feel the wall on your palm. You finally get to stand in the water and you yank off your swim cap and goggles. When you open your eyes you could hear cheering. You jolt your head up to the scoreboard and notice Dimitrescu University Swim and Dive in the first place slot. You get yourself out of the pool and group hug with your team.

“We did it!” Bela yells

She meets with Coach Donna to receive the first place trophy and you just stare in awe when Bela is holding the trophy, slightly showing off her muscles.

You and Bela finally decided to break the news to both the team and to both of your families after state finals during the banquet. The whole team were teasing the both of you how the both of you finally decided to make the move on each other. Dean Dimitrescu became supportive of you and basically welcomed you into the Dimitrescu family.

“So... It was obvious?” You ask both Daniela and Cassandra

“It was,” Daniela answers for both her and her older sister

“We just didn’t want to say anything to make you guys feel pressured.” Cassandra adds

When finals hit it was a living hell. However, Bela, being the supportive girlfriend she was, got you through them all.

“Thank you Bela,” You smile, grabbing a coffee mug from her, “Do you want to get lunch after today’s finals?”

“Yeah, I’d love to,” Bela answers you, “My treat though.”

“Bela-”

Before you could argue with her, she tugs on your scarf and pulls you in for a kiss. You feel your cheeks heat up once she pulls away.

“Whatever you say princess,” You say breathlessly

“Now get to class kid,” She teases you

You finish your first half of freshman year with some A’s and some B’s and you couldn’t be prouder of yourself. However, you were grateful for Bela’s help.

“I wouldn’t have passed without your help though babe,” You smile, leaning back into your chair and sipping on a glass of water.

“But you were the one who managed to ace every single study session love,” Bela smiles from her mug of coffee, “How many more do you need to do?”

“Just one more, that’s tonight,” You answer, “After that I’m all set.”

“Come back to your place after,” Bela smirks

You blush, “O-Okay...”

When you finished your last final, you had decided to spend your winter break with the Dimitrescu family, of course inviting your own family for Christmas at the request of the Alcina.

“Glad you’re getting friendly with the dean y/n,” Your mother smiles, “It’s not everyday a student would find themselves doing so.”

“But, I did tell Ms. Dimitrescu to not give me any special treatment while I study at her university,” You say

“The only special treatment I will give you is my eldest daughter,” Alcina says

You choke on your drink as your folks let out an uncontrolable laughter. You look across the table and notice Bela had given you a wink as she sips her wine.

“Mother isn’t wrong,” Bela vouches for her mother’s words

You continue choking on your drink while everyone at the table breaks out into a laugh.

“I’m glad you finally found yourself a girl too kiddo,” Your dad pats your head again

“She absolutely swept me off my feet,” Bela continues teasing you

You try to hide your blushing, to no avail.

Your parents leave for the rest of your winter break as you wanted to spend new years with Bela and her family. However, Alcina had to go back on campus early to prepare her university for the Winter Semester. You and Bela were snuggling against each other underneath Bela’s silk sheets and lavish blankets.

“What’d you think of my parents?” You ask out of curiosity

“I think they’re so much like you,” Bela smiles

“Are they now?” You ask, smiling down at her

She nods as she lifts her head up as you dip your down, meeting each others’ lips halfway.

“Swim season is over,” You add, changing the subject entirely, “What do you normally do after the season?”

“Study my ass off,” Bela sighs, “But, right now, be with you.”

“What are you studying?” You ask, realizing you never asked Bela that question before

“Environmental Sciences,” She answers

You know... That actually fits her...

“That’s pretty interesting,” You say, “Anything specific you’d want to do there?”

“Not at the moment,” Bela says, “I’ll figure it out when I graduate this spring..”

You almost forgot that Bela was a Senior college student. However, despite that you were a college freshman, the both of you didn’t really care about the decent age gap.

“Are you going to go for the Captain position when I’m gone?” Bela asks

“I’ll try out,” You say, slightly unsure, “But, there has never been a Sophomore captain.”

“You’ll never know,” Bela says, “Maybe Coach Beneviento will see your potential as a leader.”

“Hmm,” You sigh, “You’re right, but I’m going to worry about my next season of indoor percussion.”

“Hoodie’s mine,” Bela mumbles against your chest

“Babe, we don’t even have that stuff yet,” You yawn

“Doesn’t matter, it’s mine,” She yawns, “I love you.”

I haven’t told her I love her yet... But she should know right? I’ve always shown her through physical affection...

You prop yourself up on your elbows, catching her off guard. You cup your free hand against her cheek and dip your head down to meet her lips again. The kiss was gentle and light but when you hear Bela let out a gentle moan, you begin growling and making the kiss more heated.

“Damn,” Bela sighs when you pull your lips away

“I love you,” You finally bring yourself to say

Epilogue

#bela dimitrescu #bela dimitrescu x reader #bela is my wife #cassandra dimitrescu #daniela dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu #resident evil village

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writingsnmusings · 4 years ago

Text

Suds in a Bucket

pairing: modern!ivar the boneless x reader

summary: you bring up the idea of getting out of town and ivar doesn’t hesitate to make it happen. based off of sara evans’ suds in a bucket.

a/n: this idea came to me because of an ask that @thranduilsperkybutt answered and i just couldn't resist. also, i'm very much a country girl at heart with being from texas and all so this song is one of my favorites!

gif credit: @therealcalicali

say it was a little passed nine

when her prince pulled up

a white pick-up truck

Nobody liked doing chores, that was a given. Your father had nagged you all through dinner to round up all the trash in the house and take it to the curb. You begrudgingly did so, a frown on your face the entire time.

You were walking back up the driveway when you heard the unmistakable sound of a certain pick-up truck coming down the street. You squealed in glee as Ivar pulled up beside you.

“They still got cinderella doing chores at this hour?” His voice was teasing, like usual.

You rolled your eyes as you slid into the cab, immediately planting a kiss on his smirking lips. Ivar gripped the back of your neck and deepened the kiss; making you let out a moan at his roughness.

“I missed you, you know? You didn’t come around for two days and you barely answered my texts,” You were coming off whiny, but you didn’t care. You missed your boyfriend and you hated being cooped up in that house.

Ivar sighed, “I’m sorry, baby.” He pulled you into him, your head resting in the crook of his neck. “Things at work got busy and you know how my brothers are, I get one day off work and they’re all over me about something or another.”

You hated the way his brothers treated him, just because he was a little different than they were didn’t mean they needed to make his life anymore difficult than it was.

“I wish we could just go away; just me and you. Far away from them and everybody else.”

Before Ivar could say anything back, the porch light flicked on and the figure you could make out of your father stormed out. “Y/N! Get out of that truck and get in here!”

You threw your head back with a groan before giving your boyfriend another kiss and sliding out of the truck. You waved at him before making your way back to your father who was already fuming. You could practically see the steam coming out his ears.

“I love you! I’ll be back for you!” Ivar shouted before gunning it down the street, making your father say some rather rude things about him.

You walked straight to your room, ignoring your fathers angry words and the way your mother refused to even look at you.

she stuck a note to the screen door

‘sorry but i got to go’

that was all she wrote

A week later, Ivar kept his promise.

You were thankfully home alone, your mother being at a church function and your father out at work or somewhere. You were lounging around when you heard your boyfriends truck pulling up the driveway.

You met him at the door with a smile on your face. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?” You let him in and greeted him with a kiss which he immediately reciprocated.

“I’m here to take you away.” He leaned on his crutch with one hand and grabbed yours with the other. He didn’t sound like he was joking which confused you.

“You’re what?”

“I’m serious, Y/N. Right now, we can leave and just get away from everybody.” The way he smiled had you seeing stars; he looked so excited you couldn’t say no.

“W-What about money? Where will we go?” The thought to ask questions hadn't occurred to you until after you had already made your mind.

Ivar patted his left pocket which looked significantly bigger than the right. “I’ve been saving, been thinking about getting away with you for a while now.”

“Alright,” You decided. “Let me pack a bag real quick.” You ran up the stairs, throwing a couple items in a duffle bag and grabbing the envelope stuck at the bottom of your drawer filled with cash. You and Ivar had seemingly been thinking about the same thing.

Ivar grabbed the bag from you once you were in front of him and headed back out to his truck. You were almost out the door when you spotted the post it stickers and pen on the entryway table. Just a little note, you thought. As much as you hated it here, you didn’t want your parents to worry and think you’d been kidnapped or anything.

“Sorry but I got to! I love you both!”

You climbed into the truck and gave Ivar a nod, letting him know you were ready to go. With a wink, he started up the pick-up and drove straight out of town.

well he must’ve been a looker,

smooth talking son of a gun

for such a grounded girl

to just up and run

Nobody could figure out how you and Ivar ‘Boneless’ Ragnarrson got together. It was a mystery to everybody, both your families included.

You were the typical straight A student who never got into trouble and he was the typical bad boy who cut class. It was simply fate that brought you two together. That or you happened to be in the hallway when Ivar and his brothers were skipping and you caught his eye.

You’d been shuffling through your locker when he leaned against the one next to you and started up a conversation. His three brothers were a few feet away, all listening in anticipation to watch the youngest Ragnarsson get shot down.

Of course you’d heard of them, the three eldest Ragnarssons basically ran the school. Had everybody afraid, nobody dared even mess with any of them. Then there was the youngest, Ivar walked with a heavy limp, always relying on a crutch and keeping as far away from his brothers as possible.

You realized right away he wasn’t anything like them. He was quiet, kinda brooding most of the time but he didn’t heckle his peers like they did. That’s what drew you to him. He wasn’t hard on the eyes, either.

From that one conversation at your locker where he made a joke about the homeroom teacher you two shared, your relationship only grew from there. You usually sat alone at lunch, opting for your quiet time instead of gossip and apparently so did Ivar. It didn’t take long for him to ask you out on a date which you accepted.

Your parents nearly blew a gasket once they found who you were dating. The Ragnarsson name was basically a curse word in your home. His parents didn’t have a great reputation either, you’d come to learn.

But your parents disapproval nor the gossip from the old biddied in town didn’t make you any less attracted to Ivar. You treated like him was normal, no special treatment or put downs because of his disability and he treated you like the brilliant and capable woman you were.

You and him were meant to be.

she’s got her pretty little bare feet hangin’ out the window,

and they’re heading up to vegas tonight

A sigh escaped your lips as you felt the sun and cool wind flowing through the truck.

Ivar’s eyes strayed from the empty road to your blissed out face. He loved seeing you so relaxed and carefree. No worries we’re on either of your shoulders, the only decision you’d have to make was where to stop for lunch next.

“How’re you feeling?” Ivar lowered the radio as he asked.

“Amazing,” You smiled at him before continuing. “The best i’ve felt in a long while.”

Ivar returned the smile, “Good, I love to hear that.” He turned the radio back up as he reached over and grabbed your hand before bringing it up to his lips and kissing it.

A sign saying ‘Welcome to Vegas!’ flew by, making you smile even wider. Your new life was set to begin and you couldn’t wait.

and no you can’t fence time

and you can’t stop love

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #modern!ivar #modern!ivar imagine #modern!ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar imagine #ivar ragnarsson x reader #ivar lothbrok x reader #vikings x reader #vikings imagine #my writings

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kuiinncedes · 3 years ago

Text

relight that spark

jatp au - chapter 1 - part 2/15? - 9,385 words

the prologue/part 1 (tumblr link) if you missed it!! (ao3 link) :D

so obviously this is pretty slowly updating already and it probably willll get worse 🤪 i might post the next part in like a week tho, it's not a full "episode" chapter and i already have it fully written and i'm pretty happy with it 😗✌️

this chapter is pretty long and i apologize for that bc i know i get annoyed when i have to stop in the middle of a long chapter and then my phone like loses my spot or whatever lakdshgjfs but idk how else to do it so .. just have my apology lol sorryyy <3 the next "episode" chapter is looking to be longer tho sdlkhglsj

LASTLY BUT NOT LEASTLY A HUGE MASSIVE FUCKING THANK YOU TO MEG @neversatisfiedwithlife FOR BETA READING THIS FOR MEEEE AND BEING SO SUPPORTIVE AND WONDERFUL LOVE YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU SM 💞💖💓💗💕

chapter title and lyrics in this part from "wake up" from the julie and the phantoms soundtrack (whichhh if you haven't heard it... you should listen to it after reading maybe 👀)

plot and a lot of the dialogue from julie and the phantoms so like credit to all those creators and writers 🤪

warnings for this chapter: grief, mentioned character death (regarding kurt's mom)

read below the cut or here on ao3!! <3

2020

There’s a deep-seated weight of dread in Kurt’s stomach that he’s unable to ignore for the entire morning.

His last chance at the music program -- he needs to play again today, for the first time in over a year, or he’s done.

It’s all he can think about all day. He makes it through his first few classes, somehow, walking through the halls almost mindlessly, thoughts far away and only worrying about what he’s going to do, barely paying attention to who he’s almost running into, because he doesn’t know what he’s going to do.

It almost feels like last year again, when school started and everyone knew and everyone was staring at him in the hallways, even though he knows that they’re not right now and he knows most of these people couldn’t care less about him not being able to play at this point, but in his head it feels like they all know, like they’re all waiting, waiting and watching for him to play again and sing again.

He has been, too, for over a year.

He stops at his locker to wait for Mercedes before going to class.

“We’re gonna get tattoos together,” comes her familiar voice out of nowhere.

Involuntarily, Kurt smiles a little, turning to Mercedes. “Umm…?”

She shrugs and smiles back at him. “You know, when we’re adults and out in New York together or something. Just -- you know, at some point.”

Kurt raises an eyebrow, silently saying, where the hell did this come from. Mercedes raises both of hers as if to say, answer the question. “Just curious,” she adds out loud. “Could start planning them now.”

He chuckles. “Of course. I’ll get all the matching tattoos with you.”

Grins and silent agreement pass between them and they both turn toward the lockers, a welcome break in the slowest part of the day, the voices and noises of other students filling the air.

“I know you don’t want me to ask, but…” Mercedes starts slowly after a moment, and Kurt nods his head in acknowledgement; he knows what she’s going to say. “Do you know what you’re going to do today?”

He puts some books in his backpack, mainly for something to do. “I’ll know in the moment,” he says, somewhat truthfully. He could just say what he thinks will happen, which is nothing. But Mercedes can see right through him anyway, so might as well stay somewhat positive until it happens. Or rather, doesn’t happen.

Mercedes sighs a little. “Mrs. Harrison said today is your last chance,” she tries, leaning on her side against the lockers.

“I know, I was there,” Kurt says lightly, letting his eyes scan the contents of his locker a tenth time. Mercedes reaches over and squeezes his hand lightly. Her eyes tell him that she’ll stop talking about it for now, and he squeezes back gratefully.

The conversation with Mercedes has really helped, though; it always does. If he’s going to spectacularly embarrass himself in front of his music class, and probably for the last time, at least he’ll have Mercedes there.

She sees it in his smile, and she sends it back. You always will, is her silent whisper.

A sharp, cheery voice pierces the air and makes them both turn their heads, and the uplifted mood from the conversation with Mercedes disappears when Kurt sees none other than Quinn Fabray, in her Cheerios! uniform, complete with a tight ponytail and perfect smile as she hands out what appears to be flyers to passing students, who are immediately won over by her status, closeness, sweetness. Finn Hudson lingers behind her with his guitar case and his own stack of flyers that he’s not handing out nearly as enthusiastically.

“Spirit rally Friday!” Quinn’s saying as she all but shoves another flyer into the face of a nervous freshman who takes it and scurries away, doing a double-take once they pass her. “Come see the Cheerios! do their new routine, and my group, the Unholy Trinity, perform our brand new original song!”

“What’s she handing out?” Kurt whispers to Mercedes. A corner of his lip quirks up despite the general unpleasantness of seeing Quinn.

“Desperation?” she answers with a small smirk. When Kurt turns back, Quinn is in front of him. He holds back a grimace at her fake smile and cheeriness.

“Hey, guys!” she chirps, as if they’re just any two other students at this school. “Here you go, my group’s performing at the spirit assembly on Friday!”

Kurt flinches back a little as a flyer appears much too close to his face and he takes it instinctively, holding it lightly in his fingertips. It truly looks like something Quinn designed -- perfectly professional, impressive, eye-catching -- and he can’t say it looks bad, as much as he might want to. He eyes Quinn over the top of the flyer.

“I’m sure you guys have nothing better to do,” Quinn continues, that smile still on her face, and there are the claws, Kurt thinks as he resists the urge to rip up the flyer right in front of her.

“Oh, my gosh, Quinn, thank you!” Mercedes says in an exaggeratedly sweet voice, clearly -- or at least clearly to Kurt, and likely Quinn as well -- imitating the specific tone of voice that Quinn takes, and Kurt stifles a laugh.

“Oh my gosh, Cedes, don’t bother coming!” Quinn says with a wide smile, turning away with a whip of her ponytail to continue pushing her flyers.

Kurt looks back at Mercedes, mumbling, “She did not just call you Cedes,” while Mercedes crumples up the flyer in her hands.

“Well, she did,” Mercedes says. Kurt can see the anger behind her eyes and he raises a concerned eyebrow. “I’m fine. She just… you know.” She dismisses his silent question.

“Yeah.” He loops his arm through Mercedes’ and they head down the hallway, almost running into Finn not three steps from Kurt’s locker.

“Oh, hey, sorry guys!” he says with a sheepish but genuine smile that contains all the warmth missing from Quinn’s. “Did you -- I guess Quinn already got -- ”

“Yep, she got to us,” Cedes says quickly, steering Kurt around Finn. “Thanks, Finn, bye!”

“Please tell me you are over him,” Mercedes says when they’re in a quieter area at the end of the row of lockers. Kurt realizes he’s staring and quickly looks away.

“Yeah, I am.” Mercedes looks at him skeptically and he insists, “I am, promise! You just… don’t find a nice jock like him around here that much.”

She nods, satisfied, and raises her eyebrows meaningfully. “You know they’re going to get married and have a bunch of demon babies.”

Kurt’s jaw drops open slightly and he laughs. “You can’t say Finn isn’t a sweetheart.”

“Only one of them has to be a demon to make a demon baby,” Mercedes says matter-of-factly.

“What… it’s a dominant gene?”

“Of course.” Mercedes turns back toward Quinn and raises her voice. “Demon!”

The two of them push against the wall, hiding behind the end of the lockers, when Quinn snaps her gaze back. Kurt can’t hold his laughs in this time, and he feels a little bad about it, but… considering what Quinn’s done to them, he can let himself and Cedes get away with it.

“There’s that smile,” Mercedes says gently as they gather themselves. “Now let’s go prove everybody wrong.” She pulls him toward the music room and slowly but surely, the sickening feeling in his stomach returns. He sits down next to Mercedes and just breathes. She squeezes his hand again.

Mrs. Harrison starts class soon after they arrive, getting into the last of the progress performances which are both a chance for the students to show off to their classmates, and also a checkpoint for participation in the music program, which is the part Kurt’s concerned about.

He barely hears as Finn finishes his drum solo and everyone claps and then Mrs. Harrison is calling his name and he’s standing and walking to the piano and oh god.

“Take your time,” Mrs. Harrison says gently.

That’s all he’s been doing for almost a year, just taking his time, but nothing has come of it. He sits down slowly, opening his music in front of him but it’s like his eyes don’t see the notes and just gloss over the page. He looks down at the keys, sets his fingers in place reluctantly.

It’s been so long that the keys almost feel foreign under his fingers when they once were the most familiar thing in the world. It’s been so long that he barely remembers how the song should go and why did he think he could just do this, it doesn’t matter how good at sightreading he’s always been. It’s been so long of him locking the memories in a chained and padlocked safe in the back of his mind and he’s terrified of playing again being what opens it because playing and singing and music has always always meant Mom, and she’s gone which he still sometimes forgets and it always hurts like hell to remember again, so letting himself remember so much more will only make reality that much worse. It’s been so long and what if he’s forgotten, what if he opens himself to the memories just to find that they don’t exist anymore?

It’s been so long; it’s been over a year, but doesn’t that mean he should be fine by now?

He knows avoiding the memories hasn’t been the best idea, but right now he can’t think of anything he could have done differently, can’t linger and regret his choices because he feels so vulnerable and exposed finally sitting at the piano in front of his whole class for the first time in a year, and the choice is right there and maybe he could do it but not in front of everyone his brain screams, and he can almost feel Quinn’s sharp, judging, so far from friendly gaze fixed on him and that is what breaks it, that is something he definitely can’t take and he pulls his hands back with a short inhale and the whirlwind in his mind stops and he can mostly breathe again.

It’s been so long.

Heart still pounding, he gets up and apologizes to Mrs. Harrison because she really has tried to help him and he appreciates it but he still can’t, and Quinn makes some comment and Mercedes fires something back but he doesn’t hear any of it, he just has to leave.

He knows Mercedes follows him out and she calls out his name when he’s halfway down the stairs. He’s started crying at some point and he doesn’t know when. All of it is just such a mess and so present in his mind; he was so close to music again, to Mom, but he’s not ready. He’s scared.

“Kurt,” Cedes calls again, quieter, her voice soft and choked, pleading. “Come on, please. Come back… and show them you can sing .”

He turns to look at her at the top of the stairs. “I can’t,” he says, voice rough with tears. “I’ve tried, for over a year I’ve tried…. I’ve tried for Dad, I’ve tried for Mrs. Harrison, fuck, I’ve even tried for Quinn.” He gives a short, bitter laugh as more tears spill down his cheeks.

“I’ve tried so hard for you.” He gestures up to her, voice breaking. “I’ve tried for Mom.” He closes his eyes for a moment, takes a breath. “And I’ve tried for myself.” Mercedes is also crying a little now.

“For over a year, I’ve tried,” Kurt continues weakly. “But I just -- I can’t. Not… not now.”

He runs down the rest of the stairs and out the door, and he knows he just got himself kicked out of music, knows he just ruined everything.

From mercedes 💖, 2:04 pm:

Are you leaving?

From mercedes 💖, 2:06

Tell me when you get home. I love you

To mercedes 💖, 2:08 pm:

i will, at the park for now

From mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

I’ll bring your stuff around later.

To mercedes 💖, 2:10 pm:

thank you

To mercedes 💖, 2:11 pm:

i love you. i’m sorry

From mercedes 💖, 2:12 pm:

Nothing to be sorry for, just take care of yourself okay?

From mercedes 💖, 2:13 pm:

Give yourself a hug from me until I get there to do it for you

“Hey, kiddo, how was your day?” Burt asks as he walks in, putting a hand on Kurt’s shoulder who’s doing homework at the kitchen table.

“It was okay,” Kurt responds with a small but hopefully convincing smile to hide the worry eating away at him inside, because if the school’s already contacted his dad about today, about Kurt ruining his last chance…

“I gotta go again in a bit,” Burt says, taking a drink of water. “Some guy really needs a car fix by tomorrow morning, but I’ll be done by dinner.” Kurt nods, some relief flooding his veins. He turns back to his homework.

“Oh, another thing,” Burt says and Kurt stiffens again. “I wanted to come and check in with you -- I talked to a real estate agent today, and they said if we’re serious about selling the house, we need to take some pictures and stuff, clean everything… and I was wondering if you’re up for cleaning Mom’s studio?”

Kurt’s immediate surprise and hesitance must show on his face even as he tries to keep his composure, because Burt quickly assures, “It’s okay if you’re not ready, I promise; we have time. You know I just -- I wouldn’t even know where to start in there.”

Kurt smiles a little. “No, it’s okay,” he says. “I can try tonight.”

“Awesome.” Burt ruffles Kurt’s hair, which from anyone else other than maybe Mercedes would not end particularly well, but Kurt just laughs and tries to brush the loose strands out of his eyes. “I’ll see you later, Kurt. Love you.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

Kurt exhales slowly as his dad leaves again.

Cleaning out the studio means having to confront exactly what he’s tried to avoid for a year. The disaster that was music class today doesn’t make him feel better about it… but at least this time he’ll be alone -- none of the pressure of having to live up to the standards of well-meaning teachers or aggressive ex-best friends, none of the pressure of having to play at all, especially from the competitive nature at school. And… maybe he needs it.

Moving from here will only help you move on. Kurt’s aunt’s words echo in his mind. A part of him recoils at the idea of leaving his childhood home -- leaving the spaces his mom used to inhabit and her light and energy used to fill to the brim -- and starting over, someplace where there are none of those memories… he can’t tell if that’s a good thing. It feels like more of the running away that he’s been doing for a year, and he wonders if it really will solve anything.

But maybe he does need it. If staying in this house for the last year hasn’t helped, a change would be good, right?

Turning back to his work, he takes a deep breath and starts planning dinner in his head. He’ll tackle the studio after dinner’s ready.

To Dad, 7:39 pm:

dinner’s done, i’ll be in the studio

Kurt takes a slow breath as he opens the doors to the garage.

It’s not that it’s his first time in the studio after his mom died -- someone had to water the plants -- but he kept any interaction with the rest of the room minimal, so it still feels different to take in the full space instead of just rushing to the plants in the back with his head down. It always came with some guilt; it felt like the least he could do to keep some life in the studio when he could barely even bring himself to enter, let alone fill it with music as it needs to be.

He walks in slowly, some apprehension tickling the back of his neck, trying to stay calm. The familiarity is almost overwhelming this time as he looks around, actually taking in the room. The guitars on the wall, the couch and table, all of his mom’s decorations and knick-knacks. The chairs on the ceiling, story told with a fond smile from his dad about his mom wanting to decorate in a fun special way even while 7 months pregnant. The plants in the back, flourishing in front of the wall of windows positioned to let in the sunrise beautifully, not that Kurt has seen it happen recently.

And the grand piano -- in the center of the room, covered with a sheet, neglected for over a year. Kurt pulls it off now absentmindedly, letting the fabric pool over his feet. He takes a deep breath even though he probably just filled the air with dust, and goes over to the bench. He doesn’t open the lid, not yet. Some sheet music is on the seat and he places it on the piano without looking, sits down and gently touches the fallboard, inhaling shakily, not opening it to reveal the keys but just… remembering what it used to be, what it used to -- still means….

“I’m so sorry, Mom,” he whispers, eyes fluttering shut, “that I haven’t been here.”

With his eyes closed against the dark emptiness of the room, he can almost forget. It’s too easy to think that when he opens his eyes, his mom will be there, and she’ll be writing a song with him, or she’ll be playing, or they’ll just be talking…

Before the idea can flood his mind and leave him reeling when he returns to reality, Kurt stands and looks around the room again. There really is a strangeness to the place now. What used to be so comfortable and an extension of home -- sometimes even more home than the main house -- was always warm and brimming with emotion and joy and music and life -- now cold and dark and hollow, quiet. The familiar bones have an unsettling foreign emptiness around them. It feels wrong.

It needs to be filled. But… Kurt can’t do that.

He misses his mom -- always, but it’s amplified in this space that was always hers. He misses the feeling that the studio used to bring, that spirit that is now dimmed and suppressed. Covered, but still there. He can feel it like a gentle heat behind his skin. Not bad, but overwhelming, and he just….

The loft, Kurt decides suddenly. He’ll start with the loft. There aren’t memories and emotions so confusing and thick there that he’s barely able to avoid it, to push his way through with no energy left to untangle and understand. The loft is just full of random old stuff that his mom wouldn’t throw out and his dad teased her about.

So the loft first. And then he can ease into the rest when he’s more ready. After all, his dad did say they have time.

It’s significantly dustier in the loft; old instruments and random bags full of clothes are scattered and piled across the floor, his own electric keyboard propped up against the wall. Kurt stands on the stepladder a few steps below the actual loft floor, looks around a little, his eyes landing on a CD case lying on the ground -- black with a simple stark white word design: Sunset Curve. He picks it up, eyeing it thoughtfully, brings it back down to the main floor and decides to put it into the old CD player.

He doesn’t really know why he has such an urge all of a sudden. He’s listened to some music, but not nearly as much as before, and has actually chosen to listen to music only a handful of times since his mom died.

But… the studio needs music. As an apology for a year of neglect, and as a goodbye, he can let this music redeem the studio’s spirit a little, fill what he’s left hollow.

And he doesn’t want to be alone in the silence with his memories while he’s going through everything, even just in the loft. As something completely unfamiliar and random, this can give him the distraction and none of the pain. At least, that’s the plan.

Stepping down from the loft stairs, he glances at the picture in the CD case as he opens it -- a band of four who all look like teenagers, staring seriously into the camera -- he doesn’t get a good look at them, just slides the disc into the CD player and takes a seat on the couch.

The opening song starts strong with a gritty guitar riff and a 1, 2, 3! counting the band in. Despite himself, Kurt starts nodding along to the beat. It really is a great song, unique and upbeat…

Then some kind of… panicked screaming makes itself heard, first quietly and he thinks it could be part of the song, but it crescendos and gets unbearably loud --

And then there are three strangers appearing out of thin air before his eyes, screaming as they fall to the ground heavily. Kurt would wince at the sound of the impact --

That part’s certainly unlike any CD he’s listened to before.

He’s frozen, heart hammering and eyes widening as he stares at the three strangers picking themselves up off the ground, taking in their surroundings a little…

“How’d we get back here?” the middle one -- a shorter guy with black hair -- says breathlessly.

Kurt screams.

It’s not his finest moment, but three complete strangers just appeared in his mom’s studio, seemingly just popping into the air, and he can’t say he’s never been superstitious in his entire life or that he isn’t drawing immediate conclusions -- supernatural conclusions, fucking ridiculous conclusions. He doesn’t love that he runs into his dad on his way back into the house which may have also involved a little yelling about seeing ghosts (ghosts who screamed back, for the record), but he makes it to the safety of his room and texts Mercedes frantically, who doesn’t respond.

“Come on, Cedes,” he hisses to himself, shooting off another text. “Answer me!”

A knock from his doorway startles him and he just barely manages to hold back a shout, turning to see his dad leaning into his room hesitantly.

“You okay?”

Kurt gives him what must be a hysterical-looking attempt at a reassuring smile, all wide eyes and clenched teeth. “Yeah, no, totally fine, sorry for -- scaring you,” he replies choppily, tone not even convincing to himself. “Just, um, practicing for a school play.”

Burt definitely doesn’t believe him, but nods slowly anyway. “Well, I’m gonna go clean up -- ” He gestures over his shoulder with a grease-covered hand. “Dinner in like, ten minutes?”

“Yeah. Sounds good,” Kurt says shortly, forcing another smile and a thumbs-up.

As soon as the door closes, Kurt turns back toward his window and tries to get a glance of the studio, but it’s blocked from this angle by the trees in their yard. Apprehensively, he heads back to the garage, thankfully not running into his dad this time, phone in hand and thumb hovering over Mercedes’ phone contact.

When he goes in, it’s empty; no sign of anything out of the ordinary happening.

He scans the space warily, feeling jumpy and nervous, but nothing happens and he mumbles, “I know I saw something, I’m not crazy.”

He hears a soft popping noise and then, “Well, we’re all a little crazy,” from behind him and he turns with a sharp gasp.

“Oh, my god, who are you?” Kurt yells, maybe a little too loud because the black-haired boy winces slightly and all three of them step back a little. “What the hell are you doing in my mom’s studio?”

“Your mom’s studio?” the black-haired guy scoffs. “This is our studio!”

The tall blonde guy bounces forward. “Yeah, like, the piano’s new, but -- ” He looks to the right and his face lights up. “My couch!” he calls, running over and jumping straight onto it.

The girl -- hair black and in braids -- rolls her eyes. “Not your couch, Sam.”

The blonde -- Sam? -- sits up indignantly, stabbing a finger in the cushions. “Hey, I spent more time on this couch than any of you. Pretty sure it’s mine at this point.”

Kurt just watches them with wide eyes, jaw hanging open, with absolutely no idea what to do.

“But these aren’t our instruments,” the black-haired guy says warily, looking around. At some point he and the girl have linked arms, Kurt notices. He watches as they all take in the studio, faces getting increasingly confused and worried. Kurt raises an eyebrow that apparently can go higher than it already is.

“Because… it’s my mom’s studio…” he manages to say again, mind still whirling at the hurricane of new and completely nonsensical information.

“Can you just -- give us a minute?” Sam says, jumping over the coffee table to join his friends. They turn away to talk in a huddle, and Kurt stands awkwardly as they talk in failed attempts at hushed tones.

Tina’s trying to ignore the pounding of her possibly-only-theoretical heart -- she’s dead, how can she even feel a heartbeat -- as she watches Blaine and Sam talk to the… living person in front of them. Sam makes his usual comment about “his couch” and Tina snarks back with her usual response and it gives her some comfort, some familiarity even in this studio which should feel like home, has for so long, and it still does to an extent, but everything here is suddenly different.

The comment does send the strange boy’s attention back to her, though, which she doesn’t really like. Blaine wraps an arm around hers and she squeezes his forearm in gratitude. He did that a lot when they were alive -- knew how and when to offer her his touch to reassure her a little.

At least there’s something that’s still the same.

At least her boys are still the same.

She tries to focus on Blaine’s arm in hers, on Sam’s dumb comments as he comes bounding back to them, hissing, “Guys, what is going on here?”

Tina shrugs. Blaine whispers, “Who is he?”

“He can hear you,” the person in question says pointedly from behind them, but Sam ignores him and says, “Maybe he’s a witch.” He looks up, pointing. “There are chairs on the ceiling.”

“There’s no such thing as witches,” Tina hisses.

“Are you sure?” Sam shoots back. “Because I used to think there was no such thing as ghosts!”

Tina swallows. “That’s fair.”

“So we’re going with witch?” Blaine asks.

“No!” Tina waves her hands at both of them. “No, come on. You guys are just -- he’s probably just overwhelmed, okay? Let someone with a softer touch handle this.”

Maybe “softer touch” wasn’t the right phrase to use in this instance, she thinks, but she really just wants answers and figures she might as well be straightforward. ��Why are you in our studio?” she asks, maybe a little too aggressively, stepping up to the alive stranger.

He looks down with a shocked expression and Tina realizes she accidentally got close enough to touch him -- or… pass her hand through his, partially. They both watch as he brings his hand through hers again. It’s a weird feeling -- warm and kind of tingly, or like she’s putting her hand through water.

“Oh my god,” he says, eyes wide. “How did you do that?”

Tina raises their eyebrows a little. “Okay, clearly you don’t -- clearly, he doesn’t get it,” she says, addressing the guys behind her. She turns back to the stranger, gesturing to herself and the others as she explains, “We’re ghosts. We’re just three ghosts, and we’re really happy to be home, so… thank you for the flowers; they really brighten up the room.” She tries to smile at him.

“We’re actually in a band called Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up, stepping up to flank her on the left.

“Tell your friends!” chimes Sam on her right.

“Last night was a really big night for us,” Blaine says, a little sadly. “It was gonna change our lives.”

Tina whispers, “Uh, I’m pretty sure it did.” Blaine huffs and elbows her gently.

“This is freaking me out,” the stranger says, shaking his head as he takes something from his pocket.

“What is that; what are you doing?” Blaine asks.

Alive Stranger looks up, fingers still touching the face of the object. “It’s my phone -- nope, stop talking to them! There’s no such thing as cute ghosts,” he says, seemingly to himself.

Sam gasps. “Think we’re cute?” He raises an eyebrow, making one of his insufferable Sam faces; Tina almost laughs.

The boy looks up again with wide eyes, gaze flitting to each of them as if watching for a reaction, swallowing and going back to his phone.

“Who’re you calling?” Tina asks, trying to see the side facing him because that doesn’t look like any phone she’s ever seen.

“I’m googling Sunset Swerve.”

“Sunset Curve!” Blaine, Sam, and Tina correct him at the same time, Sam drawing a curve in the air with his finger.

The stranger laughs nervously, staring at them with wide eyes and then back at his phone. “Okay… so there is a Sunset Curve.” He swallows again. “You guys did die. But not last night.” Tina’s stomach drops a little; Blaine and Sam get closer.

“Twenty-five… years ago,” the boy finishes, a confused look in his eyes.

Tina barely has time to register this before Sam says, “That’s impossible. All we did after we floated out of the car was go to that weird dark room where Tina cried.”

Her mouth drops open. “I wasn’t -- I -- we -- ” she squeaks, voice jumping up an octave. “I think we were all pretty upset,” she says, but she supposes Sam is right.

He pats her back and doesn’t have a chance to respond again because Blaine steps in, “That was just for, like, an hour, though. We just showed up here.” Tina and Sam nod.

“Look,” the living one says, finally turning his “phone” toward them. They lean forward to see a screen with a photo of them -- and Artie, Tina thinks distantly; she feels his absence acutely and it spikes through her chest -- taken for their summer tour, and a bunch of small text around it that she can’t read, a bold headline at the top reading, Sunset Curve: A Hollywood Tragedy. “I’m just telling you what my phone says,” he explains. “You guys died in 1995. It’s now 2020.”

“So this is the future?” Sam asks incredulously as the boy pulls his phone back. Something else sticks out in Tina’s mind, though.

“So -- it has been twenty-five years,” she says, pausing to gather her thoughts. “I have been crying for twenty-five years -- how is that possible?!”

“You’re a very emotional person,” Sam reasons.

“I am not!” she insists, but the tears already pressing in the back of her throat want to prove otherwise. Distantly, she reminds herself that she’s with her friends who’ve seen it all and she doesn’t need to hold back, but the presence of this complete stranger also overrides the ease of her relationship with the guys. Sam rubs a comforting hand over her shoulder, and she swallows the tears down.

Alive Stranger shakes his head. “I gotta go… eat dinner,” he says slowly. He turns back around once he’s walked past the three of them and says, “Look, I’m really sorry for what happened to you guys, but this isn’t your studio anymore. You have to leave.”

“But we -- ” Blaine starts, starting to go forward but a sharp glare stops him and he clears his throat. “We didn’t even get your name.”

“It’s Kurt,” the stranger snaps.

“Cool, I’m -- Blaine,” Blaine says hesitantly. “And this is…”

“Sam, hey.”

“Tina, how’s it going…”

“Ba-da,” Blaine sings weakly, gesturing his hands in front of them like he’s presenting them to Kurt.

They all watch for Kurt’s reaction, but he just sighs and leaves the studio. He leaves the doors open, probably to remind them that they technically just got kicked out of their studio -- or, Kurt’s mom’s studio -- someone’s studio, but really it’s been their home for so long…

“Kurt seems nice,” Sam says cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood.

Tina turns to him. “Did you miss the part where he kicked us out, or…” she says drily. Sam shrugs, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Okay,” Tina mutters, turning to wander around the studio some more. If they’re going to be kicked out, she wants to spend as much more time as she can here.

Kurt’s mind is a storm. He doesn’t know where to start with this new information -- with an evening that took such a sharp turn from reminiscing and sad and somewhat painful into just… something so completely different and unexpected.

Dinner Kurt can do. He can put the craziness of ghosts aside because dinner is easy, dinner is simple; dinner is important.

His dad has already set everything out so Kurt takes his seat across from him, sending a not-completely-true nvm everything’s fine, sorry for worrying you text to Mercedes, who finally got back to him at some point when he was distracted…

Distracted talking to ghosts.

“How’s it going?” Burt asks as he sits down and it takes Kurt a second to remember he must be talking about cleaning the studio, and not actually about ghost musicians.

Ghosts don’t exist. There are no ghosts in the garage. Don’t think about ghosts.

“It’s good,” Kurt says, poking at his food a little. “I’m starting with the loft.”

Burt smiles. “Those old instruments need a home.”

“Yeah,” Kurt says, returning the smile. “Mom would like that.”

The instruments probably belong to some ghosts, Kurt realizes, but… nothing he can really do about that. And that’s if the ghosts can even touch objects.

They eat in comfortable silence for a while and then Burt sets down his fork. Kurt looks up apprehensively.

“So I got an email from the school today,” he starts. Kurt fiddles with his fork and drops his gaze.

“Hey, it’s okay, Kurt, I’m not mad,” Burt promises.

You should be, Kurt thinks -- all that money spent for him to audition for and attend the music program, and for private lessons and sheet music and piano maintenance, just for him to throw it all away.

“I know those classes can be hard,” his dad says, and Kurt almost can’t take his gentle tone, feels guilty about it even though he appreciates it. “But… you still like music, don’t you?”

Kurt shrugs. “I don’t know, maybe?”

“I know the memories are hard, believe me, Kurt. But, every time I see you, I see Mom, you know? And I love that, I really do. Maybe, if you give yourself a chance, you can, too.” Kurt looks up hesitantly to see his dad’s gentle, loving expression and eyes slightly glassy with tears. Looking down again, he swallows, and nods.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I will. I’ll try.”

Because what he said to Mercedes earlier on the staircase is true, but… he’ll always try harder for his dad.

“It’s okay, Kurt,” Burt assures him. “We’ll figure it out, I promise.”

Kurt smiles and almost starts eating again, but music suddenly blares from outside, startling both of them, Kurt barely holding back a loud swear.

“What is that?” Burt says, getting up but Kurt rushes to reassure him, saying quickly, “I must have just left the CD player on in the garage! It’s fine, I’ll go get it!”

He runs back to the studio where the ghosts are still there apparently, and have somehow gotten instruments from the loft and set everything up to start playing, and play really loudly -- and it honestly sounds good but Kurt can’t focus on that because they’re going to disturb the entire neighborhood and get the cops called on them for a noise complaint and what is he supposed to say -- no officer, it was just the three ghosts in the garage being idiots, sorry?

Kurt yells for them to stop but it’s useless; he can barely even hear himself over how incredibly loudly they’re playing. Blaine, on an electric guitar that Kurt remembers seeing in the loft, turns and sees Kurt, walking towards him and finally playing one last chord when Kurt makes a horizontal cutting motion with his hand, and Sam, on the bass, follows, Tina playing one last short drum roll, looking up with a wide grin.

They all look… alive, Kurt thinks, despite literally being dead, so different from the confusion he left them with -- relaxed and loose and faces lit up, the energy flowing through them almost visible. If he didn’t know they were ghosts and made of air, he’d expect to be able to reach out and feel them, breaths hot and fast from the exertion and adrenaline, skin warm and slightly sweaty, hearts beating strong like the steady percussion of their band.

It reminds him of how music used to make him feel.

“Cut it out!” Kurt snaps, trying not to raise his voice too much. “The whole neighborhood could hear you! I thought I told you to leave!”

Blaine looks back at his bandmates, bewildered. “People -- people can hear us play?”

“Yes!” Kurt says exasperatedly. “My dad heard you from inside!”

“… What did he think?” Blaine asks after a moment. Kurt opens his mouth for an irritated response --

“Everything okay in here?”

Kurt whips around to see his dad in the doorway and smiles with wide eyes. “Yeah! I just -- had to turn off the CD player,” he lies.

People have told Kurt before that he’s a good liar; he really hopes that’s true after the evening he’s had -- he's having.

Burt’s attention is elsewhere, though, seemingly forgetting about the chaos from just a moment earlier. “Wait, is this the junk that was in the loft?” he says, excitedly eyeing the instruments and… the ghosts that he can’t see.

“Junk?” Blaine exclaims. Tina stands up, her eyes on Burt, drumsticks gripped tightly in one hand.

They all watch apprehensively as Burt weaves through the instruments, even going so far as to rattle Tina’s cymbals and tap the drums, much to her horror. She fixes Kurt with wide, urgent eyes, to which Kurt just shrugs and gives her a helpless look. Hey Dad, actually, the ghost drummer wants you to stop, so…

“Hey, this stuff’s in pretty good shape,” Burt says excitedly. “Maybe we can make a couple bucks, yeah?”

“Yeah,” Kurt agrees weakly, mostly just watching as Tina fails to push Burt away from the drums.

“I like the song you had on,” Burt says, finally stepping away from the instruments. Tina rubs down a cymbal with her sleeve.

“Sweet! We’re Sunset Curve,” Blaine pipes up.

“Tell your friends!” Sam says, to a fond eye-roll from Tina.

“It’s just an old CD I found,” Kurt says, ripping his attention from the ghosts.

“Well, it’s nice that you’re listening to music again,” Burt says sincerely. “Out here, you can play whatever you want, whenever you want.” He waves his hands out on either side for emphasis, going through Sam and Blaine’s bodies. Kurt chuckles weakly.

“Oh,” Sam says, looking down at where Burt’s hand was in his stomach just a moment before. “That’s nice.”

“Stay out of this,” Kurt hisses.

“Sorry, Kurt, I’m just trying to help -- ”

“Oh! No, not you, Dad,” Kurt says quickly. For fuck’s sake -- “Just -- just give me a minute -- ” He starts pulling his dad toward the door. Burt stops him and says, “Hey, we’re gonna figure out this music program thing, okay?”

“Thanks, Dad,” Kurt says with a smile, and gestures for him to leave.

Once Burt is out of sight, he turns back to the ghosts.

“Wait -- ” Tina waves her drumsticks around a little. “So -- only you can see us, but everyone can hear us?” Kurt nods in confirmation. “What kind of ghosts are we?” Tina says.

“Who cares, dude!” Sam says, stepping up to Tina’s drum kit with a grin. “People can hear us play!” The three exchange fist-bumps as Blaine says happily, “We might be dead, but our music isn’t.”

“And Kurt’s dad likes our music!” Sam cheers.

“He’s a dad, it doesn’t count,” Tina mumbles, smiling and pushing Sam playfully when he turns to her with an offended look.

Confusion and annoyance bubble up inside Kurt along with something like anger at, just, all of it and he groans and says loudly, “Why can’t you guys just be normal ghosts? You know, go hang out at an old mansion or something! I hear Pasadena’s nice!” and turns to leave, slamming the door on his way out.

He just… has had too much going on today. He needs to -- ignore his homework and the problem with school and maybe just sleep in for the next two days. That would be really nice.

He’s so caught up in his head and he jumps and yells when a ghost appears in front of him with no warning.

“Don’t do that!” Kurt exclaims.

“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Blaine says quickly. “ -- You do know how rad this is though, right? People -- people can hear us play!”

“Yeah, good for you,” Kurt replies, a little too harshly. “It’s just that I’ve had a really, really, awful day. I’ve gotta go.”

He walks past Blaine just to turn around again when he says, “I’m really sorry you had a bad day.” Kurt nods; he can tell Blaine wants to say more, so he waits.

Blaine continues slowly, “I just… three ghosts just found out they had a bad twenty-five years, and then they find out that the one thing they lived for in the first place, they can still do. So you can kick us out, but -- we’re not giving up music. We can play again; that’s a gift no musician would ever turn down,” he says earnestly, eyes wide and almost pleading.

That hurts in Kurt’s chest a little more than it should and he looks down again to avoid the passion and excitement shining clearly in Blaine’s eyes, in his voice, in his words. He swallows down the feeling that statement unearths inside of him, but suddenly his bad day is at the forefront of his mind again -- his bad year.

That’s a gift no musician would ever turn down … some musician he is, then. But he already knew that.

Blaine says softly, “You’ve gotta know that. Clearly your mom is into music.”

Kurt swallows. “Was,” he says, monotone and quiet. “She passed away.”

He hates that it’s become easier to say; he wants to either spit the words out or break down sobbing but he manages to keep his voice steady. (In the back of his mind, he wonders why he just told that to a random ghost he just met. Maybe he’s just going crazy. He’s literally talking to ghosts, after all.)

Blaine’s face falls. “I -- I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

“Yeah, we -- we didn’t know,” Sam says quietly. He and Tina have also left the studio, standing on the other side of the low wall separating the garage area from the pathway back to the house. They look up with sympathetic eyes and Kurt looks away from them too -- can’t meet any of their wide, well-meaning gazes right now.

“It’s fine,” he dismisses. “Sorry I got mad.” The ghosts are thankfully looking at each other now, seemingly silent conversation passing between their glances. “You guys are pretty good,” Kurt says, trying to change the subject and lighten the atmosphere.

Blaine raises an eyebrow, turning his gaze back to Kurt. “‘Pretty good’? You know that’s just, like, 25 years of rust being dusted off, right?”

“Do you play, too?” Tina asks.

“No, no, I don’t play.” It’s not exactly a lie anymore but it scrapes in Kurt’s throat with his haste to answer. “That’s all my mom’s stuff in there.”

“She’s an amazing songwriter,” Blaine says.

“Yeah, she was,” Kurt answers. “Wait… how do you know?”

Blaine opens his mouth, glancing at the others for a second. “We found a song on the piano,” he says. “If it’s hers… your mom was really talented.”

Kurt nods. She really, really was.

He feels like he doesn’t have the energy to say it again, so he just stays quiet. Somewhat awkwardly, he turns to leave, sensing the end of the conversation and part of him desperately wanting to just leave and not have to see these ghosts again….

So Kurt surprises even himself when he pauses and turns back to face them. “I guess,” he starts, and their gazes snap back up to him. “If you need a place to stay… you can stay in there.” He nods toward the studio and the ghosts’ faces light up. Kurt can’t help but smile back. “There’s a couch that turns into a bed, and in the back there’s a bathroom with a shower, if you still need any of that stuff.”

“Awesome!” Sam exclaims quietly, earning an elbow in the side and a questioning look from Tina. “What? Dude, I just really like showers,” he defends.

Tina rolls her eyes. Kurt takes a breath, raising his hands to gesture vaguely at the three of them. “This is just… too weird.” He nods to himself, finally leaving this time, leaving the ghosts to… do what they will.

The fact that there are ghosts in his mom’s studio…. Maybe there’s a chance that Mom knows them -- sent them, he thinks… but decides to not get his hopes up. She’s gone and he needs to just keep it at that.

What he really wants is to tell Mercedes, but he doesn’t know how.

What would you say if I told you there were three ghosts living in my mom’s studio? Kurt thinks on his way back to his room.

You’d say I’m crazy.

It’s some point in the night; they figured out that they don’t need to sleep -- can’t sleep, it seems like, which is honestly really annoying in Tina’s opinion because they’re ghosts with literally nothing to do for too many hours at a time -- so they’re just hanging out in the studio, with the lights outside giving them a little visibility through the garage windows, but it’s kind of nice to just sit in the dark.

Tina has been on the couch with Sam, lying on their backs, heads in opposite directions, legs pressed up against each other. Sam’s bass is unplugged, laid on his stomach and extending over Tina’s legs. He plucks out notes and Tina accompanies with a soft beat using just her hands and body parts as instruments. Sometimes it’s a familiar bassline -- a Sunset Curve song rehearsed or performed or recorded before -- and they also hum the harmonies that they know, and sometimes they improvise -- Tina storing the good bits in her mind for a future writing session.

Blaine is in the loft where they hoped a light could be on and maybe go unnoticed. Tina assumes that he’s writing; he always was when they were alive. And of course, now he has 25 years of dark room and relative nothingness to catch up on writing about.

It feels like another quiet night from when they were alive, each of them with an excuse to escape their homes for the night, and they’d all crash here, filling the studio with soft music and noise. Blaine would stay up writing and sometimes singing while Sam and Tina (and Artie) would try to sleep, telling him to stop humming, or, since the main house inhabitants who would care about the noise were rarely there, they would sometimes join along with him and make it a Sunset Curve midnight rehearsal.

They’ve never had the best sleep schedules anyway.

Tina giggles quietly as she and Sam play into nothingness, both parts running uncontrolled and unable to get back on track. They both stop and Sam starts playing a familiar line -- parts they’d worked out before with bass, drums, and both guitars, but never actually put into a song. Tina waits for a moment to come in with her part.

She’s nearly startled off the couch when Blaine poofs down beside the couch with his guitar and starts his part. Tina starts laughing -- probably too loud but they’re pretty sure only their music can be heard anyway -- and slides off the couch to sit on the ground, picking the drumming back up on her legs.

“You guys wanna check out this teleportation thing?” Blaine asks, playing the challenging guitar riff meant for electric guitar messily on his acoustic without a pick.

Sam sits up and puts his bass to the side. “Absolutely,” he says. “Where’re we going?”

“I have an idea,” Blaine says, setting his guitar down. He pulls Tina up and extends a hand out for Sam. “I think I can take you guys with me.”

“What?” Tina squeaks, but a second later, she’s sitting far above the ground, outside, on top of the marquee of the Orpheum. “Oh my god,” she mutters, looking down dizzily at the people passing by on the sidewalk. Her body tingles with a weird uncomfortable energy for just a few seconds before it fades.

“Yes!” Blaine laughs, kicking his legs up excitedly. “I mean, I know being a ghost isn’t our first choice, but it sure is easy getting around!”

“Easy for you, maybe!” Sam cries on Blaine’s other side. “I lost my shirt on that one!”

Tina looks over and sure enough, Sam is shirtless. She stifles a laugh behind her hand. “Like that’s a concern,” she pipes up, but Sam’s shirt appears right as she says it. They all laugh and sit in silence for a moment.

“So why’d you bring us here?” Tina asks, looking out across Hollywood Boulevard, the new and old buildings and shops, the people and cars of the future. The light of the Orpheum’s neon sign shines in her periphery, same as it did on a night twenty-five years ago. “Just another reminder of where we never got to play,” she says wryly, turning to face Blaine on her left, patting his shoulder. “Thanks, Blaine.”

Blaine rolls his eyes. “I’m telling you guys, it’s not over yet!” Tina reappears on the sidewalk right below them, almost losing her balance and falling through a person walking past. She shoots a glare at Blaine for teleporting them with no warning again, but he just grins back and starts down the sidewalk, Sam following. “Let’s see how many places we can play tonight, yeah? Check out the music scene of the future? And no trouble getting into those clubs anymore!”

Tina laughs, falling into step with them. She watches Sam walk straight through someone going in the opposite direction and doesn’t realize someone is in her way, which shouldn't be a problem, until she bumps into them.

She feels them.

“Hey!” she says involuntarily, turning to see who it was -- another ghost? A tall man with a cape and top hat nods at her with an acknowledging and almost menacing gleam in his eye, then turns again and walks away.

He could see her, he could touch her -- he has to be another ghost, right?

“Tina, you coming?” Sam calls. She swallows and takes one last look, the other ghost having disappeared among the other people on the sidewalk, before turning and running to catch back up with the guys.

“I just ran into someone,” she says, a little breathless -- she doesn’t know if that’s from running, which she doesn’t think she can actually get breathless from, or the fact that she ran into someone.

“Another ghost?” Blaine says.

“I mean, it has to be, right? Uh, Kurt -- Kurt can see us but he can’t touch us…”

“And his dad couldn’t either,” Sam adds.

“It must have been another ghost. He looked like a… performer, or something.” Tina wrinkles their nose a little as she remembers his whole get-up, completely out of place among what she’s seen so far of 21st century street fashion. (But then again, so is she, and her friends.)

“… I guess we’re not alone, then,” Blaine says, breaking a short bewildered silence.

“We’re never alone!” Sam exclaims, walking between them to throw his arms around Blaine and Tina’s shoulders. Tina laughs and grabs his forearm, mystery ghost forgotten for the time being.

Blaine responds with a grin, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Kurt wakes up earlier than usual the next morning. He thinks he still has school -- he doesn’t know how being removed from the music program works, but no one told him not to come and besides, he does have non-music classes to keep up with, even if he doesn’t necessarily want to. He gets ready as usual, leaving breakfast out for his dad, and there’s still half an hour before Mercedes should be getting here.

Perfect. There’s something he needs to try by himself… for himself.

He heads out to the studio with his things, a fluttering feeling in his stomach, but it’s different from the feeling before he tried to play in class yesterday, like the butterflies had turned to stone and were rolling around inside him, weighing him down and making him nauseous. This time it’s promising, hopeful, familiar -- butterflies fluttering normally, peacefully.

The room is empty when Kurt pushes the doors open and drops his backpack by the entrance.

“Guys?” he calls hesitantly, to no response.

He wonders if he should be worried about where the ghosts might be, or relieved for if they really did leave after all, since that is what he wanted… but he realizes relief is not at all what he feels at that possibility.

But if the ghosts aren’t here, then all the better for what he wants to do, so he decides to ignore their absence for now.

Kurt walks up to the grand piano in the middle of the room, thinking. There’s something… something deep loosening in his chest -- something about Blaine and the others and their intense passion for music that is so different from the intense judgment and competition at school that made it so impossible for him to play yesterday.

The way Blaine had talked about music…

The one thing they lived for in the first place -- they can still do.

A gift.

Kurt spreads out the sheet music that he found yesterday, just placed on the piano lid without a glance and it’s still there, so Blaine and the others must have just taken a look at it. He recognizes his mother’s handwriting, achingly familiar and beautiful in a minimalistic way, the neat notes and lyrics, clean and legible even without the help of staff lines. His heart stutters and he gasps a little as he reads some of it -- he recognizes the song. Something his mom told him she was writing when she got sick.

Kurt used to be so involved in her songwriting, but as she got worse and Kurt grew away from the piano (and from his voice), he never asked about this song.

She’d finished it.

Here’s the one thing I want you to know, you got someplace to go…

And he needs to hear it.

His fingers tremble slightly as he places them gingerly on the keys over the starting notes of the song. It feels completely different than it did yesterday; he doesn’t know if it’s the lack of teacher and students watching, the insanity of yesterday evening in between, the song itself… but the stones turned back into butterflies and it almost feels like it did before….

He wants to play, to make music. For the first time in a year, he actually feels like he can. And he needs to.

And if -- when -- it unlocks the memories… he thinks he’s ready.

Kurt takes a deep breath and plays.

#i somehow added like 25 words in my final edit just now lol #idk if anyone really cares but suspend ur disbelief at kurt singing julie's songs XD #i definitely know it probably would not work with her songs as is #they have Very different voices i am aware but i'm also too lazy to do anything about it so . they can be adjusted #to fit his voice right lol i just have no idea how that works 🤪 i just play piano and even then not really 🥴#so just like imagineee lol #i love how in the last part i said what would be endgame in this fic but like #damn i don't have any idea what's happening past what happens in the actual jatp show and #even then idk what's gonna happen within those bc it's not exactly the same 😂#lol but those ships Will probably like #have hints or something if that makes any sense laksdhgdjfs anywayyyy #kurt and the phantoms #my ficsssss #glee fic #glee #idk how i tag things lmao i think that's good enough XD #DRUMMER TINA DRUMMER TINA DRUMMER TINA #oh my god it's finally happening skdghsdhdkghdhjfhgjfgh #i've been working on this since my family went on vacation at the end of june so like two months fuckdghjfdkl #anyway lol hope y'all likeeeee 🥺💖#omg we're at 79 pages of google doc total lol

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everyhowlmarksthedead · 4 years ago

Text

❛ MOONLIGHT ❜

✨ PROMPTS: "has anyone told you that your eyes sparkle in the moonlight?" / “this reminded me of you”.

✨ MADE BY: @mayans-sauce and Juls.

WORDS: about 1k.

❚❙ A/N: this writing hasn’t been edited, you may find some grammar mistakes, I’m sorry about that. If you find a description about body or a word out of place, or something that it makes you feel uncomfortable / unrepresented, let me know by a private message and I will change it delighted ❤

❚❙ GIF credits: to my wonderful @sonsofeorl ✨

❚❙ CHE ‘TAZA’ ROMERO MASTERLIST.

❚❙ MASTERLIST.

❚❙ JOIN MY TAG LIST.

“No, you hear me out, man! You better find my package and bring it in less than an hour, or I’m gonna drag you through the fucking desert!”

Everybody outside Templo is hearing Taza yelling really furious. You can’t help but look at Bishop, really surprised, trying to understand what the apache is talking about. But he doesn’t know it either. Leaving the food you have bought in your way from the hospital over a table, you walk towards the crystal door, to stick your head out of it. Your boyfriend looks furious, kicking one of the wooden chairs to make it fall to the ground with a loud crash. Sliding your body through the opening, before closing the door behind you, he notices your presence.

“Everything okay?” You whisper, not being sure he wants to talk about it.

“No, it’s not”. He grunts passing you away and stepping out of the meeting-room. “I have some important business matters to take care of, go back to work. I have no time to have lunch right now”.

Like a bat out of hell, you watch him through the window jumping on his bike and turning on the engine to disappear in just a sight. With your lips curved down, you turn around to grab back the food, being stopped by a hand on your wrist. Bishop gets up from his chair, showing you a tender grin and making a gesture to point at Templo.

“C’mon, preciosa, I will eat with you. There’s no best company than yours”.

His words make you smile. He always does with that father energy Bishop transmits you the whole time, since you met the crew.

When your shift has finished and you already have changed your clothes, for a pair of comfy sweatpants and a baggy shirt, you sit on the bench inside the locker room, you have a look at the notifications accumulated on your phone. Your mom asking how your day has gone, your friends telling you to meet them at the bar, memes from Coco and Angel, and some texts from Taza. Opening the last ones, you read him apologizing for being rude with you and for bailing you on. But before you can text him back, his name and a heart flash on your screen with the characteristic ringtone you chose for him.

“Hey, you…”

“Hey, you”.

“Listen… I am so sorry for how I talked to you this morning. I had a problem and I took it out on you. I am sorry, mi amor”.

“It’s okay, Che, don’t worry”.

“Why don’t you come to the club? I really want to see you. I have to finish some shit here, but then we can go home, or stay here if you want”.

“Yeah, okay…”

“Only if you want, if you’re not tired. I can meet you at home later”.

“No, no, it’s okay. I’m on my way”.

“Good. Drive safely. I love you, chiquita”.

“I love you too, grumpy”.

“How much, ah?”

“To the moon and back”. You can't help but chuckle, hearing him giggling at the other side of the speaker.

“See you now, baby”.

Hanging up the call, you keep your stuff in your bag, before hanging it from your shoulder to walk straight to the parking under the building.

The road to the club doesn't take you much longer than ten minutes, not stopping to think about what happened this morning and if he would like to talk to you about it. You have never seen him this angrier before and it really worries you. But pushing those thoughts away, as soon as you find him sitting on the porch, you park your car next to the bikes under the metallic rooftop.

Standing from the stairs, Taza walks towards you keeping something in his hands inside a pocket of his kutte, to welcome you between his arms in a tight warm hug. Kissing your cheek some times, he shows you a regretful smile.

“Got something for you, com’ere”.

Squinting at him and tilting your head with curiosity, he holds your hand to guide you to the nearest picnic table. Sitting over it, facing each other, you make your way to between his legs and place yours at both sides of his waist.

“Do you remember what I told you on our first date, ah?” You nod curving your lips in a proud smile. “What I said?”

“Has anyone told you that your eyes sparkle in the moonlight?” Trying to imitate his voice, Taza breaks into laughs. “Yeah, that has been the weirdest, BUT beautiful thing someone has ever told me”.

“Yeah, sorry for being in love with your sassy ass and being an old-school man”. Giving you a funny look, he grabs from his pocket whatever he was carrying minutes ago. A small black bag made with velvet. “I’ve been waiting for this a month and I thought the guy in charge of bringing it had lost it”.

Taking his phone with his free hand, he unlocks it to show you a picture of a white stone with some periwinkle purple and air force blue reflected in it.

“When we were at San Buho last time, a friend of mine found this in the desert. You know what it is?” Shaking your head, he places his phone away. “It’s a moonstone, and reminded me of you. Strong and beautiful”.

Pouting at him, you watch his fingers moving around the laces to undone the knot and take the thing inside it. A white golden ring. A big one, very similar to the ones he usually wears, and the ones you usually steal him to put in your fingers. In the center, the same moonstone he showed you seconds ago. You can’t stop looking at the piece of jewelry, while Taza holds your right hand and puts it in your forefinger. It fits perfectly.

“I designed it, so I hope you like it”. Your boyfriend sounds insecure for a moment, until he raises up his eyes laying them on yours.

“I love it”.

“Yeah, really?”

“Really”. Chuckling as you clean the tears in your cheeks, you can’t help but jump onto him to hug him as strongly as you can. “Thank you… It’s really amazing”.

“Just like you, cariño mío”. He whispers, leaving a gentle kiss on your temple, holding you against his chest. “I want to see your eyes shining every day of my life, that’s the only thing I need”.

#mayans mc x reader #mayans mc imagine #mayans x reader #mayans mc #che taza romero #che taza romero x reader #taza romero x reader #taza romero imagine #taza romero

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roserozu22 · 3 years ago

Text

Rogercop

Author’s note: It’s me with a new update and you didn’t have to wait long. A massive thank you to my beta Nina of fairy tail!

My Social Media accounts:

Twitter: RoseRozu1

Tumblr: Roserozu22

Discord: RoseRozu#2428

Morning had sprung and Nathalie was getting Gabriel ready for a very important event - careers day at Collège Françoise Dupont.

“Sir, are you sure this is a good idea?” Nathalie asked worriedly.

“Yes, this is a good opportunity for me to see this Nathaniel boy’s parents,” Gabriel smirked.

Suddenly, the door opened and there stood Adrien fiddling with his necklace nervously. “Ready, papa?”

Gabriel looked at his youngest child and smiled reassuringly at him. “You didn’t force me to come with you, and to be fair, I haven’t seen much of your teachers, only your principal. So no need to be nervous mon petit.”

Adrien smiled at Gabriel and then took hold of his father’s hands and Felix’s once he entered the foyer. They got into the car to travel to the school.

=^._.^= ∫

When the Agreste family arrived at the school (a little late, due to some idiots on the road), they met one Mr. Tom Dupain.

“My day begins at 4 a.m. every morning because the bakery opens at 7. You would think that the life of a baker is pretty routine, making the same pastries, rolls, cakes... but actually, it's different every day. One day someone might order a cake in the shape of the Eiffel Tower, and another day you might-” Tom explained to Gabriel and Felix’s boredom and Adrien’s interest.

“Marinette will come around and pass out some croissants baked fresh this morning,” Tom said as he pointed at his daughter.

“Thank you, Mr Dupain. Now, let's meet Alya's mom, who is head chef at the Grand Paris hotel, owned by our mayor, Mr Bourgeois.” Miss Bustier.

On Marinette’s rounds, she smiled happily at Adrien. She was excited as she knew that his model career would end later than most, giving him more time to model. However, she smiled sadly at Felix as he looked disinterested. As Marinette was making the rounds, Chloé opened a case with a bracelet inside.

Sabrina looked at the bracelet and immediately grabbed it, “It's beautiful!”

Chloé then promptly slapped Sabrina’s hand. “Don't touch it!”

Whilst this was happening, Gabriel whispered in Felix’s ear, “Remind me why I sent you two to this school?”

“Because you wanted me to learn the ‘commoner’ life, and also Adrien wanted to go to school just like his big brother,” Felix whispered back.

Gabriel hummed in thought.

“Put it away, Chloé! It could get in the wrong hands!” Mr Bourgeois attempted to scold his daughter

“I wonder how many croissants your dad would have to sell to buy you one of these? What am I saying? He'd have to sell the whole store!” Chloé taunted Marinette as she noticed her passing out the croissants.

“Well, if you're so rich, obviously you don't need free croissants!” Marinette said as she left the table but not without smirking as she could hear a poor comeback from Chloé.

Meanwhile, Plagg was having a slight conundrum himself. “Is that Camembert?” Plagg asked himself as flew from Felix’s bag to Chloé's. “Huh? Oh, that's not Camembert... but it is very shiny. I like shiny, hmm!”

In the world outside of kwamis… “Unfortunately, I have no dishes to share. But maybe Mr Bourgeois will invite you all to the hotel and treat you to lunch!” Alya’s mum said while looking at her boss, with a glare that could rival Gabriel’s

The said boss nodded while sweating nervously at his employee’s glare and sighed in relief when the glare melted away. While the students were applauding, a policeman named Roger started laughing.

Unfortunately, Plagg caused Marinette to slip (as he landed on his head after continuing playing with the bracelet)

“Marinette, are you okay?” Adrien asked as he left his chair while helping the girl up, not knowing that Gabriel was staring at her intently.

Before Marinette could answer, however, Gabriel swiftly put Adrien back in his chair and stood in front of said chair protectively.

“Next on the list is Sabrina's father, a policeman. Please welcome Officer Roger!” Miss Bustier said quickly to diffuse the attention and stop Gabriel from glaring at the students and herself.

The students started applauding, although with more confusion than anything else. With a quick glare from his brother and father, Adrien didn’t even bother clapping.

“I've been a police officer for 15 years, and I firmly believe that every citizen is innocent until proven guilty.” As soon Officer Roger said this, the drama queen of the class exclaimed. “My bracelet! It's gone! I had it a second ago.” She then looks at Marinette “You! You stole it!”

“What? What are you talking about?!” Marinette asked confusedly.

“You purposely tripped over my bag so you could steal my bracelet!” Chloé then looks at Roger “You're a policeman! Arrest her!”

“My daughter is not a thief!” Tom defended Marinette and glared at the other girl.

Gabriel could only look at the students and parents and without warning, got a massive headache and thought of removing Adrien (and Felix) from the stupidity of the whole thing.

Roger then blew his whistle without warning which caused Gabriel’s headache to worsen. “Hold on a minute, Miss Bourgeois, we don't accuse without proof! Now, everyone, calm down, please. Maybe you simply misplaced your bracelet.”

“You're calling me a liar?! Daddy!” Chloé said in surprise and anger.

“Roger, I demand you search for this girl’s bracelet immediately!”

“Ha!”

“Please, everybody!” Miss Bustier pleaded although she was not heard at all.

“Need I remind you that as mayor of this city, I am your superior!” Mr Bourgeois said unkindly towards the policeman.

Before Roger could say anymore, Gabriel decided to speak up.

“I’ve had enough of this. My children don’t need to see this debacle. They came to school for their education, not some soap opera that is poorly made!” Gabriel then noticed that Felix’s friend was recording the whole thing. “This boy hasn’t stopped recording since I’ve entered the classroom, maybe there is something on there." Gabriel then gently moved Adrien from his seat and said. “I’m going back home with Adrien and until this issue is resolved he will no longer be attending school." Gabriel suddenly looked at Felix. “If you like you can go home with me or stay for the whole day.”

Felix looked at the drama gleefully and then looked at his father and replied. “I’ll stay here and see the drama unfold.” Gabriel nodded and left the classroom with a very reluctant Adrien, but not without giving his secretary’s number to Nathaniel’s parents.

=^._.^= ∫

As soon as Adrien and Gabriel arrived at the mansion, Adrien was instantly sent to his room (as according to Gabriel he had had too much excitement and needed rest) and went down to his lair and transformed into his evil alter-ego Hawkmoth.

=^._.^= ∫

At the exact moment, Mr Bourgeois and Tom were seen shouting at each other while the students were looking at the two adults in interest (mostly Felix).

Nathaniel then looked at the adults and said, “Let’s do what my Mr Agreste said and look through Nino’s video. Maybe we can find something because I for one would like to see my significant other outside of the mansion or photo shoots.”

The adults looked at the upcoming artist in shock (while Felix smiled at the artist with pride until he felt something hit his ankle and swiftly noticed that it was the missing bracelet on top of his kwami’s head and rapidly left the room quietly) not noticing that a new drama was going down.

=^._.^= ∫

Ms Mendeleiev threw a piece of litter into the bin but missed so the litter landed on the floor which caused Rogercop to grab the litter. He then flew to where Ms Mendeleiev was.

“You're under arrest!” Rogercop shouted at the poor science teacher.

“What? What for?” Ms Mendeleiev asked in confusion and horror.

“You threw litter on a public sidewalk, jaywalked and crossed the red light,” Rogercop said robotically. The police whistle was still around his neck. His skin was quite pale, and a hollow, light blue triangle pointing downwards was at the centre of his chest. His helmet sported a light blue line above a light blue shield in front of his eyes. His left shoulder and right shoulder wore blinking red and blue police lights, respectively.

“Well, I suppose I did. But you can't arrest me! Who are you anyway? You don't look like a policeman!”

Rogercop then threw cuffs at the science teacher “I sentence you to trash duty.” He then blew his whistle which controlled the handcuffs and made Ms Mendeleiev robotically throw the litter in the trash can.

“Next mission: Seeking justice on Mayor Bourgeois.”

=^._.^= ∫

Meanwhile back at the school, Felix was seen lecturing Plagg (who was still wearing the bracelet). “Never do that again! Do you know the troubles you caused!”

“I thought it was Camembert,” Plagg said. “And besides I think the bracelet suits my rock-hard abs.”

“Well, clearly it isn’t Camembert” Felix groaned and swiftly thought of something else, “and Plagg you do not have abs.” Felix then stopped as he heard footsteps and looked down and saw it was Rogercop.

“Great, great, just great, thanks to you Plagg, we have now to fight against an akumatized policeman. You’ve made another one of your dumb decisions.”

“Sorry, Felix,” Plagg said, remorsefully.

“I know, now let’s try and get this bracelet off you, and fix everything.”

Plagg nodded while Felix began looking through his locker for anything that could help. Meanwhile, Rogercop had caused one of the parents to run laps around the gymnasium.

=^._.^= ∫

Simultaneously, back at the mansion, Adrien was seen lying down on his bed with a look of boredom on his face. He was texting Nathaniel who was giving him updates regarding the situation of the missing bracelet.

=^._.^= ∫

“See, Chloé? I tripped on the bag, but Sabrina held the bracelet, we are all suspects!” Marinette said (while trying and failing to be diplomatic).

“But, what about Mr Agreste, isn’t he like in most of the video?” One of the students asked.

“To be fair, I wanted to film Adrien and Felix, but I think Mr Agreste knew what I was doing or that he wanted Adrien to not see. You can never know with that dude.” Nino said in Mr Agreste's defence.

“And let’s remember Mr Agreste is a fashion designer. If he wants to he can design any jewellery that he or the twins need or want,” Alya said.

And once again, Marinette opened her big mouth and caused the situation to be five times worse than it was until Rogercop entered the classroom uninvited. He asked the students, parents and teacher where the mayor was. They all denied that they knew where he was until a voice spoke up. Recognising the voice, everyone groaned.

“Mr Principal, “I demand that you find who stole my daughter's bracelet ASAP! Or your job is on the line, sir…!”

Marinette then quietly left the room and jokingly said to Tikki “Who knew that our mayor could shout like that.”

Tikki then glared at her holder and sternly said. “No time for jokes, we’re going to make things right. Now transform!”

Marinette smiled nervously at Tikki and shouted “Tikki, spots on!”

At the same time in the locker room, Felix had managed to get Plagg out of the bracelet with some help from pepper and Camembert cheese. Knowing he had no time to waste, he quickly transformed into Chat Noir.

=^._.^= ∫

It wasn’t until late at night that everything went back to normal with a slight hiccup from the usual lucky charm item, Chat Noir’s antics and Rogercop firing his handcuffs all over the place.

=^._.^= ∫

The next day, the twins were seen together and with happy smiles on their faces as Adrien was allowed to go back to school after Gabriel received a call from the mayor telling him about where the bracelet was all along. All’s well that ends well as Roger got promoted to lieutenant and Nathaniel’s parents were coming over for dinner over the weekend.

#a03 fanfic #alternate universe #fanfiction.net #miraculos ladybug #twins #adrien x nathaniel #felix x marinette #Adrinath

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littlestarofthewest · 4 years ago

Text

Santa’s Little Helper

This was supposed to be a Christmas present for the lovely @verai-marcel, but tumblr fucked me over and didn’t post it. I’m sorry, dear. Please accept a veeery belated Merry Christmas ❤️️ It was hard to write something for the person who already wrote everything, but I did my best :)

Pairing: Arthur Morgan x female reader | Words: 2674 | Rating: Explicit!!!

Summary: You hate working at the mall as an elf. At least until a new Santa comes around.

You have to dig deep into your closet for your costume. You remember exactly how you tossed it in there last year, fed up from hanging around the mall wearing a stupid get up and a fake smile.

Every year, you tell yourself that you'll do better and won't have to do this anymore, but your year has been shitty, and while you hate being an elf, it's a steady gig with good pay.

After changing in the staff room at the mall, you head out to assist the others in setting up Santa's workshop. Without customers around, you can hold on to the rest of your dignity for now.

Santa's little helpers are a combination of a few new people and some regulars like you. They happily welcome you back, lifting your spirits a little. While decorating the giant slide, you overhear them talking about the new Santa. The old one went into retirement last year, making him the second one you saw come and go. It makes you curious how the new guy is going to be.

He shows up about half an hour later in full costume. The black belt digs deep into his full belly, a fake white beard hanging over it. The big boots make a heavy sound as he walks, the bobble on his cap swaying back and forth.

He exchanges a few words with the mall's manager before he walks over with purpose in his stride. It makes you confident that he's not a drunk or otherwise abuses substances that will hinder his performance. There's nothing worse than having to constantly supervise Santa, so he doesn't scare off the children.

He greets the other elves and helps with a few last-minute preparations. You're battling an oversized candy cane that's about to topple over and bury you when a huge hand grabs its top, holding it in place. New Santa is standing next to you, so close that you catch a glimpse at his piercing blue eyes.

"Careful," he says, his voice a deep rumble.

"Thank you," you say, tying down the rope that holds the candy cane in place. "I feared that one of these monstrosities might finally get me."

"You've done this before, huh?"

His voice sends a shiver down your spine, but you do your best to act calm. "A couple of times. You?"

"Me, too. Just not at this scale," New Santa says, looking around. "Usually, I go from door to door in small towns."

"Why the change then?"

"I just moved here, closer to my brother. My sister in law has a baby on the way, and I'm planning on helping out. Chances are she'll kill my brother otherwise."

"Sounds like a lot of responsibility."

"I'm Santa," he says with a laugh, clapping his huge belly. "I think I can manage."

"Let's see how you handle the mall crowd first," you say in a teasing tone.

He sizes you up for a moment, amusement sparkling in his eyes. "You're going to help me?"

"It's my job," you laugh, "like, literally."

New Santa smiles, holding out his hand. "I'm Arthur, by the way."

You tell him your name while shaking his hand, warmth spreading up your arm and to your chest. There's something so very different about this Santa compared to the others. It's going to be interesting to work with him.

-----

Since you've started working with Arthur, a miracle has happened. For the first time, you're actually enjoying the job. Arthur's great with the kids and endlessly patient even with the most pretentious parents. He doesn't take their shit, but he always finds a way to defuse the situation.

The breaks with Arthur are nice as well. He's quiet, but when you find the right topic, he's easy to talk to. Over time, you go from joking over teasing to right out hazing each other. If you're honest, it sometimes even feels a little bit like flirting. Still, you try not to read too much into it. The days of working with him are numbered, after all.

After one horrible shift where a kid is dead set on ripping off Arthur's beard, and another one vomits all over his shoes, you tell him to clear out. You and the other elves clean up, and when you finally enter the locker room, it's quiet. At first, you think you're on your own, but then you turn the corner, finding another co-worker half-hidden in his locker.

"What a night, huh?" you say, making him aware that you're here.

"You can say that again," he says, the voice sending the usual shiver down your spine. Arthur appears from inside the locker, smiling at you. "Thanks for cleaning up. I'll help out tomorrow."

You wish you could say anything, but you're too distracted by Arthur's appearance. It only occurs to you now that you've never seen him without the costume before. Without the fake beard, there's still a nice stubble shadowing his chin and cheeks. The huge Santa belly makes way for a nice little tummy that you wouldn't mind kissing, especially to get to whatever's hidden under the tight jeans Arthur's wearing.

"You alright?" Arthur asks, honest concern on his face, so you decide to tell the truth.

"I just realized I've never seen you without the costume. You're not really old and fat."

Arthur laughs, clapping his stomach. "I'm getting there, especially with the holidays coming up."

"Is your partner a good cook?" you ask, hating yourself a second later, but Arthur shrugs before pulling a shirt over his head.

"Nah, I'm single," he says, sitting down to put on his shoes. "Just got a bunch of friends who drown me in holiday treats."

"Not the worst way to go," you say, and Arthur laughs.

"You're right. I really can't complain." He picks up his bag but leans against his locker, obviously in no rush. "How about you? Any plans for the holidays?"

"The usual," you say with a shrug. "Eating, drinking, and staying in bed as much as possible."

"That sounds great," Arthur says, and the way he looks at you makes you feel like you're in a heap of trouble.

-------

"I can't get you all in the frame like this. Move closer together, people," the photographer says.

It's your last day on the job, and the manager insists on an annual picture of the Christmas Crew. You shuffle closer to your co-workers, but the photographer still isn't satisfied. He alternates between checking his camera and barking instructions.

"You there, stand behind the slide. You three on the side, get on the ground in front. And you, you can sit on Santa's lap."

With horror, you realize that the last order is directed at you. When you don't move, the photographer clicks his tongue with annoyance. "Go on, dear. I'm sure he doesn't mind. It's in his job description."

You throw a questioning look at Arthur, and when he gives you a little wave, the photographer claps his hands. "See? Now, the two of you, up here."

He keeps giving orders while you settle down on Arthur's lap, trying your hardest not to put any weight on him. That works for about a minute, but the photographer keeps giving orders, and you fear your legs might cramp up.

"I'm not going to break, you know?" Arthur whispers behind you, and you move around a bit to get in a better position.

It's not so much about not hurting Arthur but more about not embarrassing yourself. You had a crush on Arthur from the start, but ever since you've seen him out of costume, it's been way worse. You've been thinking about him a lot, and he even showed up in your dreams. Being close to Arthur is dangerous. It wouldn't be the first time you did something foolish because of a guy.

The photographer keeps rearranging people, giving you ample time to notice how good Arthur smells and how hot his body feels against your own. It makes you tingly all over to think about certain things you could do together. Without meaning to, you move around even more until you hear Arthur's breath hitch behind you.

You're about to ask if he's alright, but then you feel something pressing up against your ass, and a wave of heat rushes through your body. Arthur tries to shift his weight under you, but then the photographer finally seems satisfied.

"Alright, nobody move!" he instructs before diving behind his camera. "Big smiles!"

You do your best to force a smile on your face while you still feel Arthur pressing hard against you. The photographer lets all of you make faces or wave, every second of it seeming like hours. You wish you could say that it didn't affect you, but the thought of Arthur's dick merely a few layers of clothing away from your pussy gets you all worked up.

Thoughts of you together rush through your head, and you can't help but move a little, making Arthur groan behind you. You wish you could just turn around and make things interesting, but instead, you jump up the second the photographer releases you.

You still feel hot all over by the time you arrive at your locker, and you busy yourself with your phone, not wanting to change now with other people still around.

This morning, you even thought about asking Arthur for his number, so you wouldn't lose track of him, but that's out of the question now. You just hope he's not one to harbor a grudge in case you both end up working here next year.

"Hey," a deep voice says next to you, and you jump in surprise.

Arthur's standing at the far end of the row of lockers, fidgeting with his hands. "We're the last ones here, but I can leave as well if that makes you uncomfortable."

You didn't notice that everybody left already, but you don't mind at all. This gives you a chance to apologize. "No, it's alright."

"I just wanted to apologize for what happened out there," Arthur says. "It's just that you're so goddamn sexy, especially in that stupid costume, and you were sitting right there-"

You can't believe what you're hearing, but Arthur stops himself, taking a deep breath before speaking again. "I'm not trying to make excuses. I'm just very sorry for what happened, and I hope we can just forget about it."

"Don't worry about it, Arthur. I'm not uncomfortable, and you did nothing wrong," you say, trying to reassure him. "I would be happy to ride on your lap any time."

"Oh, okay. Good," Arthur says, a nervous smile dancing around his lips. "Have a good evening then."

He disappears behind the lockers, and you lean back against your own, swallowing a sigh. You can't believe you said something so stupid. Arthur's a sweetheart, and you totally blew it.

You open your locker to get out your clothes when Arthur rounds the corner. "You said 'ride,'" he says, "not 'sit' on my lap but 'ride.' Did you mean like-?"

He doesn't finish the sentence, but you can't help yourself. "Like sex, yes."

You both stare at each other, and you're about to apologize, but then Arthur moves. A second later, your hands are in his hair, and he cups your face in his hands as you kiss. You end up pressed against your locker, you and Arthur both ready to devour each other. Still, he manages to move a few inches away, both of you breathing heavily.

"Is that okay?" Arthur asks in between breaths. "Do you want to-?"

"God yes," you say, cutting him off to pull him in for another kiss.

Your permission seems to hit a switch inside of Arthur. He picks you up, and you end up on the next durable surface, Arthur's hands roaming all over you. You reach down to lift his shirt over his head, and while he opens the buttons on your blouse, you run your hands over his chest and stomach.

As soon as you're out of your blouse, Arthur kisses along your neck, down to your breasts. Your fingers dig into the skin on his shoulders as he teases your nipples with his tongue, both of you not wasting any time. When Arthur runs his fingers up your thigh, you pull up your skirt and spread your legs.

Arthur simply pushes your underwear aside to tease your pussy, and you're getting so wet that you can think about nothing else but getting off as hard and fast as possible. You open up Arthur's pants, his low curse when you pull out his dick, giving you way more satisfaction than it should.

Grabbing your legs, Arthur pulls you closer, and you can't help a little cry when he pushes into you. It's been a while since you've been with someone, and with the way this is going, you won't last long.

You put your arms around Arthur's neck, and he lifts you up a little. It's not exactly riding him, but you roll your hips to welcome each of his thrusts, both of you moaning and panting.

It feels so good; you wish you could drag it out, but the way Arthur's holding you in place to have his way with you already got you going, and then Arthur does the worst thing he can do.

He's holding on to your hair, his lips right by your ear, whispering between eager breaths. "Dammit, you feel so good. I dreamed about this."

Arthur talking right into your ear feels like someone poured honey all over you, a nice glaze soon covering every inch of your body. You pull him closer, doing your best to get as much friction as possible.

"Jesus, sweetheart, you're killing me here," Arthur groans, sending you right over the edge.

Your muscles clench around him as you come, your face burrowed in the crook of his neck. He doesn't move until you relax and your breathing evens out a little. Still, you feel how Arthur is, so you roll your hips, drawing more curses from him.

"Come on, Santa," you whisper in his ear, "let your little elf please you."

Arthur groans, his fingers digging into your hips as he buries himself inside you with short, hard thrusts. With eager moans, he picks up the pace, and although he seems like he might explode any second, he manages to kiss you in such a tender way that you feel like melting.

Finally, Arthur pushes deep into you, and this time he stays there until he comes, the tension slowly fading from his body. While he's focused on breathing, you scratch his back and stroke a few loose strands of hair out of his face.

Arthur looks up to you with a thankful expression, and you smile. "This morning, I thought about asking for your number."

"I guess we rushed way past that," Arthur says with a laugh, but then he reaches into the pocket of his jeans and hands you a small piece of paper. I usually start with coffee - not this."

You kiss him one more time before you part to get dressed. "I wouldn't mind coffee."

Arthur runs a hand through his hair. "I've got some great coffee at home."

"Do tell," you say, acting nonplussed as you get your things out of your locker.

"Remember what you said about not getting out of bed, just relaxing?" Arthur asks. "I have a nice bottle of wine I could never finish by myself."

The mere thought of spending more time with Arthur makes you all tingly, and you turn around to look at him. "Did you borrow that suit, or do you take it home with you?"

Arthur grins. "Really? Santa?"

"Probably not every Santa," you say, running your hands over his chest before kissing him again, "but I like this one."

-------

For the next two days, you and Arthur only leave his bed when you absolutely have to.

#arthur morgan x female reader #rdr2 smut #rdr2 fanfic #my writing #modern au

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procrastinatorimagines · 4 years ago

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Familiar

Fandom: Chicago Med / One Chicago

Character/s: Will Halstead x Reader

Warning/s: none

Word Count: 1,481

Request: Hi there, can I get a Will Halstead x reader imagine, please? Where the reader is a childhood friend and he used to only see her as his little brother's friend, nothing more despite the reader having a crush on him. When he transfers to Med, he bumps into this gorgeous doctor who looks familiar but he doesn't know who she is as she refuses to tell him her name and he keeps flirting with her. Until one night at Molly's when Jay finally tells his brother who she really is. Ending up to you. TQ x

Moving away from Chicago had been one of the most difficult decisions of your life, but it’d been worth it. You loved your home, but forging a path for your self in a new city had been rewarding, and it’d turned you into the person you were today.

Even so, stepping through the doors of Chicago Med, now an attending physician, you felt a sense of pride and... relief. You may have come a long way, but there was no place like home.

You spotted a doctor on the other side of the room, red hair making him stand out as he mulled over something on a tablet. It’d been years since you’d seen Will Halstead,; you and Jay had been close friends in school and you’d had a not so subtle crush on his older brother, not that he’d ever recipricated those feelings of course. Still, it was good to see him again, and he had no idea that you were even a doctor now, let alone that you were back in Chicago.

You’d drifted from the Halstead’s when you moved away, something you’d always regretted, and you’d reached out to Jay when you knew you were coming home to try and reconnect, but you’d wanted to surprise Will your first day at Med.

“Everybody listen up!” A woman’s voice yelled, bringing you back to reality as she got everyone’s attention, “there’s been a bus crash on the freeway, ambulances will be arriving any minute, it’s going to be a busy day,” she explained and you saw everyone rush around as you quickly threw your stuff in the doctor’s lounge and gloved up.

So much for any introductions on your first day, straight in the deep end it was. “Newby, sorry I can’t remember you name,” that same nurse who’d just spoken, her name tag told you she was Maggie Lockwood, came over to you quickly, “I want you to take cases with Doctor Halstead today, he’ll show you the ropes,” she gestured to Will, who was on his way over just as the first paramedics burst through the doors. “Treatment one!” Maggie told you both as you made your way to the first victim.

“I’m Doctor Will Halstead-” he began to introduce himself, did he not know who you were? You were just about to respond when your patient began coding, you had more important things to worry about.

And so began one of the longest days of your life.

You and Will had spoken a lot through out the day, but it had all been medical, you’d been far too busy for proper introductions or breaks of any kind, and by the time you made your way into the doctor’s lounge you took a seat on the sofa and had a long drink of water, wiggling your toes and rolling your ankles as your feet throbbed.

“Hell of a day, but you handled it like a pro,” Will commented, wandering in and going to his locker, “welcome to Chicago,” he laughed and you smiled, realising that he really did have no idea who you were.

“I’m actually from Chicago originally,” you told him, standing up and putting your things away as he looked back at you.

“Oh yeah, where abouts?” He asked curiously.

“Canaryville,” you replied, having way too much fun teasing him about this. Did he seriously not remember you at all?

“Me too!” He said excitedly, “what a coincidence,” you could barely contain yourself at this point but you held it together, letting him finish up at his locker. “Oh, sorry, I actually never got your name,” he continued, looking back at you apologetically as you laughed.

“You know what? That one I’m going to let you figure out,” you told him, finding his puzzled expression amusing.

“So you’re not going to just tell me?” He asked and you shook your head, he mulled it over for a second before grinning, “would you tell me if I took you out for a drink?” You blinked, taken back by his response, your old crush on his flaring up at the way he was regarding you.

“You don’t even know my name and you’re asking me out?” You definitely hadn’t expected this, but you were curious to see where it was going.

“Kind of feels like I already know you,” he answered honestly, looking you over again like he just couldn’t quite place you. Good, you thought, deciding to keep messing with him.

“Uh huh, you use that line on all the girls?” You teased, grabbing your coat as he kept staring at you.

“Molly’s, it’s a bar we all go to, great atmosphere and good drinks if you’re interested,” he suggested.

Were you really being asked out by Will Halstead? “...well I could a drink after the day we’ve had,” you decided, wanting to play this out as long as you could.

“Great, I’ll see you there,” Will grinned, another doctor coming in and requesting his help with something before he went home.

You waved him off and walked out the hospital smiling, unable to believe what had just happened. Maybe not telling him who you were was unfair, but he was the one who’d forgotten you, so you didn’t feel all that bad as you headed home to get ready.

You’d applied a little more make up than usual, and your top was a little lower than the kind you would have usually worn in this situation, but as you stepped into Molly’s and saw Will at the bar, and the way he was looking at you as he took in your outfit, you knew you’d made the right decision.

“Hey Will,” you greeted him as you took the seat he’d saved for you.

“Hey... I’ll greet you with your name but I still don’t know it,” he hinted and you laughed, shaking your head. “Okay, I get it, drink first,” he surrendered, letting you order whatever drink you wanted and you settled in to chat.

“You always ask out women you don’t know?” You inquired as you received your drink.

“Do I need to know a beautiful woman’s name to ask her out?” He flirted, continuing as you took a slow slip of your drink, trying not to get too flustered, “especially when I’ve spent the day watching her take care of patients left, right and centre, you were practically superwoman in there,” he finished, clearly enjoying the red that had crept into your cheeks. Damn your awkward teen self for still letting Will Halstead have this affect on you.

“Oh so your plan is to flatter me into telling you my name huh?” You challenged and he shrugged.

“Is it working?” He tried.

“Maybe a little,” you admitted, looking away from his intense gaze and into your drink.

Will looked about to say more when he was distracted by someone coming in behind you, looking back a little to see Jay entering and walking over. Well, it was fun while it lasted, you thought, realising Jay was definitely going to blow your cover.

“Hey, I didn’t think you’d be here tonight,” Will greeted his younger brother.

“Yeah well it was Y/N’s first day at Med and I heard it was a busy one so I thought I’d come see how she did,” he explained, and you couldn’t help but watch Will’s confused face as the gears in his head slowly started turning.

“Y/N?” Will repeated.

“Yeah, Y/N Y/L/N, remember?” Jay replied slower, clearly unsure why Will was confused at all.

“Oh, Y/N, of course,” Will clicked, at least remembering you as a child, “I didn’t realise she was back in Chicago.” Now Jay was definitely puzzled, looking between his brother and your very amused self before turning back to Will.

“...you do know she’s sat right in front of you, right?” He told him, laughing as the shock crossed his face as he looked at you again like it was the first time, actual recognition finally dawning.

“No way, Y/N... I didn’t recognise you,” he admitted as you burst out laughing.

“Oh yeah, I kind of noticed that,” you said as Jay clapped his brother on the back, shaking his head in disbelief.

“I’ll be back in a bit then, looks like the two of you have more catching up to do,” Jay laughed, heading off in the other direction to a booth. You still couldn’t quite believe how long it had taken for Will to realise it was you.

“My bad,” he apologised, rubbing the back of his neck, “should we start again?” He offered and you nodded.

“I think that’s a good idea,” you agreed.

“Get you another?” He gestured to the drink you’d nearly finished, still looking at you in a way he certainly never used to.

“I’d like that.” If only your teenage self could see you now.

#will halstead #chicago med #one chicago #will halstead x reader #will halstead imagine #chicago med imagine #will halstead imagines #chicago med imagines #one chicago imagine #one chicago imagines #will halstead one shot #chicago med one shot #one chicago one shot #one shot

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spine-buster · 4 years ago

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The President Wears Prada (William Nylander | Chapter 18

A/N: Remember that there’s a DOUBLE POST this week because of my birthday that happened yesterday! Look out for Chapter 19 to be posted Thursday at 7:30pm. I think you guys will reeeeeally like that one :)

January 24th, 2020

Aberdeen Bloom was amazed.

The welcome reception that the NHL planned in the hotel was full to the brim of what seemed like every NHL president, general manager, and their assistants mingling and munching on perfectly prepared hors d’oeuvres. Everybody was staying at the Ritz-Carlton, a fifteen minute drive from the Enterprise Centre where all the hockey-related festivities were taking place. While the all-stars had already been bussed to the Enterprise Centre, she was here with Brendan and Kyle, trying to assert her presence in a room full of men who thought they were gifts to God’s green earth. She wondered if any of the other executive assistants – a good 99% male, from her observations – felt the same way. It was when she was standing in that room that she realized how much of an anomaly she truly was, and if some guy gawked at her because he hadn’t seen a female since October, she wouldn’t be surprised. Hockey was an old boy’s club, and there was no better proof for that than the makeup of the people in this room.

Many people came up to speak to Brendan and Kyle – Aberdeen thought they were almost like the star debutantes at the ball, except one debutante already had three Stanley Cup rings; the other debutante was like the belle of the ball, as one of the youngest GMs in the league, and everybody wanted to talk to him. The only thing they’d do is give Aberdeen a quick nod after they finished their conversation before walking off. It was like she ceased to exist, or existed only as a figure to nod to once the discussion with the ‘big boys’ was over. Nobody was giving her the time of day. She didn’t even know why she had to come here and do this when—

“Aberdeen,” Brendan’s voice cut off her thoughts. She straightened out her back and looked more attentive as he looked back at her. “Who do you think will come and speak to us next? Let’s make a bet.”

She smiled. She knew that instead of sulking she should be working the room as much as possible, inserting herself politely into conversations Brendan and Kyle would have with some of the other presidents and general managers. “BriseBois has been eyeing Kyle for five minutes, so twenty bucks and an extra day off says it’s him,” she said confidently.

Brendan laughed, as did Kyle. “My bet’s on Ken Holland,” Brendan quipped. “Here to talk to us about Tyler Ennis. Everyone knows they want him. Hometown boy.”

“It’ll be Sakic. To talk to us about Naz,” Kyle said.

“DUBBIE!”

All three of their heads turned to see Brisebois smiling and making his way over. Aberdeen smiled. She leaned into Brendan. “I’ll take that twenty bucks in a Starbucks gift card.”

***

Aberdeen thought that maybe Frederik Andersen should be the one seemingly babysitting Auston Matthews, but she digressed. Because he was attending the All-Star Weekend but not actively participating in any of the festivities due to his slight wrist injury, he was free to do (what seemed like) whatever he wanted. He could visit both locker rooms, he could chat with all the guys, he could take pictures with everyone. All she had to do was make sure he got to the benches during the Skills Competition and she could consider it a job well done.

She didn’t want to follow him into the locker room – that was a bit much – so she stood outside and watched as he interacted with Fred and Mitch before moving on to some of the other players: Jack Eichel, Brady Tkachuk, and Mathew Barzal, for the most part. When he was finished, he looked almost surprised that she was still there waiting for him.

“They’re going on in ten. Where should we be?” he asked.

“I’m just gonna lead you down quickly, but I’m watching with Brendan,” she informed him as they began to walk down the corridor together.

“Aw, come on. You can’t keep me company?” he asked.

“There’s no way I’d be caught dead on a camera beside Auston Matthews, thank you very much,” she joked, but at the same time, was totally serious. If even one hair on her head was caught on camera, she was sure Auston’s fangirls would know her name, address, social security number, and blood type within the hour. “Let alone at the All-Star Game. And let alone with you looking like that.”

“Like what?!” he wailed.

“Oh, come on Auston. You look like you were a cast off of Anchorman and you know it.”

“I’m fashionable.”

“If you say so,” she rolled her eyes.

“I thought those types of comments were only meant for Willy, anyway.”

“They’re meant for any of you when you look like this,” she covered herself, giving him a full up-down, causing him to laugh and shake his head.

They walked past the Western Conference locker room, bustling with all the players and the media walking in and out of it. Auston stopped again to say hi to some guys that he could see – Tyler Seguin and Connor McDavid – before Aberdeen watched another player making his way towards them.

“This your girl, Matthews?” Matthew Tkachuck asked, a devilish smile on his face.

Aberdeen crinkled her brows. Gross. “Ew Matty,” she watched Auston as he made a face. “This is Shanahan’s executive assistant.”

“Oh!” Matthew’s face and demeanour completely changed as he took off his glove to shake her hand politely. “I’m Matthew Tkachuk from the Calgary Flames. It’s nice to meet you.”

Aberdeen laughed at how these boys could switch from being rats one second to upstanding gentlemen the next. “Nice to meet you, Matthew. How do you know Auston?”

“U.S National Development Program,” Auston answered for him. “We were on a World Junior team together.”

“Yeah, not to mention I was on a line with Mitchy in London,” Matthew added, referring to his junior career with the London Knights of the OHL. “It’s like I’m practically on the Leafs,” he smiled.

“You wish,” Auston scowled.

“You’ll be on the bench watching, yeah?” Matthew directed his question towards Auston. Auston confirmed he would be. Matthew’s attention went back to Aberdeen. He gave her a very visible up-down before biting his bottom lip. “How about you? You gonna be on the bench with Auston?”

“I’ll be sitting with my boss, but thanks for thinking about me,” she smiled over-politely. She heard Matthew chuckle but he still didn’t take his eyes off her. “We should go, Auston. I don’t want Gary Bettman angry at me for keeping the star of Toronto backstage for too long.”

Matthew said his goodbyes. Aberdeen and Auston continued walking down and around the corridors until they came to the entrance to the ice. Some of the arena workers, recognizing Auston, began showing him the way. “Now stay here and be good,” she said.

Auston smiled mischievously before winking and walking away from her. “Only for you, Aberdeen.”

“And tell Matthew Tkachuk if he even thinks of me, I’ll kick him in the balls.”

“Will do, baby.”

***

She saw the number pop up on her phone and the request for a FaceTime call. She hesitated at first, not knowing if she should accept. Sure, she was alone in her hotel room, it was late at night, and she was sure everybody had gone to bed, especially Brendan and Kyle. Nobody would be knocking on her door. Nobody would be calling her asking her to get a suitcase ready so they could take a private jet to Phoenix to fire a head coach. And even though her first thought was that this had to be some sort of practical joke, she quickly reconsidered. The last time this was requested it was in the back of a cab and an automatic no.

Not for anything, but less than 24 hours ago he was in her.

So she accepted.

William’s face popped up on the screen. He was clearly already in his pajamas, his hair tied back with an elastic atop his head. Aberdeen remembered that Toronto was an hour ahead, so it was even later for him. “Hello minskatt,” he smiled.

She’d just showered, and her hair was in a towel. She tugged it off so she didn’t look too ridiculous. “Hey Willy.”

“How are you, minskatt?” he asked sweetly, biting his bottom lip slightly as he watched her hair fall out of the towel. “How was today? Long day?”

She nodded her head. “Long but good. I met a lot of the other GMs. Well, most of them just sort of nodded their head at me after having conversations with Brendan and Kyle before moving on. It’s like they don’t know how to speak to women.”

“They probably don’t,” he quipped. “Did Auston behave?”

She smiled. “Yes, Auston behaved.”

“So I don’t need to kick his ass?”

Aberdeen giggled. “No. You’d never, anyway. He’s one of your best friends.”

“I’d still kick his ass if he gave you a hard time.”

She continued to smile. “How was your day? What did you do?”

“Miss you all day,” he said.

She rolled her eyes. She did that a lot today between him and Auston. “What did you really do?”

He shrugged. “Went to the gym. Talked with my brother. Just the usual boring stuff. Nothing as exciting as what you did.”

“Nothing I did was too exciting,” she admitted. She hated to admit it, but it was true. “I don’t mean to be rude when I say that. It’s just – I could have networked, I really could, I mean I know how to work a room, but these guys just weren’t having it. Well, everyone besides Julien BriseBois from Tampa. He was super nice.”

“It’s okay, minskatt. I’m sure tomorrow will be better,” he said encouragingly. “There’s a luncheon, right?”

She nodded her head, a bit surprised that he remembered her schedule. She hoped that would run smoother than what had happened today at the welcome reception. But now, at this moment, with Willy on FaceTime and two more days until she got to see him in Nashville, she didn’t want to talk about work. She’d only left him this morning and she was already missing him. “Hey Willy?”

“Hmm?”

“I…I’ve never really asked, but why do you always call me that? Minskatt?” she asked.

“Because that’s what you are,” he said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She knew that it meant ‘my treasure’. She remembered that quite vividly. “Yeah, but like…why my treasure? Why not just darling or honey or whatever?”

“Do you want me to call you those?” he asked worriedly.

“No! Not at all. I…I like minskatt. I love it, actually,” she admitted for the first time out loud. After months of blushing about it and hearing him say it in her dreams, she was finally able to admit it. “I just don’t know why you’d choose that over the hundreds of other things.”

William shrugged his shoulders again. “I just heard it a lot growing up from my grandparents. My grandpa would call my grandma that all the time. When I was really small, I thought it was her actual name. And I just…I don’t know. I think it’s the nicest thing. Because you’re my treasure. That what you are to me, always. From the moment I met you. You’re my treasure.”

Aberdeen smiled sheepishly. God, he was so…good. So pure. So characteristically William that she honestly didn’t have another word for it. “For what it’s worth, you’re my treasure too, Willy.”

***

January 25th, 2020

Aberdeen decided to get breakfast on her own, without waiting for Brendan to call. She’d fallen asleep talking to William last night – they both had, gag – but she still felt pretty energized and ready for the day. She threw her hair in a bun, knowing it would be easier to style when she got back from breakfast for the luncheon, and put on a simple pair of yoga tights and a University of Toronto hoodie.

She figured that most of the guys were either still asleep or would have ordered room service, and she was pleased to see that the dining room for the continental breakfast was basically two-thirds empty. She grabbed a plate and loaded it with scrambled eggs, bacon, sausages, and hashbrowns. She then poured herself some coffee and orange juice and settled into a table, taking out her phone so she could browse the news or read an article while she ate.

She was in a completely tranquil state of mind until she heard a voice from behind her. “Hey!”

It startled her. She turned around to see Mitch standing behind her, holding a plate stacked with food. “What are you doing up so early?”

“Same thing as you – eating!” he smiled. He looked behind him. “Hey guys! Aberdeen’s here!”

She leaned back to look past him and saw Fred’s giant body towering over the egg buffet and Auston looking like he literally just rolled out of bed pouring some cereal into a bowl. Fred smiled and Auston waved. She looked back at Mitch. “You’re all up?”

“You seem shocked,” he said as she settled into the seat across from her.

“I’m not shocked about you, because you’re just an excitable puppy,” she said. “I’m more surprised about Auston. Does he usually get up this early?”

“You’d be surprised,” Mitch shrugged. “When we’re on the hockey grind, early wake up calls are just a part of life.”

Fred and Auston came to the table eventually, with Fred sitting beside Aberdeen and Auston beside Mitch. They spoke casually – about the events of last night and the upcoming day ahead of them, what they would do with their day off tomorrow before having the fly to Nashville on Monday to meet the rest of the team. Auston suggested that they all go to the big arch. Mitch wanted to have lunch at a smokehouse. Fred wanted would arrange the Ubers.

They looked at Aberdeen. It was a while before she noticed. “What?” she asked with a mouth full of breakfast sausage.

“What do you want to do Sunday?” Mitch asked like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

She was confused. “I’m coming?”

“Obviously,” Auston piped up.

“Why would you think you’re not invited?” Fred asked. “You’ve been with us for how long now?”

“I just…I don’t know,” she digressed. “I know I’m, like, part of the team or whatever—”

“So why wouldn’t you come?” Fred followed up.

“I—you guys constantly freak me out, you know that?” she asked. “Like, I don’t get why a bunch of hot shot hockey players want me to tag along with them on their day off.”

“Why wouldn’t you think that? Willy likes you tagging along everywhere,” Auston said.

Aberdeen suddenly stiffened at Auston’s words, thrown around so casually, but they were so charged for her. “So does Jason,” Mitch added quickly. “And Brendan, even. I mean, Brendan wouldn’t have invited you here if he didn’t trust you with us, or you with us, you know? I mean, the All-Star Game is Peter’s thing.”

She’d heard that once or twice before. “It’s just it’s still new to me, that’s all,” she said, trying to remain calm. “I don’t want to intrude on your private time. I’m already around you guys practically all the time as it is. I don’t want to overstay my welcome.”

“Not sure that’s possible,” Mitch said. “You’re always welcome with us. We love you, Aberdeen.”

***

When Aberdeen went back up to her room after breakfast, she took a long look at herself in the mirror. Long. She knew she was loved by many people: by her parents, her grandparents, her siblings, by Kasha, by friends like Masani and Tom and Margot. By Brendan, at least in his own way. By William. She was loved by William.

Could she add the Toronto Maple Leafs to that list?

***

February 5th, 2020

New York City in the beginning of February was much different than, say, New York City in the summer, even New York City at Christmas. With nothing to really look forward to – no holiday or event, no long stretch of time where the city swelled with tourists and it felt so alive – New York City was just…well, New York City. Big. Imposing. Busy.

Brendan had lived here for a few years, both as a player and an NHL executive, and he’d gone out for an extended lunch with a friend, so Aberdeen had nothing better to do than to walk down to Magnolia bakery and grab a half dozen cupcakes to eat and then bring home to share with Kasha – two red velvet with cream cheese icing, one confetti, one lemon, one coconut, and one truffle. It was her way of saying thanks, because Kasha had been picking up donuts from Bloomers or Glory Hole at least once a month since they moved in together. The perks of flying on a chartered flight was that she knew the cupcakes would be safe all the way back to Toronto.

When she got back to the arena, she made sure the box of cupcakes was placed in the box where she’d be with Brendan and Kyle that night, knowing that nobody would touch it. It was when she exited the press box and began making her way through the corridors between the locker rooms that she saw someone she was not expecting at all: Saylor, Kasperi’s girlfriend. She looked very glamourous, with her hair and makeup done professionally.

When she looked up from her phone – which she didn’t do often – and saw Aberdeen, she smiled excitedly. “Ohmygod, hi Aberdeen!” she greeted her enthusiastically.

“Hi, Saylor. You traveled to New York with Kasperi?” she asked, trying to make small talk.

“I actually had a shoot booked, but I scheduled it so I could come to New York the same time as the guys came,” she revealed, clearly proud she was able to get the gig. “You know, because I model.”

Aberdeen resisted the urge to roll her eyes. Saylor reminded her every time they spoke about her modelling. Well, Instagram modelling. Aberdeen didn’t think she’d ever walked a runway or appeared in an editorial. It was mostly just the aforementioned Instagram modelling with a YouTube channel where brands would send her clothes or “collab” with her for exposure. “Yeah, I remember Saylor. Sounds fun.”

“It is!” she smiled excitedly. “I’ve been super lucky so far. But I mean hey, with a bit of makeup and good angles, lots of girls could be models.”

“I’m sure,” Aberdeen giggled. “Wouldn’t be me though. Not with these bushy Persian brows,” she joked, knowing full well thick brows were very in right now and that a lot of girls got them dyed or microbladed to look like hers.

“Persian?” Saylor was confused.

“Yeah. My dad’s Persian.”

“Ohmigosh, I knew you were mixed with something! Your nose totally gives it away.”

Aberdeen froze, though a strained smile was on her face. She knew she had a Greek nose, that it was pretty big with a prominent bridge, not elegant at all like Siena’s, but she didn’t think it was that big of a deal. She didn’t know what Saylor was trying to say or imply, but she tried to play along anyway. “I thought it’d be my hair.”

“Well, that too.”

Aberdeen nodded her head. Before she could say anything else, Saylor’s phone began ringing. “It’s my agency,” she said as she looked down at her phone. “I’ll talk to you later.”

“See ya.”

Aberdeen watched as Saylor left, her hips swaying back and forth in her skin tight Levis. She brought her hand up to her face, feeling the bridge of her nose before patting down her hair. She sighed. At least Saylor didn’t see the Magnolia cupcake box – she probably would have made a comment about that, too.

Aberdeen thought back to New Year’s Eve, when Morgan and John sat at her table and told her the story about Bee; about how she’d gotten messages from fans making fun of her weight and looks and how they’d called her the team cum bucket. Aberdeen shivered. She didn’t understand how people could have such vitriol in their heart for another person they hadn’t even met. And having it be directed towards Bee McTavish of all people. Those were targeted attacks, mostly because they were jealous of who Bee was dating (as they should, because Morgan was a great guy). But Aberdeen wondered if Bee ever got those types of comments from people she knew – other wives or girlfriends who maybe couldn’t hold their tongue or thought that looks were the be all, end all of someone’s worth.

Aberdeen knew better than to think that way. She knew it was all bullshit. How you presented yourself to the world was one thing – with your clothes, your hair, your makeup – and it was somewhat an extension of you, but it wasn’t who you were as a person. Like, Aberdeen always liked to look fashionable and presentable at work, because she knew she was in a highly professional environment and on any given day she’d shake hands and speak with a billionaire, but her clothes didn’t define her. Her personality defined her. Her work ethic defined her. Her respect for her job, her bosses, and her colleagues defined her. Her ambitions defined her more than her clothes ever would, than her clothes ever could. She knew Saylor didn’t mean any harm, that it probably wasn’t said maliciously at all, that it was only said because she didn’t know any better and nobody in her privileged life had called her out on her language that bordered on offensive. Aberdeen wasn’t going to hold it against her unless it kept happening and it did get offensive.

But she highly doubted that.

***

The Leafs lost to the New York Rangers 5-3.

William had knocked on her room door.

She let him in.

He kissed her the second the door closed and she felt overwhelmed by the feeling of his lips on hers, like she always did, really. They hadn’t been able to connect in Nashville or Dallas after the All-Star Game because her room was right beside Brendan’s, so they had to wait until the night they got back to Toronto. The Leafs weren’t doing particularly well lately, but nobody would be able to tell by the way William was acting. He brushed off the losses fairly easily, not liking to dwell on them too much.

“You okay after tonight?” she asked.

“It’s fine, minskatt,” he said as he kissed the tip of her nose. “Better now.”

She smiled slightly. She highly doubted that she made the situation better, but she’d take it. “Come to the washroom with me. I have to wash my face.”

“That’s sexy.”

She smacked his arm. He just gripped onto her hips tighter. “I can ask you to leave.”

“You’d have to make me at this point, and I’m a strong boy,” he raised his eyebrows.

She scoffed, dragging him into the washroom with her as she took off her makeup and cleansed her face. William leaned his body against the wall behind her, so she was able to see him and look at him through the mirror. He was so patient, and literally just watched her as she went about her nightly routine. He didn’t say a peep, didn’t complain, didn’t rush her. He just watched her with a look in his eye that told her, fascinatingly, that he was enjoying just watching her, like he was captivated by her simplest movements.

She pat her face dry, looking at him through the mirror. “Can I ask you something?” she asked. It was so quiet she could practically hear the electric current going through the lightbulb.

“Of course, minskatt.”

She was hesitant, mostly because she didn’t really know if William knew anything about it, but also because she should probably be asking Morgan. She set the towel down on the counter. “Do you know what happened with Bee last year?”

William didn’t look too bothered by the question. “You mean when her mom passed away?” he asked.

“No,” she shook her head. “The…the other thing.”

“Oh, that,” William nodded his head. “Yeah, I know what happened.”

“Morgan said it was someone who knew Kasperi’s ex.”

“It was. Her name was Cassie. Kasperi’s ex, I mean,” he clarified as he stepped closer towards her. “The girl who actually approached Bee in the restaurant was named Danielle.”

“Had you ever met them before?” she asked.

“Cassie, of course. Danielle, no,” he said. “Why?”

“Does Kasperi exclusively date models?”

“Basically,” he giggled slightly. “Why, minskatt?”

“It’s nothing,” she shook her head. “I just—I saw Saylor earlier tonight, and she mentioned how she was in New York City for a photoshoot with a brand or something.”

“She’s one of those Instagram models,” he said, wrapping his arms around her and nestling his head into the crook of her neck. He placed light kisses on her skin that made her feel temporarily drunk. “You should be a model,” he mumbled against her skin.

“Yeah, I don’t think so,” Aberdeen replied sarcastically, though the feeling of his lips still on her skin made her brain mush.

“Oh come on. You’d be a great model. My model,” he continued with his compliments and with his kissing.

“Not with this nose,” Aberdeen quipped. “At least that’s what Saylor said.”

William stopped his movements. It was quiet again. She continued to watch him through the mirror as he looked at her, speechless. It shouldn’t have come out like that. She didn’t plan for it to come out like that. But like most things to do with William, nothing ever went according to plan. Ignoring him certainly didn’t go to plan – look where they were with that. “Excuse me?” he asked, finally. “What did she say to you?”

“It’s honestly not even a big deal,” Aberdeen said, trying to sound as confident as possible. “She found out I was half-Persian and was like ‘Oh your nose totally gives it away’,” she mimicked Saylor’s voice. “Then when I mentioned as a joke that I thought it would have been my hair that gave it away, she was like, ‘That too’, like it was so obvious.”

William looked angry – a confused angry, like he couldn’t believe something like that was said to her by someone so close to one of his best friends, but at the same time, could totally see it being said by her in particular. Nobody else had commented on it when they found out – at least nobody on the team had – but of course Saylor did. “Minskatt—”

“Please don’t make this a big deal,” she interrupted him, seeing the look in his eyes. “It’s not the first time someone has said something like that to me and it’s definitely not going to be the last.”

If she didn’t want him to make a big deal out of it, he wouldn’t. That didn’t mean that he wasn’t still angry about it, though. And it didn’t mean he’d look at Saylor differently now for what she said. “But minskatt…you know I think you’re beautiful, right?” he asked softly.

Aberdeen nodded her head. “I do,” she said confidently. “I know you do. But, like – and no offence – but I think I’m beautiful. And – again, no offence – that’s more important than you thinking it. I have enough confidence in my appearance to not let it affect me. That’s why it doesn’t matter what she said.”

William smiled at her. Proudly. “No offence taken,” he said, biting his lip. “That’s all that matters. Still makes me want to talk to her though.”

Aberdeen whipped around so she could face him. “Don’t you dare,” she warned.

William’s smile turned from prideful to facetious. “Gotcha.”

Aberdeen scrunched her face at him, but he didn’t care. He dipped down and kissed her again, refusing to stop even as he picked her up in his arms and placed her on the vanity. He stood in between her thighs as he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her, not wanting to ever stop. “You know I think you’re pretty great, right?” he mumbled against her lips.

Aberdeen stopped, their faces only inches apart as she stared at him, smiling slightly. She brought her hand up and let her thumb caress his bottom lip, the slightest bit swollen from all their kissing. His eyes were so, so blue as she looked into them. Sometimes she didn’t think he was real. “I think you’re pretty great, too.”

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