#dunno what i expected exactly but expectations were like. low-mid? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

masterwords · 2 years ago

Text

chill out

Summary: Derek and a friend make some pot brownies to help chill Hotch out. (Post Route-66)

Pairing: Hotch/Morgan

Words: 3.6k

Warnings: a lot of talk about marijuana, grief, pain, doctors

Notes: Is this a crack-fic? I dunno. Maybe. The idea started with the @yearoftheotpevent February prompts "established relationship" and "different"...and kind of spiraled from there with a lot of help from Harry Styles. If you haven't read prior stories involving my delightful (slightly evil) OC Coleen, here is a bit of history: the high price of shame

The house, modest from the outside, was nothing like Derek expected as he approached. Its bones screamed mid-century rancher, single level, low ceilings. But from the moment he was in the entryway, he realized how wrong he was. The hallway, beset with a hanging lamp in shades of deep brown and gold, opened up into a sunken great room with a vaulted ceiling and a wall of windows overlooking the city, at least once you got past the sizable estate that stretched out emerald green for ages. David Rossi might even be impressed with this.

"You live in a house..." he mused, stepping down into the main area and peering around at all of the impeccable mid-century details that would have made Carol Brady's knees buckle from sheer joy. He grew up fantasizing about houses like this as he wandered through his modest inner-city Chicago home with neighbors close enough to hear your dinner prayers unless you whispered. This was the stuff of sitcom families, well-to-do but parading as somehow being middle class. His socked feet sunk deep in the burnt orange shag carpet that didn't look a day past being straight from the showroom and yet he couldn't think of a single place you'd get something like this nowadays. And he'd looked, too, for one of his properties that had bones like this. No, this was original. "Where do you want these?" He gestured to the grocery bags in his arms full of all sorts of baking supplies and a bottle of wine for good measure. With a sneer she gestured toward the kitchen.

The kitchen. He'd always loved to picture his mom in a kitchen like this, a kitchen like she deserved. Throwing together a pot of chili or a peach cobbler with counters stretching as far as the eye could see. More cupboards than you could ever fill. Hell, he would have settled for a dishwasher or a sink that didn't back up once a week though. Probably Coleen wasn't as well-acquainted with a plunger as Fran Morgan had been.

"Not what I pictured..." he said, finally, setting the bags down and emptying them on the counters. Coleen snorted at his candor.

"What did you expect?”

“Always had you pegged for someone who lives in a cave. You know, big bubblin' cauldron over open flames...some ancient book of spells on display, eye of newt and some gnawed on bones...a raven or some shit boppin' around...that sort of thing.” He spent too much time with Spencer, being able to pull all of that out of thin air. He really needed to find new friends. Or introduce Coleen and Spencer, perhaps...let him off the hook.

“Us modern witches keep all of that in the basement."

He smiled at that and shook his head, admiring the carpentry of the cupboards while she sorted the groceries and made sure he brought exactly what she'd asked. “You didn't bring Aaron.”

“He's sleeping. Lazy bones.” The last bit Derek said softly, and it was her turn to smile. Derek, for all of his biting jokes at her expense and excess nervous energy over this undertaking, adored Hotch. Which was why he was there in the first place. The two of them were otherwise not frequently able to find much common ground. She reminded him of George Burns playing God, or the Devil, maybe both and she left him feeling ill at ease. In turn, all of Derek's sunshine made her uncomfortable. It wasn't that they didn't care for each other, but without Hotch being present they quickly found that they had little in common.

Until Derek mentioned Hotch's heightened stress and anxiety, his return to work taking more out of him than they'd anticipated. Of course, Derek had tried to talk him into taking a full six weeks of leave but that had been vetoed quickly. As soon as he was able to fake his way through a fitness for duty exam, he was back. Add to that the ongoing situation with Sean's sentencing and it had become something of a perfect storm. He hadn't ever been very good at relaxing, but it seemed that now he couldn't even begin to figure out how...and each doctor's visit ended the same way. Find a way to lower your stress or you're going to end up back in the hospital. Or worse.

Well, Coleen understood worse. She'd lost a husband to that. Maybe her favorite one. So, when she approached Derek quietly while Hotch showered after physical therapy and told him she had just the thing, he couldn't say no. He knew what it meant; he'd heard all of her tall tales and her interesting medical theories. He also knew it came from a place of love, and he had started feeling bleak about the whole situation. He probably would have tried anything, so really, this was fairly benign.

Just some hash brownies. Besides, the woman was ancient...she had to be doing something right.

Derek had intended to bring Hotch along, figuring a visit might do him some good. But after a morning spent at physical therapy and then breakfast with some of the ladies at a chic little cafe afterward, he could scarcely keep his eyes open let alone stay upright. Derek insisted he be home and sleep. With Jack being out of town with Jessica's side of the family for the whole weekend the house was blissfully quiet. Just Hotch and Clooney, two old men and their favorite blankets in an empty house.

“He did great in the pool this morning,” Coleen said, tapping an egg on the rim of a bowl with one manicured claw. Her red nail polish was the color of blood. “Haven't seen him so spry in a long while now.”

“It's coming back slowly.”

“He's old, let the poor creature take his time.” She took a drag on the joint she'd lit without him even realizing it, holding it tenderly between steady gnarled fingers. Did she just roll it? Did she have it in her pocket? It was like magic, the way it appeared out of nowhere.

Derek didn't like the sound of healing slowly, but he had no control over what she said nor how Hotch healed. He had no control over anything much these days.

“You'll want to watch me make these, dummy,” she said, snapping Derek from his spiraling thoughts. “I refuse to write it down for you. This recipe dies with me.” She offered him the joint with a caustic, dangerous smile. He would take it, just a little, just for now. You can't make brownies like this without being a little high right?

“I wouldn't be able to read it anyway,” he croaked, leaning over her shoulder expectantly while he locked the burning lemony smoke deep in his lungs. She was so tiny, a little bag of bones, it didn't take much for him to completely engulf her. She didn't seem to mind. “I can't read Latin.”

Coleen smirked and whisked the eggs and sugar together, the yellow bowl huge in her thin little arms. “I in malam crucem.”

“Whatever you say, lady.” He didn't really want to know what she said, but he could probably ask Reid later to give him the cliff's notes version. He knew it was nothing good, probably the Latin equivalent of go fuck yourself. Frowning, Derek moved to examine the ingredients on the counter that he hadn't brought, the key component being a brick of hash the likes of which he hadn't seen since his beat cop days. “What about the leeches? Thought all you old timers used 'em.”

“What in the heavens would he need those for?" She paused for effect before continuing. "The leeches are mine. How do you think I've managed to maintain my youthful glow all these years?”

“Sorta figured you for a bathing in the blood of your enemies type.”

Coleen sniffed indignantly and turned away from Derek to reach up into her cupboard for a small glass jar way in the back. The kind she had to shoo other things out of the way of before her claws could grip and pull. It was a jar of what looked like some kind of honey, thick and dark and odorous. God, the things he could say about that, how putrid and horrific it looked, but he kept his mouth shut.

“I'm moving this as soon as you're gone, so don't go getting any ideas.” She smirked and Derek rolled his eyes dramatically. He didn't even really know what it was except that it looked potent and a little scary...he had only enough experience with marijuana to have enjoyed it a few times in college after he blew out his knee and had to recalibrate his entire life's trajectory. He'd gone off the deep end for a short time before pulling himself together. It was a rough time, one that didn't garner him much favor in his mom's eyes. Of course, his time as a cop (and now this) showed him that what he'd considered the deep end was nothing but a shallow and tepid kiddie pool. From what Hotch has divulged of his own troubled youth, he had far more experience with the stuff (and possibly worse, though he'd spared Derek any specifics), and a lot more hate than love in that old relationship. All in all, this had been a hard sell.

“I work for the government. You think I don't know all the best places to get this shit? Come off it. You're gonna have to produce a lot more than that to shock and amaze me, Methuselah. Now show me how to make these brownies before he wakes up from his nap and I'm not home.”

They quieted after that, the snips and snaps dying down while Coleen shared with him a recipe that she'd held close to her for decades. Her sister had asked for it once and, though Coleen wasn't exactly beaming with pride over her response, she'd more or less said over my dead body. Of course, her sister having been dipped in the same scalding solution of genetics as Coleen herself said she could arrange that and though Coleen couldn't prove it she thought maybe she'd tried once or twice over the years. And good for her, too.

If she knew how readily Coleen was willing to give it up for that sack of bones snoring beside a german shepherd across town, her sister would have a few harsh words to say. The thing was, she was soft for Hotch and she simply couldn't help herself. Maybe he reminded her of her favorite ex-husband, the damn fool who went and died on her long before she was ready for him to be gone. Who bought her flowers and saw to her every need, with never a cross word. Who spoke gently in direct opposition with his size and intimidating demeanor. He was an accountant, a big burly man who had to have his suits custom made, who captured spiders beneath glasses and released them out the backdoor rather than smashing them. A gentle giant.

She wouldn't admit it, but she was soft for Derek too. And the minute they came into her life, she was theirs. Hotch and his unruly black hair pushed up in tufts, walking slowly with his hand pressed against his scarred stomach like he was holding his insides where they belonged. Considering how often they'd nearly been spilled; she couldn't blame him. He approached the pool apprehensively, studying his options, looking for the path of least resistance. She could tell he wasn't someone who was used to obstacles in his way, and when they appeared they weren't there for long. She'd almost slithered from her side of the pool to him, to offer to help, but there was Derek coming up behind him from out of nowhere, hand on his hip...he didn't really do anything, she had noted. He just offered support. Hotch set his features and gripped the metal railing, leaning heavily against it while he stepped one foot after another into the pool and she caught that little slip of a smile when his body was weightless and in his control again.

Yeah, she liked him. A lot. And she had a feeling a lot of people behaved similarly to that...he was frustratingly endearing and handsome to boot. A combination she'd never been able to resist. Besides, how else would a scowling curmudgeon like him have landed this hunk of chiseled marble standing in her kitchen, zipping up his worn-out old motorcycle boots? She could think of a thousand more fun things a ball of energy and stamina like this could have been doing with his Saturday morning, and he was here learning how to make brownies from an old lady. Hook line and sinker.

“Take this,” she finished, snapping a thick layer of plastic around the little pink tupperware of perfectly cut brownies. “And this.” She handed him a log of what looked like frozen chocolate chip cookie dough. “Just slice off enough for one at a time, it'll keep for months in the freezer. For desperate times.” She winked at him.

“Thank you,” he replied sincerely, not a hint of his usual sarcasm. “Really appreciate it.”

(x)

“You two conspired to drug me?” Hotch asked, wrinkling his nose at the tub of brownies on the counter. He knew even before asking what they were, the smell was that strong. He hadn't woken up from his nap long before Derek walked in. Still groggy, he wasn't sure he had the capacity to make a good decision here.

“To help you.”

“Right.” Hotch sighed, lifting the little tub and turning his face away as the smell smacked him right in every one of his senses. “Wow. Did you use Willie Nelson's recipe?”

“Funny you mention Willie. She said he actually uses her recipe. Guess one of her ex-husbands was some old Hollywood bigwig type and they had this party at their place and...”

Hotch was blinking slowly, staring at Derek with a look of utter confusion on his still exhausted face. “Who are you?”

“Hey. She's your friend.” As if that answered for all the rest of it, Derek huffed and popped open the container. Hotch nearly gagged on the smell. “Come on. You've been a huge stress monster and your doc said he'd give you a medical green card to help with the stomach pain anyway. We gotta find you a way to relax before your heart pops like a fuckin' water balloon, baby. Give it a shot?”

“Define a shot.”

“One bite. They're gonna be really damn strong, I don't think you could handle more than a corner...”

Derek extended what was more or less a glorified crumb, the corner of one thick dark brownie broken off. It was crusty and smelled absolutely green in spite of the deep, dark chocolate color. He hesitated.

“And if I hate it?”

“I got orange juice in the fridge, that'll take the edge off if it's bad. And I'm gonna be right here stone cold sober the whole time. We can go take a shower, lay in bed, sleep it off. You trust me?”

Hotch frowned, but took the bit of brownie between his finger and thumb anyway. “Implicitly.” He looked doubtful but he meant what he said. He trusted Derek with his life and, though the brownies looked and smelled dubious, he wouldn't start faltering now.

With one last worried glance at Derek, a chance to tell him to stop, he popped the bite into his mouth and washed down the foul flavor with a glass of water, shaking his head. “Disgusting.”

“I don't think the flavor is supposed to be its selling point.”

It wasn't. Not by a longshot. They wouldn't be winning any county fair awards unless the judges were looking for the best and fastest high...then it was a blue-ribbon recipe. It didn't take long before Hotch was melting into the couch, his entire body languorous and vibrating at a slow, steady rhythm set by the pumping of his heart. The ache in his chest that had been there weeks now, since before he collapsed in the conference room, dissipated gradually. It didn't quite vanish, but it moved around, seeping into quiet places where it could rest.

Clooney began sniffing around in the kitchen, ill at ease with a familiar old smell he was trained to detect which struck Hotch in such a silly incongruous way that he let out a little chuckle. That chuckle, from deep inside his chest, grew in strength until Derek noticed and smiled in return. He'd been busying himself with some case files, hoping that Hotch would just ease himself into oblivion happily and without his constant vigil. That would only make him nervous and question every tingle, every wave. Probably set off a panic attack. This way he just rode the surf on his own.

“What's so funny ya old geezer?” He plopped down beside Hotch, wishing he could enjoy some of the brownie himself. It was so tempting. But he'd promised...not this time. Not until they knew if it was going to be okay. Coleen had warned him that she was making them half strength but it would still be potent and had the potential to expose some nervousness that even Hotch's vault kept locked up tight. Some latent paranoia, or disastrous memories of he and Haley...or maybe something worse. Something he couldn't even put his finger on. That fear had crept up on him the first time he got high, the thought that it might unlock memories of his own childhood, the crystal clear night sky over a dark cabin...if Hotch kept anything like that locked up, he'd rather it stay that way. The threat loomed dangerously over his head but was assuaged by the gentle laughter he heard coming from the couch.

Now he just wanted to join him. Be in that delicate, happy place with him.

Hotch licked his dry lips and let his eyes close for a moment while he lazily sorted through his word bank. It had been a long time since he'd been high and even longer since he'd enjoyed it. This was such a strange mellow feeling, warmth spreading like musical notes through his sinew.

“Clooney,” he started, smiling. “He's sniffing out your supply Agent Morgan.”

Derek laughed and made a high-pitched whistling noise, drawing Clooney's attention to him immediately. “Forget it buddy. Lay off my stash.”

Clooney's tail wagged and he nosed at the counter, right below the offending Tupperware. Dog hadn't been with the Chicago PD for years now, but his training was solid, not easily forgotten. Old dog and his old tricks. “Busted...” Hotch whispered, leaning against Derek.

First Hotch just sat there, quiet, still as a mouse. Staring at the ceiling, and then at the television that was turned off, zoning out. Derek wondered what he was thinking but was too afraid to ask. After a while, he spoke softly of small things. What would Jack think about his dad being high as a kite? Would he try to steal the brownies? Would the team know what he was doing? What if he got drug tested?

“Green card,” Derek reminded him thoughtfully. “Your doc's already got it in the works. I don't think there's a single person that's gonna mistake you for a burn out. Stop trying to find ways to let your anxiety creep back in...”

“Maybe you could turn on some music?”

“Yeah. I could do that. Any requests?”

Hotch shook his head and let the smile smooth out his features again. “Surprise me.”

Flipping through records, some crisp and new still in the plastic and others worn soft at the corners and smelling like the dust of decades gone by, Derek settled somewhere between his taste and Hotch's. The opening notes, deep and broody, made him long for a nibble. Just a corner. He wanted to feel what Hotch was feeling, he wanted it so badly.

“You think you're gonna be good to ride this out?”

Hotch laughed a little in spite of himself. “Why? You want to join me?”

“I doooooooo...” Derek whined. “I really really do.”

“You don't have a green card,” Hotch said, his tone a gentle mockery of something serious. He didn't pull it off well, not when his entire body was melting into the couch cushions while Jim Morrison's voice slithered and slunk through the room all heady and dark. “What if your boss finds out?”

“He's a pushover. Kinda think he's a burnout, too.”

A kiss, quick and soft, took Hotch by surprise. Made him grab hold, fists twisted in Derek's t-shirt, holding on for dear life. He just wanted more of that. His eyes went wide at the sudden bright burst of expectation. They hadn't had much of a sex life lately, and the feel of Derek's breath rushing over his skin startled him in all the best ways. Maybe Derek having a little bite wouldn't be the worst thing in the world...might make it easier to drag him into the bedroom to mess around for a while without Derek stressing out over hurting him. After they got some food, though. He was starving. “One bite. This stuff could likely knock both Willie Nelson and Snoop Dogg out.”

“What, just cos it knocked you on your ass? I'll be the judge of that...” Derek announced striding confidently into the kitchen, but he was good.

Only a bite.

For now.

They had all weekend.

#aaron hotchner #derek morgan #clooney the dog #hotchgan #hotch x morgan #tw: marijuana #yotp 2023 #criminal minds #fanfiction

16 notes · View notes

crackinwise · 4 years ago

Text

This is a silly idea that wouldn't leave my head about Mondo being hesitant and Taka knowing exactly what he's about. Also I apologize to Leon.

The mixing of classes 77 & 78 in the rec room on a weekend should have been a chaotic party, but there was a certain Moral Compass in attendance who'd already vetoed many of the more rowdy ideas put forth.

The current spectacle was Nekomaru arm-wrestling Sakura. The intense screaming from the two made it sound more exciting than it was: they'd been locked in the same position for like five minutes now. At least Hina was happy cheering on Sakura's straining bicep.

Bored with it, Leon moved his eyes away from the stalemate to narrow them instead at Kiyotaka, who was being felt-up as he watched the match. Okay, not felt-up. That'd actually be fun. No, Mondo just had his hand on the hall monitor's upper back, thumb moving in slow circles.

Watching the couple in public was also a disappointment, in Leon's opinion. They'd been officially together a few months and their rules for "PDA" seemed arbitrary to anyone observing. They could look at each other in ways that'd make the most romantic person gag, but wouldn't even hold hands. It appeared Mondo was only allowed to touch Taka from the shoulder-blades up. Or that's all he had the guts to do, maybe.

Boring.

'Well,' Leon thought, 'I can at least work with this.' Messing with Mondo just enough to be entertained, but not enough to be killed, was a tightrope act. Say something the biker deemed a personal attack and he's a goner, but phrasing it as a challenge or dare could usually get Mondo to go along with anything. 'I just need the one carrying the braincell to leave.'

"Hey, Ishimaru!" Leon whispered to Kiyotaka. "I think I saw Souda spiking girls' drinks."

"WHAT!" Kiyotaka immediately left to find and possibly stomp the mechanic to death. Hopefully Ultimate Nurse Mikan was around.

"Ba--Taka?" Mondo called, confused at the sudden departure.

Leon swooped in and took his arm to pull him away from the main crowd a bit. "Mondo, buddy, want to have some fun?"

His buddy suspiciously glared down at him and answered, "Depends. What's yer idea of fun?"

Leon smiled, knowing the other's curiosity was a great sign for this plan working. "I noticed your wandering hands don't wander very far," he quickly waved his arms and continued when Mondo started puffing up to yell at him, "SO I wanna help you get them to second base tonight!"

Mondo deflated and stared.

"Y-Y'know, it's a baseball metaphor because I'm-"

"I KNOW WHAT THE FUCK SECOND BASE MEANS!" Several students turned to them, unimpressed, prompting Mondo to lower his voice again. "The hell are ya gettin at?"

"Well, either you got shy hands or Taka has you whipped. Which is it?"

"Is yer idea of fun gettin ripped in half, dude?"

"Er, let me start over," Leon back-pedaled quickly. He could do this. "What's stopping you from touching Taka more than a nervous twelve-year-old on the first date?" Shit. "Shit, wait, don't hit me! I'm just curious why you've been together so long and I've never seen your hands reach the promised land!"

The other boy paused with right arm still raised in mid-punch. "Wha?"

"By 'promised land' I mean his butt." Leon took a step backwards in case he had to dodge.

Something about that made Mondo briefly look more insecure, "One: I ain't lookin to get dumped. I still dunno how handsy he'll let me get."

Then his attack-dog mode returned and he brought his raised arm to his chest to crack his knuckles. "And two: if you've been lookin at Taka's ass, I'mma tie ya up in front of the fuckin ball machine an' leave ya there."

"What? No! Gross!" Leon had been, but it was like admiring a work of art, and also not the point. "I just want my pals happy! Trust me, every time you touch his back, go lower than before. You can watch his signals or whatever, but if you go slow it'll be fine!"

Leon was proud he sounded so supportive. It was a complete lie, of course. Leon was 99.9% sure the second Mondo passed the belt line, Kiyotaka would loudly explode at his boyfriend, making the guy explode right back, and ensuring Leon finally had his entertainment for tonight.

Leon just had to make sure he won his little Mondo game first, "You should at least try before he finds someone else man enough to grab dat a-"

"YA LITTLE SHIT!"

Whoops, Leon found himself suspended off the ground by his shirt. That's going to stretch. He shouldn't have gone the toxic masculinity route. But Mondo exhaled through his nose and set him back down when he saw Kiyotaka marching back over to them. 'Whipped.'

"Souda swore his innocence, but I've made all the ladies get new drinks to be safe! And Hiro is oddly asking everyone if they need ice but it's not for the drinks...?" Kiyotaka's expression changed from bemused to wary. "Uh, was there a problem here, Mondo?"

"Nah, y'know how Leon is," Mondo's voice was disgustingly soft all of a sudden. "C'mon, I think I see Chi playing a game."

As they walked away, Leon caught Mondo rest his hand on Taka's neck then slide down to mid-back without issue. Smirking, Leon adjusted his now loose shirt collar and followed at a distance.

An hour. A whole damn hour passed watching Mondo slowly achieve touching Kiyotaka's hip! Leon wanted to scream. He didn't mean go that slow! And Taka acted like he didn't notice or care either. Leon wished Souda really was spiking drinks so he could down three.

Sayaka appeared at Leon's side, startling the redhead. "You're disappointed in him," she stated.

"Of course I'm disappointed! Dude's a gang leader and he acts like the Ultimate Gentleman!" Wait. "Wait, what do you mean? How do you...?"

"Psychi~c," she sing-songed innocently before she pointed to the couple Leon had been stalking. When Leon looked over, Kiyotaka's hand reached back to purposefully guide Mondo's hand from his hip down the short distance to the swell of his behind, and kept it there.

What? The fuck? Happened? He'd been expecting jumping, yelling, possibly some face-slapping to get on video, but definitely wasn't expecting Taka to push Mondo to the goal line. Mondo himself looked dumbstruck.

'Sonuvabitch,' Leon thought. Good for them and all but what was he supposed to do, not tease them? He sauntered up behind the two and stage-whispered, "Oi! Ass-grabbing is not welcome in a school environment!"

They yelped and jumped apart, then just as quickly whirled on him. Mondo's red face especially said Leon was in danger, but it was Kiyotaka who spoke.

"We're outside of school hours, in the rec room among friends! If public displays of affection made you uncomfortable, you could have asked instead of disturbing your peers with vulgar mockery." His arms were crossed and his eyes appeared almost aflame. He was not happy being interrupted.

"Ha," Leon pointed at the proud model student, "It was just funny catching the school mascot initiate groping. You been wanting that a while?"

There was a low growl coming from the direction of Mondo now.

Sayaka grabbed Leon's shoulder and murmured a warning, "Kuwata, you should probably let it go."

He ignored her.

Kiyotaka's eyebrows furrowed as if ready to pounce and maul Leon's face. "It was not groping. Why is it surprising I'd want my partner to touch me?"

"Babe," Mondo had stopped growling at Leon to put all his attention on his boyfriend, "it was really ok? Ya knew what I was tryin t'do all night?"

"Of course," Taka said warmly. "You were only holding me, and I'm yours, so obviously you can-"

"M-MINE?!" Mondo honest-to-god squeaked.

Leon reacted just as loudly, "Did I just hear Taka imply his ass belongs to Mondo? Kiyotaka?? Ishimaru?!"

Whoops, he was being lifted again. Only this time Mondo brought him all the way to the door and literally threw him out.

"Owww. So much for my fun."

Sayaka sighed as she walked out to Leon and handed him something. "You can thank Hiro for the ice."

#please yell at me for this ooc i rewrote it so many times #i think if sayaka and hiro teamed up the world would explode #ishimondo #kiyotaka ishimaru #mondo oowada #danganronpa #idk why i hc leon with no filter

55 notes · View notes

sanstropfremir · 4 years ago

Note

pls do talk more about b*s and their current image (censoring because if you don’t have great things to say i don’t want you to be attacked by their crazy stans :))

i always bring this up when i talk about them but it’s really :( that they are the way they are now. like i was a fan because of their hyyh era and their songs about the troubled youth. and of course they can’t stay in that image forever (because we all grow up and it would just be v fake if they tried to continue it given their status and wealth now.) it’s just disappointing that they went down the ‘safe, disney image’ and are releasing generic mainstream pop songs people will forget after a couple listens. i’m no longer a fan of them now but yuh.

also not to mention how they essentially made kpop boring for me now lol i wish companies had fun with their music selections instead of aiming for whatever b*s has. like we will never get a group like orange caramel again (i know wjsn chocome’s concept was similar but it just didn’t feel the same. you talked about it before and i wholeheartedly agree with ur points.)

thank you for the consideration of censoring the name but honestly i'm not that worried about it. i do however find the increasingly creative ways people censor it to be extremely hilarious so keep it up if you would like.

i addressed most of the first part of your ask in the second part of my response here, this is now the third installment in a series, somehow. (the first part is here).

not to level this at you in specific anon, because i know a lot of people share this sentiment of kpop being 'boring' now, and while there is an element of this that is influenced by bts, and although it is true we aren't getting the same level of wild that produced orange caramel, there is actually interesting and kinda weird stuff happening in kpop; it's just not by the groups that are getting the most attention. dreamcatcher has been out here doing horror rock since their debut in 2017. onf has put out two excellent summer pop tracks with fun and stupid genre mvs. i love this recent ghost9 track. i'm obsessed with the instrumental in the chorus of bdc's moon walker. just b debuted last month with a strange bang yongguk track and a very 2013 feeling mv. here's another weird and fun boy group debut, blitzers. a.c.e have put out favourite boys, the fave boyz remix, down, and higher as their last four releases which all have the most coherent and well designed concepts in the last year. and while i'm at it i might as well include take me higher and undercover. oneus put out a mad max themed performance video randomly for no reason like three weeks ago. the rest of the industry were cowards for not following up on to be or not to be with a shakespeare comeback wave. rip onlyoneof but they gave us a whole three week comeback of dick grabs. hanya brought my attention to this weird as shit debut track from a group that has now totally disappeared. knk's sunset exists. we moved on way too fast from the mv because taeyang was being cunty on music shows but sf9's teardrop has probably some of the most interesting shots in a kpop mv in the last several years. and we definitely moved on too fast from my favourite just some guy and goofy movie character woodz's feel like.

i think it's pretty fatalistic to view bts as having singlehandedly made the industry boring because honestly......i don't think they have. if you want to talk about the downturn to plainclothes styling....well that's shinee's fault. and the general trend to less dramatic fashion and visual tastes is not exclusive to the kpop industry, it's been a whole cultural trend. the mid to late 2010s were the rise of 'normcore' and we haven't burst the bubble yet. bts is just reflecting trends happening in the wider world, and in particular the western one. for the most viewed kpop mv of 2020 dynamite did....what exactly? it didn't really spawn any significant copycats in terms of sound or aesthetics, with the exception of maybe superm's we do if you look at it a bit sideways. although this is one of bts' better styled mvs, 70s retro did not make any resurgence in kpop styling, EXCEPT in magazine and fashion shoots, which it was already doing in the west. taemin's criminal was significantly more influential; i can think of at least three different male soloist mvs that borrowed heavily from it. honestly i think stylists and groups are trying to steer as clear as possible of whatever aesthetics bts uses, lest they accidentally doom themselves to a (perceived) slighted fanbase. plus, there's been a pretty sizable resurgence in contemporary hanbok styling, so even though there is a lot more outward attention going to things like international promotions for other groups and whatever the hell sm keeps trying to do with nct, i think a fair amount of companies are interested in maintaining the koreanness of kpop while facilitating broader global access.

and honestly, bigger acts have also put out interesting things in the last year. we did all see taemin's back to back release roster for ngda right? criminal? idea???? advice???????? fuck, chocolate was barely a year ago. whatever your opinions on yunho are, thank u is fucking brilliant mv. sunmi's tail. lie to me and tell me the mv for you can't sit with us isn't fun as fuck. i dunno what the hell the new nct127 song is gonna be like but the teaser photos and mood sampler are weird as hell and i'm absolutely interested. he's only kpop adjacent at the moment but jackson's 100 ways and lmly are really sharply produced low budget mvs with clean and interesting visuals. maniac shot to the top of my most listened immediately after it dropped because lia kim AND those slick horns in the instrumental???? ten's paint me naked was not at all what i was expecting but it's still fun as hell and has a pretty unique aesthetic.

the tldr of this whole three parter is this: bts has always been reactionary to wider cultural trends and that's been how they've made it this far. yes their influence on the industry looms very large because of the predominence of them on the scene, but it's mostly in the perception of kpop rather than in the artistry of it.

i don't think any company is going to be able to achieve what bts and hybe have, which i think is fine. they're the scale tipped too far. hopefully by now most companies have probably noticed that they don't need to cater to the western market so hard, and that it's probably not a good idea to offer their artists up on the racist chopping block of the western pop scene. you can market to an international fanbase without trying to gun for a grammy or for billboard or whatever. creating interesting art should be at the fore, not numbers goals. but we're just gonna have to wait and see what happens in the next year or so.

#now if youll excuse me im going to go listen to the mixnine love in the ice stage again for the 524th time #because i have FEELINGS and today has been a LOT #i dont know that im necessarily saying anything that other people havent said before but yea #there is definitely a saturation in the market but i really dont think you can blame that on bts #there are many other groups that have proved the industry is heavily profitable #it is very reasonable that there is a glut. finding the gold may require a bit more sifting but it's still there #honestly watching the music shows is the best and easiest way to keep engaged and finding new stuff #you dont even have to watch the whole show. you can just watch the stages #that's what i do in the morning. like reading the newspaper lmao #i will answer more questions about bts if people have them but i will try not to make them this long because this is just unreasonable #875 #kpop questions #kpop analysis #group analysis #text #answers

25 notes · View notes

aggressive-positivity-network · 4 years ago

Note

Your demo in a relationship headcanons were simply aaaaaaahhhh!*chef kiss* could we maybe have some for everyone's favorite aussie stringbean?

I absolutely love Sniper...he’s one of those characters I can just fall back on. I also just like Australian accents, especially when he speaks in a low, intimidating voice. Gets me every time. Makes me either blush or happy stim whenever I hear it.

First Date:

You find Sniper on a dating app after a particularly bad break-up.

His profile picture is of him shirtless, holding a huge gun next to him. However, instead of looking sexily into the camera, he’s looking off camera with a bewildered look on his face.

His bio says, “My friends put me up to this. Don’t expect too much. If you go on one date with me maybe they’ll shut up. Who bloody knows?”

You get curious, and you decide to start a chat with him.

“Your friends put you up to this huh? 😏”

“yeah. what of it?”

“What, are you some lonely wolf type or what?”

“you could say that.”

He was texting back almost immediately. Even if he wasn’t a lovey-dovey person, he was certainly interested.

“How would you like to get those friends off your back?”

“i’m free wednesday.”

You make plans, which, despite only seeing this as a one-night stand, you gradually get more and more excited for.

You meet Sniper at a nicer restaurant, wearing a new black dress that you hadn’t worn yet.

When you finally see him at the lobby, you realize that the picture didn’t do him justice, even thought he now had a beige suit on.

His lankiness showed a bit more, but his arms were very strong despite his frame. He was wearing sunglasses, which added an air of cool refinement.

At first you thought he was British because of his texts, but when he spoke, you knew right away he was Australian. You are far from disappointed.

You are still waiting for your table when all of a sudden, Sniper takes out a huge knife. Before you can react, he quickly slices something out of your vision and then brings it before your eyes. You had forgotten to take the tag off your dress.

“I’m flattered. I didn’t think you’d get all shinied up for me.”

You breathe out shakily and rub your neck. Sniper’s eyes furrow.

“I didn’ nick ya, did I?”

“N-no...just s-scared me...”

You thought maybe you had met up with a psycho, and all your suspicions were not put to rest yet, but the close encounter seemed to awaken something in you.

The date continues as normal. Both of you are pretty awkward at first, especially since the knife incident. But before the main meal is brought to your table, you’ve started up a conversation.

Sniper told you he was in the military, but his base is very lax with dress code and schedule.

You start telling him about your job as a graphic designer when all of a sudden a scream interrupts you mid-sentence.

There’s a guy holding a gun about eight tables from you, pointing it at the many patrons. He doesn’t seem drunk, but just enraged.

“WHAT’S A GUY GOTTA DO TO GET SOME DAMN FRIES?!”

The manager tries to talk to him, but ends up getting shot, most likely dead.

The yelling continues for about fifteen minutes. You are very uncomfortable, not to mention terrified, but Sniper seems oddly nonchalant.

Suddenly, Sniper yells, “OI! THEY’RE BRINGIN’ OUT YOUR FRIES! RIGHT THERE, MATE!”

The guy follows Sniper’s finger, and all of a sudden there’s a gunshot. But it wasn’t from the madman’s gun...it was from Sniper’s.

The guy falls over on top of the bleeding manager, writhing in agony.

Before you can even process what’s happening, Sniper grabs you by the arm and drags you out of the restaurant.

“Dishes it out but can’t take it, eh luv? C’mon, we’ll go to my place. It’s real nice.”

You get into his van, which smells like a mixture of old leather, beef jerky, and...something else. However, your terror quickly trumps your logic.

“First Time”:

Despite your fiasco of a first date, you still decide to stay at Sniper’s until it’s all blown over.

His apartment is covered wall to wall with guns, memorabilia, and sticky notes, usually with names and dates written on them.

On the far wall was a cork board filled to the brim with pictures, yarn, and Xs made in thick red Sharpie.

“If I woulda known it would go this far, I woulda tidied up the place. Sorry about that, luv.”

You brush it off, and you both sit on an old leather couch with bits of stuffing sticking out of it.

You take this as a cue to get around to what this whole date had been about: some sweet, sweet rebound. It seems awkward now that you had gone through so much - besides, you hadn’t expected to connect with Sniper the way you have...

But you still manage to spit it out.

“Er...yeah. That’s what people usually do, right? Yeah? I dunno. I’ve been off the playin’ field awhile.”

Sniper puts his hands around your neck and let’s you begin to kiss him. But it was clear after a while he wasn’t into it, so you pull away and ask if he wanted to wait another time.

“Aw, no, shiela. Look at me, lyin’ ‘ere like a dead fish...I just...I’ll try ‘arder, luv, I promise.”

You pull away completely. This had trauma written all over it, and you weren’t about to force someone into it...you were better than your ex.

“Did I do somethin’ wrong?”

You asked him what was wrong, and why he was being so passive about what was happening to him. Why didn’t he say anything? Do anything?

Sniper sighed, pulling his hat way down in front of his face.

“I like girls, don’t get me wrong. It isn’t that. But I never felt...that way about ‘em. Or anybody else, honestly. I tried it once in college...I just ended up feelin’ sick. Tried it with another girl, then another, then another. I even tried with my guy roommate. But I always ended up feelin’ like I was gonna puke. Sometimes I did. It just never felt right. It wasn’t magical, it was bloody disgusting.”

“But every girl I’ve ever been with expected it, and to keep ‘em, I ‘ad to do what they wanted. Sometimes I’d just lie there, tryin’ not to vomit, trying to at least move a little, act like I was into it. They said they’d change my mind, that this time would be different. At the end of the day, it never was, and I lost ‘em. And now I’m gonna lose you too, ‘n I’m gonna halfta tell the guys...they’ll never let this go...”

Back At The Base... :

Spy called the entire team into the security room to watch the entire date go down. He had placed a bug on Sniper’s suit while helping him adjust it, and now everyone was here to watch the show.

Everybody cheered when the guy was shot, though Spy made a mental note to call Miss Pauling in the morning.

The whole team, Scout especially, was excited to see some action when Sniper brought you to his apartment. Well, everyone except Medic. He stood their with his eyebrows creased. He knew exactly what was going to happen.

“Aw, c’mon Snipes, what’s the hold up?! She is so inta you!”

There wasn’t any sound, so no one exactly knew why Sniper paused for so long.

Finally, you two came back together again, but after about thirty minutes of just kissing, the other mercs got bored really fast.

Scout was especially disappointed.

“Man, this was whole thing was a bust!”

Spy shrugged. “Not quite a waste of time. Look at her. She’s smitten. I never thought I would say this, but gentlemen - we have found Sniper a suitable suitor!”

Medic, eyes wide, kept his Sniper’s medical history too himself - not for HIPAA, but for the drama of it all. He wanted to see how this would play out.

Love At First Shot:

On a casual date at his place, Sniper catches you admiring one of his weapons.

“That’s one’s a beaut, ain’ it? That’s one ‘a my oldest guns. She’s outta service, the old girl, but she don’t look a shot over thirty.”

He picks it up and cocks it, nodding approvingly.

“Got this offa real bloody fruit seller. The muzzle ‘ad stains all over it, rust in some places...the bloke obviously had no idea how to take care of it.”

You suddenly feel a pang in your chest.

“Oi, luv, not a fan ‘a guns?”

“No...I...it just made me remember something.”

Sniper puts down his weapon, sits on the sofa, and pats his leg.

“‘Ere. Tell me about it.”

You hesitate for a moment before shyly sitting on his knee. You’re on the smaller side, but you were still afraid you might hurt him.

“Aw, it’s alright. Put your full weight on. These babies can ‘old an Aussie an’ an AK-47.”

You giggle, letting yourself get a little more comfortable.

“Now, luv...what’s on your mind? What’s that pretty lil’ head a’ yours thinkin’?”

You sigh.

“My boyfriend...or, my ex-boyfriend...we broke up for a reason. Or, well, I dumped him. We had been dating for almost three years, and I didn’t see it coming.”

“Crazy train crashed inta the station, huh?”

“He almost did. He...he had hit me before. I just didn’t say anything because I didn’t want him to get in trouble. But one night...it got really, really bad. He wasn’t even drunk. He was still in his work uniform. I stayed with a friend, and I told him it was over with a text - I was just so scared he’d find me. He knew my friends. He knew my address. And so I just wanted to find someone to protect me. It was more than just rebound...I just didn’t want to be alone. I wanted one person in my life he didn’t know so they could protect me.”

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, but you bit them back. You didn’t feel like sobbing in front of your new boyfriend. Sniper, though, started laying down, taking you with him.

Your head was now under his chin, and you were laying all along his body. The sudden show of affection caught you off guard. You started to cry, burying your face in his chest.

Sniper wrapped his arms around you, supporting your entire weight easily.

Neither of you spoke for a good fifteen minutes, except for Sniper saying an occasional, “Aw, sweetheart...”

Finally, you calmed down, feeling safe in your boyfriend’s embrace.

“Y’know, luv...”

Sniper hesitated.

“I...could teach ya how to shoot. If it’ll make ya feel safe.”

You sniffle and look up.

“I know ya probably want some big, strong man to protect ya, an’ I will. God, if anybody even touches a bloody ‘air on your ‘ead, I’ll kill ‘em. But I wan’ you to go to the movies, or the store, or just ‘ave a nice walk an’ not be lookin’ over your shoulder. I wan’ ya to enjoy your life, luv.”

“I...I can’t shoot a gun...”

“Why not?”

“I can’t...aim or shoot...I don’t think I’ve even held a gun before...”

“Well, we can fix that! ‘Ere...”

Sniper leans over and picks up his old gun again, laying it in your hands. It’s a bit heavier than you expected.

You run your hands over the muzzle and barrel, not even daring to touch the trigger.

Sniper puts his hands over yours and guides them over the gun, giving you more confidence about handling the weapon.

“A gun is like...like a dog. You train it right, an’ you train yourself, you’ll be fine. You’re no kid, so you know ‘ow dangerous these can be. But fear doesn’t shoot the bullet. Fear doesn’ aim for ya.”

Every time you went to his apartment, he would do this. Sometimes you two would be talking, and he would nonchalantly hand you the gun, which, after a while, you took without thought.

Now it was time to take you to the range.

He gave you that old gun to use as practice, but promised a newer, more compact gun when you had gotten the hang of shooting.

Hands on your shoulders, hands over yours, he taught you how to target a person’s more sensitive areas.

Over the next few months, you grew better and better at hitting your mark. You weren’t perfect, but you could definitely defend yourself.

One night, Sniper went to go get you both Chinese food, and you were hanging out at your apartment.

You heard a knock on your window. You ignore it, thinking a bird had flown into it by accident. However, as the knocking grew louder and more insistent, you lift your head, startled.

It was your ex-boyfriend.

He was in a suit, but his face wasn’t nearly as neat. His eyes were red and wide, and his hair was messy.

He had walked up the fire escape to your balcony, and was leaning against the rail, relaxed.

You stayed inside, but you knew that the door was unlocked - he could come in any time he wanted. And he knew this.

He spoke, and you could hear him through the glass.

“Still single. Just like I thought.”

You opened your mouth to speak, but he cut you off.

“I came back because I was worried. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you...I thought maybe something had happened. You were so depressed when you left. I couldn’t help but think that maybe...well, that doesn’t matter. What matters is that you’re here, and I am more than willing to be with you again. I think we both have cooled off, right? We’ve had some time apart, and now we’ve realized we’re madly in love with each other and can’t be apart for another minute...”

“I have a new boyfriend!”

You blurted it out so suddenly you even surprised yourself. But your ex was unmoved.

“Oh, right. Sure. How much are you paying him, this boyfriend of yours? Do you have to pay extra for sex, or do you have a pity discount?”

“He...he’ll come back...and...”

You looked beside you. Your gun was laying on the floor beside you. Sniper had just taken you to the range, and you hadn’t had enough time to put it away.

You remembered what he said...

“I wan’ ya to enjoy your life, luv.”

You put your hand around the gun, grasping it tightly.

You swallow.

“Come back and what?” your ex jeered. “What’s your new boyfriend going to do? Beat me up?”

You are still trying to make your decision when you hear the glass door open.

“Look at me when I’m talking to you, angel. I want to see your beautiful face.”

You whip around, the gun in your hand. Your ex immediately recoils, his hands flinging up.

“Woah woah woah...!”

“Please. Leave.”

Your voice is hoarse, but you try to sound as firm as possible.

“Even if I didn’t have a boyfriend, I would never get back with you. Ever. You...you made me feel so helpless, scared, alone...I can’t feel that way forever. I don’t want you to get hurt, but I want you to leave and never come back. Please. Just leave me alone.”

Your ex smirks, albeit shakily. “You can’t shoot that. You’ve never touched a gun in your life.”

“My boyfriend wanted me to be safe. He wanted me to be happy. He wanted me to be able to deal with creeps like you.”

You get up, gun still in hand, and your ex backs away.

“He did more than you ever did.”

“What, so you’re just going to shoot me? End up on the six o’clock news?”

“No. I won’t. I don’t want to hurt you. I just want you to leave. For good.”

“I bet that thing isn’t even loaded.”

You show him a half-full magazine and point to the fire escape.

“Like you know how to -!”

You quickly turn to a picture of a seaside landscape, shakily aim, and manage to shoot it, shattering the frame to pieces.

“Get. Out.”

Your ex practically runs out, yelling that he was calling the police.

Sniper comes back a few minutes later, and when he asks you what the hell happened, you start telling him between trembling breaths what had occurred.

Sniper turned bright red and tipped his hat down.

“That bloody wanker...fruit sellin’...”

He starts to walk towards the fire escape, but you stop him.

“I scared him off, please don’t...he said he was going to call the police...”

Sniper took a few deep breaths, calming down.

“We’ve got th’ best lawyers in the country. I’d like to see ‘im try.”

The police was never called - you think it was probably a pride thing, since you had overpowered him so easily - but you weren’t sure you had seen the last of him.

But with your own experience and Sniper’s, you had some piece of mind.

However, you were soon going to find out that Sniper had more power on his side than you thought...

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

Long time, no headcanon! Well, good headcanons, anyway. I rushed my last post, so I tried to go all out with this one. I might write a second part when headcanons are open again, but I think I prefer leaving some things up to the imagination, hm?

Anyway, more headcanons on the way! Same bat time, same bat channel! The next one is about siblings, though I may post shorter headcanons before that, since it’s such a fun idea to write.

#tf2 #tf2 fandom #tf2 ask blog #tf2 headcanon #tf2 headcanons #sniper tf2 #tf2 sniper

45 notes · View notes

hargrove-mayfields · 4 years ago

Text

A Password And A Promise

💕 Happy Valentine's Day!!! You guys are all my Valentines, thank you, thank you, thank you so much for all the positive reception! 💕

It’s day five of the week of love and today’s prompt that I chose was Snuggling for Warmth!! Read here or on ao3 at ej_writer !

Word Count: 3,649

Rating: T

First winter in the Midwest, and Billy’s been out in the snow for hours on end.

He’d like to say that he has no idea why he’s doing this, but he does. Chief Hopper asked him to.

As if his record wasn’t already bad enough, with the fights and the vandalism and all the other bad things he’d done since his arrival in Hawkins, he just had to go and get himself a DUI charge.

He’d been speeding off to some middle schoolers house, schnockered after a party to pick his sister up when he got pulled over. He’d begged the chief to let him off easy, promised he’d never pick up another bottle if it meant that the DUI didn’t make it on file.

And the chief, he understood that. He’d been the one to ask Billy a few questions when he was admitted to the hospital in mid-November and a nurse, recognizing the signs of abuse, asked him to come check it out. Despite Billy’s best efforts, the Hopper’d wormed it out of him that his father had been the one to land him there.

So when he made his plea, it didn’t take much convincing to get him to help him out.

Still, he couldn’t justifiably let Billy walk away unpunished for driving drunk, especially being that, with the new legislation Indiana was rolling out, he was now way under the age limit. To compromise, he opted to make him do community service instead.

Had Billy known how that would turn out for him, he might’ve rather just taken the beating for the DUI than doing three hours of shoveling sidewalks. A kick to the ribs or a punch to the jaw probably would’ve hurt less than the ache in his bones, feeling more and more like they were made out of heavy lead, or the sting of the cold air on his fingers and on his face.

For as many years as he had lived in California, he’d never seen snow stick to the ground for more than a few minutes, if at all, and he’d definitely never had to wear more than a jacket to protect himself from cold weather.

Now, having underestimated just how cold snow could actually get, he was freezing his ass off. He didn’t even have a stupid pair of gloves or anything, mouthing but a layer of thin denim to protect him from the record low temperatures.

Just because the universe hated him, the beating down snow wouldn’t slow down either. Not only were his clothes getting soaked completely through, his jacket a sopping mess and his boots more like rain barrels than shoes, but basically every time he cleared a sidewalk off, it'd be covered again before he reached the end.

Under all that snow, it was icy as all hell too, getting more so by the minute. Biker boots weren’t designed to walk on ice, and apparently nobody around these parts was decent enough to even sprinkle out a little ice melt before a storm, so more than a few times, he’d hit an icy patch and wipe the hell out. Thanks to a combination of the sun going down so early and the bitter freezing temperatures, there was nobody around to watch his feet go out from under him, but it still hurt like a son of a bitch.

He was worn down the bone by the time he finally reached Loch Nora, the first place where he could catch a damn break. Everyone up in that little neighborhood was rich enough to pay their lawn boys to scrape and salt the sidewalks for them, and didn't need some scraggly teenager avoiding a criminal record to do it for them.

Without doing any work it got even colder, and he was pretty sure he was going to get hypothermia and keel over in some hoity-toity’s lawn. His hair was frozen, his lungs burned from the cold air leaving him unable to catch his breath, and his teeth were chattering. He thought that shit only happened in the cartoons.

Billy's starting to realize that when Hopper had told him five hours, he probably hadn’t meant all at once. But nobody told him that the weather could be like this, he thought he would just be able to get it all out of the way now, when he could be certain there even was snow to shovel and no Boy Scouts giving him a run for his money.

Too bad he’d probably freeze to death before he finished.

But before that can happen, he’s intercepted by the double doors at 8253 swinging open, nearly jumping out of his skin when the wind catches it and hits it off the side of the house.

Were it literally anybody else shouting to him from their stoop, he’d have just kept walking. But the boy who lived in the mansion at 8253 was none other than Steve Harrington, who called out to him over the wind, “Billy? What the shit are you doin’ out here, man?”

Steve Harrington, who had apologized first for Billy kicking his ass, and started hanging out with him before the scars even healed. He apparently had the superpower to make friends with absolutely anybody, even difficult bullies who made every effort to keep him from doing exactly that.

Don’t get him wrong, being buddy-buddy with Steve Harrington was definitely something he was interested in, but he wasn’t a fan of the way he pretended absolutely nothing was wrong after they fought. He’d concussed him, had to be drugged before he’d stop beating him, and Steve still was the first to reach out.

There had to be some sort of a catch to that kindness, and Billy just wasn’t looking to get too attached.

And yet, Billy stopped for him, when he called out, so maybe it wouldn’t have been entirely truthful to say that he was particularly bothered by Steve’s persistence. If you pressed him hard enough, he might even admit he thought it was kind of endearing.

“Just doing my civic duty, Harrington.” He could kick himself for how weak his voice sounds.

“It’s below zero, Billy. Why don’t you come in?” There’s something like concern in the way he says it, and it makes Billy want to walk away.

“I’ll pass.”

But Steve’s not having it, puts a hand on his hip. “I think the fuck you won’t. Get in here man.”

Billy might be stubborn, but Steve won’t take no for an answer. He knows when he’s lost, so he shoves the handle of the snow shovel towards Steve, who rolls his eyes and takes it, leaves it lean beside the door, and shoulders past Steve into his mansion, instantly feeling like he was melting in the dry warmth that radiated from the house.

Steve shuts the door behind them and hangs his scarf on a coat rack by the door. His boots and coat follow, and he makes Billy do the same. They both grimace at the puddle of water that spills out of Billy’s boot when it tips over.

“Jesus dude, how long were you out there?”

Billy shrugs, winces at the movement of sore shoulders, and lies. He wouldn’t want Steve to make a fuss if he knew. “Dunno. Lost track of the time.”

“Wait here, I’ll be right back.” Steve plods up carpeted steps, leaving Billy to stand awkwardly on the door mat so he doesn’t drip all over the hardwood floors.

He takes the moment alone to take in his surroundings.

The Harringtons were more than well off, everybody knew that, but being inside of their house, their goddamned mansion, is nothing like Billy expected.

Just from where he’s standing at the door, he can see a living room furnished with big plush couches and a TV in an entertainment center the size of the whole wall. Across from it is the entrance to a dining room with more chairs than a family of three needed at a long table, chandelier overhead.

There were potted plants in every corner and paintings and family photos hung on every wall. Knick-knacks, probably all ordered from some magazine like his own step mom would day dream about shopping from, adorned every last unaided surface, from the huge console record player to every side table and wall shelf.

The longer he looked though, the more Billy noticed all the little things, like cobwebs in the high corners, and dust built up on the wax fruit, the 1979 time stamp on the most recent of their family photos. It wasn’t hard to piece together that this place was just a set.

Suddenly the obnoxiously high ceilings and the fancy decorations felt a lot less like grandeur, and a lot more suffocating. Billy felt bad knowing Steve was here all the time by himself, the sole pretender playing this part of the perfect family.

But then he’s brought out of his reflections by Steve hurrying back down the steps with a neatly folded stack of clothes in hand that he’s shoving towards him.

“The hell are these?”

“A change of clothes.” Billy just looks at him, scrunching his nose at the suggestion, and still won’t take them. “Dude you’re soaked to the bone, you’ll never get warm if you don’t get outta those clothes.”

Billy smirks, raises an eyebrow, but he takes the clothes.

Steve, realizing he could’ve worded that a little better blushes, just the faintest dusting of pink on his pale cheeks. “Shut up man. Bathroom’s down the hall to the right.”

Even the Harrington’s bathroom is the pinnacle of wealthy interior design. Not only is the room as big as Billy’s entire living room, but it’s just as overly designed as the rest of the house.

The walls are black and gold, marbled in the most gaudy flaunting of money Billy’d ever seen. A huge clawfoot tub was settled in the counter, framed by beige tile counters. There was a mirror surrounded by lights right above the sink that spanned almost the entire wall. It felt like something straight out of a magazine. Hell, it probably was.

Even the bathroom in this place makes Billy feel out of place, the luxury of it all so much unlike what he was used to.

It’s warm in the bathroom, the shut door and the smaller space collecting keeping the heat in, and it makes his clothes start to feel gross on his skin, way too cold in contrast. He swallows his pride and looks at what Steve gave him to change into.

There’s two shirts, a henley and a drug rug, a pair of fleece pajama pants, and some fuzzy hospital socks with the grips on the bottom.

Before he puts his shirt on, he notices there’s bruises on his shoulders, on his back and his elbows, from the many times the ice had sent his feet out from under him, but honestly, it gives him this strange sense of pride, knowing he put them there himself.

He was more than used to marks on his skin, put there by an angry father and his rage, so it was a welcome change to know he’d just gotten these ones just from being clumsy. He almost didn’t want to cover them up, but another shiver ran up his spine, causing goose pimples to pop up all over his body, and he elected to slip the two shirts Steve had picked for him over his head, just to keep himself from freezing.

Wearing Steve’s clothes makes him look soft in every way that was not like him. Without his usual denim and leather, he just looked like the boring version of himself. No longer the stereotypical image of high school bad boy he tries so hard for, he just plain old Billy.

He likes it. A lot. Stares at himself in that huge mirror for longer than is probably considered normal before deciding he should leave the bathroom.

Back in the living room, there’s a huge glass protected fireplace on the far wall, in front of which Steve’s on his knees currently trying, and failing, to start a fire up in. At home, all Billy had was a dinky plug in fireplace that stank like hot dust, but he knew how to start a fire regardless.

He’d been there when his father burnt all of his mother’s things she’d left behind.

“You need a starter.”

Steve jumps, apparently having not noticed Billy coming into the room. “What, like gas?”

“Jesus Christ, no, not like gas. We're inside, doofus.” He has to laugh at Steve’s incompetence, but he offers his help. “You have any of those bricks?”

“These?” Steve opens a drawer beside the fireplace full of fire starters, and Billy realizes this is just another piece of the set. He’d be the first person to actually use this fireplace in years, if anyone even ever had before him.

“Yeah, those.” He confirms, but Steve just sits there, doesn’t know what to do with it. “Just put it under the wood and light it.”

“Huh.” Steve looks at the fire he made, seemingly a little surprised that it worked, brushes his hands on his pants and turns to Billy. He looks him up and down, taking in how he looked in the change of clothes and grins as he says, “You look cozy.”

Billy, trying to make up for the way his heart starts pounding from the observation, bites back, “And you look like a gracious host who’s going to make me a hot coffee.”

Steve looks like he thinks for a second before he asks, “Would you settle for hot cocoa?”

“I don’t care, long as it’s warm.”

Billy waits until Steve disappears around the corner into the kitchen before he sits down cross legged on the floor in front of the fire place.

The warmth of the fire radiates over him in a way that brings feeling back to his body, is almost soothing.

When he was little, he could remember having bonfires on cool summer nights out back of their first house in California. The lick of the flames against wood, the way the bright tendrils of fire would dance used to be so calming. He’d always fall asleep outside in a canvas lawn chair, and wake up the next morning tucked into his bed.

But the heat is too much, makes his skin itch, burning from the inside out in a way that wasn’t so pleasant.

He remembers his father, drunk off his ass, dragging him out to that same fire pit by his arm, leaving welts on soft skin, forcing him to watch as he burned every memory they had of his mother. Every picture, every possession, every shred of clothing, burnt to ash until there was nothing left but her voice on the other end of a telephone, and even that stopped after a little while.

He doesn’t notice Steve come back from the kitchen, he’s too caught up in the flames, curling up around the wood and leaving burnt destruction in its wake.

Too entranced by the fire warming him up and freezing him over at the same time. The brightness of it leaves black and pink spots on his vision from how intensely he’d been staring.

“I didn’t have any marshmallows so I-” Steve stops talking when he sees Billy, sees that he’s crying, sitting stock still and just, staring into the fire place. “Oh.”

Billy startles from the sound of his voice, blinks too fast, trying to chase away the splotches of light burnt into his eyes. The action forces him to realize there are tears wetting cheeks, which he wipes at a little too aggressive with his sleeve, hoping Steve won’t say anything.

And he doesn’t, he just reaches down and hands him a mug, not letting go until Billy's got both hands on it and he’s sure he won’t drop it. Billy hadn’t noticed himself shaking until he saw the way the cocoa rippled in the red mug.

Steve clears his throat, trying to think of the right thing to say. “You still cold?”

“No shit. I was out there for three hours.” It’s harsh, overcompensating for sure.

Steve nods, but points out his inconsistency. “I thought you lost track of time?”

“My brain thawed out and I remembered.” He mumbles. It makes Steve laughs, and Billy’s heart feels like it could burst.

“Well, I have some extra blankets and stuff, if you’re still cold.” Steve offers, and Billy nods in response, as if to say that that sounded nice without out actually having to admit anything.

But Steve doesn’t make any moves to go get it, just stands there shuffling his feet and looking down into his cocoa. Billy can already tell he’s going to say something that he doesn’t want to hear.

Before Steve can embarrass him, Billy asks impatient, “You gonna go get it or you gonna let me freeze?”

“Right. Yeah.” Steve bends down and sets his mug down on the lip of the fireplace and pads off to some storage closet somewhere in the mansion. Billy rolls his eyes and promptly moves it to the coffee table to keep the ceramic from heating up and burning him when he picked it up next.

Initially, Billy thinks nothing of it when Steve comes back with only one blanket. It seems perfectly reasonable to him that Steve, who had been in this well heated house presumably all day, just isn’t cold.

But when he sits back down he’s close enough that their knees bump where they’re crossed, and he spreads just the one blanket out across the both of them.

Thank god for the fact that there was already a flush on his cheeks from the fire, because Billy definitely would’ve been blushing like a little schoolgirl at that.

They don’t talk about anything, because there’s nothing too talk about. It’s a comfortable silence that settles between them, broken up only by the crackling and popping of the fire.

But after a while with nothing to distract him, to keep him aware that this was Steve’s house, Steve’s Persian rug underneath him, Steve himself sitting next to him, Billy drifts back to smoke filled lungs straining with the effort of screaming for his mom, to the fist in his hair forcing him to watch.

Steve notices in an instant, those blue eyes going dull, his nostrils flaring and his jaw clenching, and the way his nails dig into his palms.

He sets his mug back down on the coffee table behind them, and gets up on his knees. He wraps the blanket they’d been sharing around Billy’s shoulders, and then his arms, linking his fingers together so he’s hugging Billy.

Except the slightest fluttering of his eyelashes, Billy shows no signs of a reaction. Steve takes that as his motivation to keep trying, and puts a hand on the back of his neck, says, “Hey, Billy.”

It makes his breath hitch, coming out in a cut off sigh. Billy asks, a little monotonous, “What’re you doin’?”

“Keeping you warm.”

Billy appreciates him not bringing up what’s obviously happening, but his head’s only partly coming back to him, and all he has the capacity to come up with as a response is, “Oh.”

Steve squeezes him a little tighter, his face pressing against his shoulder, to get him through the rest of it, to bring him back to earth.

It’s a while before he gets anything else from Billy. Long enough that he has to move so he doesn’t kill his knees sitting up on them, and he ends up with them thrown over top of Billy’s, so they can be as close as possible.

Because Billy wasn’t exactly back there anymore, but he wasn’t quite here either. He could hear Steve, feel his arm around his shoulders, his knuckles rubbing absently up his arm, he just couldn’t reach him yet.

When he gets back in his own head, he takes a moment to figure out where he is, and once he’s got it, he hooks his hands under Steve’s thighs, pulls him the rest of the way into his lap.

He doesn’t think about boundaries, about the fact that he should be more cautious, he just leans forward, presses their foreheads together and says, barely above a whisper, “Thank you.”

“Yeah. Anything for you.” Steve’s got a smile on his face, warm and genuine and blissful, and Billy can’t help the one that forms on his to match.

That’s where they stay until morning comes around. Billy just didn’t have the energy to get up and go home so late, and Steve didn’t have the heart to make him.

He got the throw pillows down off the couch, and they went to sleep the way they were, wrapped up in each other by the fire, well after it burns out and the last of the wood is gone.

Billy wakes up stiff from sleeping on the floor, but he couldn’t have been in any place more comfortable than Steve’s arms.

What Steve had done for him was practically unheard of. It was everything he was supposed to do, inviting someone in when they were cold, helping them out when they were feeling bad, but he’d never had that before. Not from anyone.

He’d hold the memory of Steve, holding him by the fire, equal parts concerned about getting him warm and getting him out of his head, in his heart forever.

That’s what he’s thinking about when he falls back asleep with a smile on his face, how this was just the start of making so many more memories to chase out the old.

Maybe Hawkins and it’s shitty winters wouldn’t be so bad, if he could spend them all like this.

#harringrove week of love #harringrove #billy x steve #billy hargrove #steve harrington #ej writer #story by ej!#this is kinda barely snuggling for warmth but it’s in my own little way that it is

35 notes · View notes

flowerthornsart · 4 years ago

Text

Drabble I had written in my journal during class and typed up last night in google docs. I’m pretty happy with it!

Simbako belongs to @plaguenevermore !

I can’t cut this (on mobile rn) til later so please block the tag “long post” if you want to skip over it!

—

Her eyes closed, feeling the cool breeze on her face as the opened the door leading to the roof of her apartment building. Looking over the bustle of the city from above always put her heart at ease. Maybe it was seeing the world in a wider scale, or that it all looked so small from up above, or maybe it was that siren call of swinging her legs over the edge yet still being able to overcome it. Either way, it was a sort of sanctuary after a long day. It was something that she was sure she wasn’t supposed to have access to, and it was merely coincidence that the few staff who would have any reason to be up there didn't lock the door. She was sure no one else really knew the door could be opened.

So it shocked her to see someone already on the roof, sitting on the edge of the roof and a beer in hand. Mantis looked at her own strawberry lagers in the six pack hooked on her fingers before cutting her eyes back. The city lights outlined his silhouette, messy hair evident as well as what looked to be bandages wrapped up to his elbows. That’s when it finally hit her. Eyes widening, her words escaped her lips before she even had the chance to stop herself.

“Simbako-?”

He immediately tensed, straightening up at the sound of another voice. He quickly turned to face her, already looking hostile and like he was trying to find his words. “The fuck are you doing here?” He snarled, though he was already planning how he’d make an escape; or if push came to shove, he was sure he could handle her on his own. Mantis put her free hand up, a small gesture as she moved forward.

“I could ask you the same, this is… er,” she faltered for a moment, thinking over her words. She couldn’t possibly tell him she lived in this complex. “... I usually relax here ‘cause it’s quiet.” to be fair, that wasn’t a lie, but the way his eyebrow raised made her realize how much more suspicious she sounded. She shook her head, pulling one of the glass bottles from the cardboard six pack she was holding and offered it out to him as she got closer. “Here, relax. I swear I’m not here to do anything. Er… do you mind having some company?”

Simbako looked to the hero, then the lager in her hand, before taking it with a resigned shrug. “Thanks, I think.” He muttered, looking away as Mantis sat just beside the edge, resting her drink on it’s raised eaves before crossing her arms over the edge. The silence between them was thick with tension, neither sure what exactly to say before Simbako finally spoke up.

“... So why the hell are you being so nice to me?” He watched her as she kept her eyes fixed on the city skyline, quiet for a moment longer before she finally answered.

“You haven’t really done anything to me yet,” she hummed, “Plus, I’m more of a ‘small time villain’ sort. I’m nowhere near as strong or useful as the others, and I’m pretty sure the couple times I got in fights with you and Rayne were ‘cause I was in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

He merely nodded along to that, taking a sip of the lager she had given him. His face scrunched up a little.

“This is really sweet.”

“Beats the convenience store beer you got.” She laughed, taking another swig of her own bottle. “So, why are you up here? Shouldn’t you be home?”

Simbako shrugged, the condensation of the glass bottle soaking into the wraps around his palms. “ I dunno, its just… some time to slow down. Nosy little shit, aren’t ya?”

“Hey, just trying to make some conversation.”

There was another stretch of silence between the two, but instead of it being tense, it felt like a more comfortable silence. At least, to Mantis it did. Her antennas twitched, slugging through half the bottle, the way only someone used to- or unbothered by the bitter burn could. Her eyes drifted from the city lights and the low din of cars and people to Simbako’s face. It wasn’t hard to notice the bags under his eyes, the unkempt scruff on his face. She knew this man was someone to be wary of- or hell, scared of- but most of what she was feeling was some sort of sympathy. He looked absolutely exhausted, eyes glazed, and it wasn’t because of the alcohol. Seeing his eyes suddenly cut over to meet hers, she quickly looked away, finishing off the rest of her bottle before setting it aside and already pawing for a second.

“What ya mentioned before; you’re a lot fuckin tougher than you look, it’s almost annoying. I swear ya held your own pretty good against Rayne.”

Mantis stopped mid pull of the second bottle cap, shocked by the sudden compliment and her mind clicking back to what exactly he had meant. “Uh- really? She tased my ass til I could taste peanut butter for a couple days, I’m pretty sure she won.” He held back a laugh, only a small huff escaping him before he continued.

“Didn’t say ya won, just that you’re tough. Between that and staying in Daxton, I thought for sure you’d be gone by now. This place is a shithole.”

“The whole world pretty much is, y’know?”

“... not what I’d expect from miss “I wanna play hero”.”

It was Mantis’ turn to glare up at him, a frown on her face as she studied the very light smirk on his face.

“Just ‘cause things are bad doesn’t mean I can't make the world better for someone, mister… erm-... mister half naked all the damned time!” That one did make him laugh a bit, shaking his head. “You’re just jealous you can't walk around like this.”

“I-! … Okay, maybe I am a little bit…!” Mantis laughed, obviously a bit tipsy but her laughter was sweet and genuine. “Really though, I’m not here to lecture you on hero stuff. I’ve just… have my reasons.”

“And I have mine.”

“Such as…?”

“There ya go being fuckin nosy again.” He had to admit her laid back, joking manner was contagious, to the point that even his usual grumbled retorts took on a lighter tone. Mantis was about to reply when a soft melody played from her pocket. She fished her phone from her pocket, tapping the screen a couple times until the alarm finally stopped. “Ugh, I can’t be up here much longer, I gotta sleep.”

“ ‘bout time, I thought you were gonna talk my ear off.”

Mantis rolled her eyes, picking up the half empty six pack and putting the empty bottles in the slots to throw out. As she picked up the empty convenience store one from Simbakos’ side, she gave him a sheepish grin. “...Uhm, thanks for keeping me company. I appreciate it. If you…” She stopped before shaking her head and continuing. “Just, you know where to find me most nights. I’m not gonna turn you away or be upset if you stop by again.” There was a mix of confusion and surprise on his face as she trailed off, but he simply nodded and turned away again. There wasn’t much else to say to that, so Mantis opened the roof access again, quietly closing the door behind her. Face to face with the stairs again, a mixture of different emotions and the alcohol warming her body kept her in place at the top for a moment. She was sure that’d be the last she saw of him, outside of watching Blade and the others fighting him, and all she could do was sigh, shake her head, and take that first step.

At least she had gotten him to laugh, she felt a weird sense of pride at that.

#my writing #long post #I always say this bit I need to write more pasldkwkd

6 notes · View notes

eryiss · 4 years ago

Text

Summary: Freed and Gajeel were total opposites in every way, only connected by the guild. When they were forced to train together under Makarov's orders, they expected antagonism and mistrust. Instead, they were given a lesson in how quickly opposition can turn to attraction. The issue: let the budding relationship simmer away, or let it explode. [Freed x Gajeel Multi-chapter]

Notes: Hi everyone. Strap in for character development, and the ridiculous lengths that are needed to cause the development. Hope you all enjoy.

Links: FFN, Ao3, Chapter List

Chapter Four - Fighting In The Moonlight

Day Three: Wednesday

When Freed woke the next day, he wasn't surprised to find he didn't suddenly like Gajeel Redfox. The last few days of pointless antagonism and ridiculous challenges didn't slip his mind, and the stalemate between them was as tenuous as it could possibly be. This was what he expected; a weak apology after an argument was hardly going to fix everything that had happened between them in such a short time, and the overwhelming dislike they held from each other. That wasn't how emotions worked, and it certainly wasn't how Freed worked as a person.

Though, the multiple blow-ups that Freed had indulged in were hardly how he acted either. Maybe Gajeel had knocked him off kilter more than he thought.

The rest of the last night had been awkward; perhaps the most awkward situation they had been in yet. At least before, they'd had their anger and resentment to focus on, but their conversation seemed to take that away. For the rest of the night, they were two men who had a lot of issues and no way to voice them, healthily or otherwise.

A few times, Freed had considered apologising. Then, he told himself that he had nothing to apologise for, and that Gajeel was the one in the wrong. That left him with a sickly feeling in his stomach, because he knew it wasn't entirely true.

Dammit. Freed wasn't particularly fond of emotional exploration, and Gajeel had somehow forced it on him.

"I know yer awake," Gajeel grumbled, voice more sleepy than angry. Freed opened his eyes slowly to see the sun in its mid-morning state - it still annoyed him slightly that Gajeel was an early riser while Freed was fond of sleeping in - and Gajeel sitting by a fire. "I made you breakfast."

With a little frown, Freed sat up as he blinked away the sleep. He had been doing all of their cooking since they had arrived, partially because Gajeel wanted to test him and partially because Gajeel clearly liked what Freed could do with fish. This was one of the aspects of the week Freed had actually liked, as cooking in multiple situations with limited resources was something he found oddly fun. Still, he wouldn't complain if Gajeel was going to take over the chore in some kind of peace offering. He looked at the breakfast offered to him and scrunched his face in confusion.

He had made toast. Had he made bread somehow? No, that was ridiculous.

"It ain't poisoned," Gajeel continued speaking. "I ain't pissed on it or anything."

"That didn't once cross my mind," Freed croaked a little as he spoke. "I was confused as to where you got the bread from."

"There's a village with a bakery half an hour's walk away, stopped by and got some supplies," Gajeel shrugged, and Freed frowned. Surely that went against the entire point of this survivalist retreat. Gajeel seemed to preempt the question. "The whole living off the forest thing was because I didn't think you could handle it. Sounds petty when I say it out loud," He chuckled. "But a mage can't stay in a hotel - I thought that's what you were doin' - so I wanted to make sure you could handle yerself. You can, so no point in eating fish again when we don't have to."

Oh, that was shockingly mature. Both the admission and the reasoning for stopping the survivalist aspects of the training. Perhaps Gajeel had more emotional maturity than Freed was giving him credit for.

Perhaps it was his time to make an effort too.

"That's reasonable," Freed agreed, taking the toast before speaking again. The next sentence he had to force out before annoyance at Gajeel filled him again. "I must admit, if we're being honest with one another, I have found your exercise to be rather genius. I'm quite impressed."

Oh, he actually meant that. That was unexpected.

"Genius?" Gajeel scoffed. "You makin' fun of me?"

"Not at all," Freed corrected, because if he actually did think Gajeel was impressive then he wasn't going to recant on his words. "The fact you've essentially made a gymnasium out of things you can find in a forest is impressive itself. It allows for the benefits of specific exercise, while also lowering the limitations. You could learn to swim in a pool, for example, but learning in a lake adds the complications of pond life, temperature, shorelines and distractions. You could weight train with barbells, but doing it with the tree trunk means you're ready to lift things that aren't meant to be lifted and will offer less support," He took another bite of the toast. "You've essentially replaced the comfort of a gym with the practical requirements of a mission environment. It's quite impressive."

"Oh, shit," Gajeel grumbled a little, and looked away. "Thanks."

"There's also your intention to push my limits," Freed saw Gajeel tense just a little. "If I were the type of man you wanted me to be, I expect this would have been torturous. So not only did you make a practical training environment, you found a way to do it while also making me uncomfortable as you could," He smirked a little. "You're smarter than you look, Gajeel."

"Can't tell if yer complementin' me or not."

"I am, if a little backhandedly," Freed commented, and Gajeel hummed a little.

They sat beside one another for a short while, and Gajeel wordlessly handed Freed a small metal mug filled with coffee. It wasn't the type of bean that Freed would have chosen for himself, but there was a certain satisfaction in the burn on his tongue. He also normally would have added some milk, but this particular roast didn't seem to need it. He would have to look into it.

When their breakfasts had been finished, neither man spoke for a few minutes more. Freed still expected Gajeel to have some sort of challenge or task ready for him as he had the previous two days. Eventually, once the quiet had begun to unnerve him, he spoke again.

"Other than the fight, what have we planned today?"

"Kinda thought that was all we needed," Gajeel shrugged, not looking towards Freed as he kicked dirt onto the fire to extinguish it. "Maybe we could go back before it gets dark? I dunno."

"Right," Freed was speaking quietly. Something was clearly wrong with Gajeel. "If you wish."

"Ain't got anything else planned," Gajeel stood as the fire burned away.

"Right," Freed repeated, disbelieving. Had he hurt Gajeel's feelings? That didn't make him particularly good. It didn't make him feel guilty, exactly, but it wasn't great. "I'd like to stay until the evening at least. Maybe returning to Magnolia at night would be good for us both; I don't typically travel at night so perhaps it will help broaden my horizons."

"If you want," Gajeel still wasn't looking at him.

"So, if we've got most of the day with nothing to do, perhaps we should go with what you planned originally," Freed suggested, and Gajeel glanced towards him for a moment. He looked away quickly. "I expect it would be equal parts humiliating and exhausting."

"Oh yeah," Gajeel chuckled a little. "You would've cried."

"Would I?" Freed challenged. "Maybe you should prove it."

"Maybe I should."

When they looked at each other again, they both wore the familiar edge of challenge in their eyes, but this time the reasoning behind it was different. Not kind, not friendly, but not hateful either. An odd middle ground, one that they could work with.

——

"On the count of three, we fight," Gajeel stated, and Freed gave a nod.

It was evening now, with the moon high in the sky and the stars illuminated the darkness. As they had for the last three days, Freed's muscles ached from a day of physical activity and a variety of challenges. Today, though, had been a little different. While the challenges were clearly designed to prey on Freed's supposed weaknesses, Gajeel approached them with an attitude almost teacherly in his helpfulness. An entirely reluctant teacher who had lost all enthusiasm for his job, but a teacher nonetheless.

They had made camouflage for themselves, which consisted of covering their exposed skin in mud and leaves. Freed suspected that if they'd done it the day before, Gajeel would have sat back and watched with Freed amusement. Instead, he showed Freed what to do, and led by example.

Next, they'd made a boat out of dead wood, originally to highlight the lack of practical skills Gajeel thought Freed had. But under Gajeel's tutelage - he'd done this many times before meeting Pantherlilly, so was proficient at it - they managed to make a working raft.

After that, Gajeel had lifted the no magic rule. He thought that, for their fight, they should know their opponent. They had taken turns showing off their magic, using it against a tree. Freed had been pleasantly surprised by the range of spells that Gajeel possessed. He had thought the man could only turn his body to iron, so to see what he was capable of was enlightening.

Honestly, it has been a good day. Maybe the other days would have been good if they hadn't been determined to hate one another.

"Three," Gajeel said, voice low. "Two. One."

They both lurched forward, Gajeel with iron crawling up his arms to replace his skin and Freed with runes spiralling down his sword. They were both fully dressed in their normal clothes - their coats had been essentially abandoned on the first day, so the extra weight was a little unfamiliar - so that they could battle in the same conditions they would in a mission environment. Now that he had a glimmer of objectivity, Freed could admit that Gajeel really had thought this out well. Tactically, he was bordering on genius.

An extended fist cast in iron shot towards Freed, and he pushed his sword to parry it. He was knocked back, but managed to stay on his feet. With a muttered spell, the runes swirling around him shot forward, plastering themselves onto Gajeel's metal skin.

The yelling of pain was cathartic, and Frees watched with a grin as Gajeel recoiled.

Still, Gajeel clearly wasn't the type to let some pain runes stop his stubbornness. He gritted his teeth and lurched forward, arm mutating into a blade of black steel. The magic used to cast the spell must have overwhelmed the pain runes, as they shattered on his skin, and Freed cussed under his breath. Dragon Slayer magic was inherently powerful, so simply plastering the man with runes until he could no longer stand wouldn't be enough.

Gajeel ran forward with his sword arm extended, and swung for Freed's gut. Freed lowered his sword to protect himself, and saw that Gajeel's sword arm wasn't as sharp as it could have been. More a baton than a blade.

How considerate.

For a while, all they could do was parry one another. Freed needed to reevaluate his strategy while Gajeel needed to build up to something more powerful. Freed was a better swordsman, and until Gajeel had enough energy to use his ranged spells, they were at a stalemate.

Metal beat against metal as they battled, cutting through the relative silence of the forest. The moonlight and the stars illuminated the battle, dancing off the nearly stilled lake they had chosen to fight beside. Were there any wildlife nearby, they had decided to scarper away, no doubt sensing the overwhelming magical energy emanating from the two fighting men.

Freed's sword met Gajeel's, and the sparks that flew made both men wince and recoil a little. They both jumped back a few steps, panting and taking a moment to recover.

"Sword ain't just a prop, huh?" Gajeel huffed. "If my skin wasn't iron, you would've got a few cuts in."

"And if you hadn't dulled your arm perhaps you might have to."

"Couldn't risk cutting yer perfect skin," Gajeel taunted, but it didn't feel as cruel as his other comments had been intended to be. "Basically all you've got, isn't it?"

"We'll see," Freed retorted.

With a sweeping motion of his sword, Freed quick-casted a perimeter of runes around them. They implanted themselves in the dirt before glowing bright and magical. Walls shot upwards and the effect took place, lifting both of them off the air as the effect of gravity lessened. Gajeel seemed taken aback, stumbling in the air that lifted him and looking for something to latch onto. He found nothing, and Freed smirked a little.

Freed cast his own wings to counteract the gravity spell. Runes now flying around him, he forced his magic outwards and sent tendrils of power towards his opponent. Normally this combination of spells would have been too taxing, but three days without had given him an excess of power.

Iron cut through his runes, and Gajeel's extended fist slammed into Freed's face in a vicious punch.

Dazed, it took him a moment to see what had happened. With his left hand, Gajeel had made multiple strands of iron and buried them into the ground, allowing himself to be anchored in place. He had pulled himself down so that he was on the ground again, albeit a little unsteady on his feet. With this stability, he was able to essentially make Freed's gravity rune useless.

A metal hand wrapped tightly around Freed's neck, and pushed him into one of the large trees in the rune perimeter. Freed gasped a little, his throat being crushed as Gajeel pushed forward. Even knowing the man would stop before seriously injuring him, Freed began to panic. A tingling of brimstone rose over his skin.

Instantly, he cast a spell. The reversal of the gravity spell, that doubled the pressure rather than halved it. They were both flung to the ground, and Gajeel's extended arm retreated to prop him up.

Both men struggled to keep themselves from collapsing, and Freed felt the magic flowing through him. Powerful and relentless, he quickly tried to utilise it. Tentacles of runic streams shot forward, all meant to hurt their target. They wrapped around Gajeel's arms, legs and neck, burning into him and making him yell in pain.

Scales formed on Freed's arm, but he didn't notice.

"Iron Dragon's Roar!" Gajeel yelled over the pain runes, and a flurry of magic filled the space between them.

The spell hit Freed like a truck. The dominating burn of powerful magic hit him, the pain tripled by the barrage of metallic shrapnel cutting away at his skin. A dragon slayer's roar was an experience that Freed had so far avoided - when he trained with Laxus, the other man refused to use the spell for fear of hurting his teammates - and the unfamiliar sensation was hellish. He was knocked off his feet, flung backwards and pinned against the wall of runes by Gajeel's magic. He knew he was yelling in pain, but couldn't hear himself.

Seeing it as his only next step, Freed cut the gravity runes entirely. For a moment he was forced back further by Gajeel's roar, and he yelled in pain as his back cracked against a fallen log. At least the change of gravity had thrown Gajeel off balance, as his roar cut through the trees, and into the sky, parting the clouds.

Brimstone. Fire. Darkness. They all coursed through Freed's veins.

He didn't notice it, though. The pain from the spell and subsequent fall was all-consuming, meaning the mutation of the skin on his right arm turning to scales went unnoticed, as did the burning in his throat.

Gajeel, apparently less affected by the fight than Freed, was on his feet and running towards Freed quickly. He had turned his arm to the sword again, and Freed could see he was grinning through red tinted eyes. Gajeel clearly thought that this fight was already finished, and Freed felt a rush of anger flow through him.

He would not lose a fight to Gajeel Redfox.

He would not lose a fight to a man who had tried to humiliate him.

He would not lose a fight to a man who had disrespected him.

He would not lose a fight to a man so inferior to him that he shouldn't be breathing the same fucking air to him!

Oh. It was too late, wasn't it.

Without control of his body, Freed raised his arm. It had been fully transformed into it's demonic counterpart, and Freed could only watch as magic crackled and formed at the end of his claw. He couldn't stop it now, it was too late for that. His attention had slipped, and Gajeel's parting of the clouds had allowed for direct moonlight to hit him, strengthening the demon inside of him enough for a minor takeover,

A beam of concentrated darkness flew from his claw, hitting Gajeel directly. The spell was an amalgam of every rune Freed had: pain, torment, trauma, paralysis, unconsciousness, poison. In a word, the spell was hell.

It hit Gajeel right in the heart, and Freed watched with wide eyes.

The ensuing scream sent a chill through him.

Gajeel flew backwards, and Freed watched as his eyes closed and he was knocked out. With heavy breaths, Freed forced his arm upwards and shot as much magic through his claw as he could. It was a foreign and horrible sensation, turning his runic magic into darkness, but he needed to do it. He was burning through all the magic that the demon had taken from him, exhausting himself to the point where the demon's influence would have to die out. The magic ripped away at him, and the claw began to shrivel.

The exhaustion hit him in waves, and his bones felt like they might break. He panted and heaved, nausea hitting him as he closed his eyes. It was only when he heard a loud, echoing splash that he forced his eyes open again.

Gajeel was in the lake, unconscious and with his energy sapped from him.

With as much energy as he could muster, Freed ran towards the lake and dove in. The cold hit him and woke him slightly, and he pushed on to swim towards where Gajeel had landed. The ripples were still breaking the surface, acting like a beacon for Freed to find him. He pushed on despite his aching arms, gritting his teeth as the creeping of brimstone ran over the back of his exposed neck.

Gajeel wasn't floating. He was sinking. Ignoring the demon fighting for his body, Freed submerged himself in the water and began to swim down. He saw Gajeel's body and quickly hooked his arms around the man's chest. He was limp, and Freed was quickly pulling him to the surface.

Dragging him to the shore was hellish. His body screamed in protest, but he kept going until they were on the rocks that bordered the lake. Freed wanted nothing more than to lie down and let his exhaustion take over, and he very

Gajeel was still unconscious.

Putting him on his back with his head tilted back slightly, Freed pinched Gajeel's nose and brought his mouth to Gajeel's. He breathed in heavily, forcing air into the man's lungs as best he could. He alternated between that and chest compressions, arms still burning as he forced his hands on the other man's chest.

Eventually, Gajeel spluttered out and spat water towards the side. He coughed and groaned, throat hoarse and eyes unblinking. Freed wanted to explain, or at least to help Gajeel further with his recovery, but felt exhaustion overtake him. He quickly wrote a rune to heat and protect them, before his eyes fluttered shut.

——

"You lost control, didn't ya?"

Gajeel's words cut through the silence of the train ride to Magnolia. From the moment Freed had woken up half an hour ago, their conversation had been limited. They had discussed if they were both healthy and uninjured (they were, more or less) and how they should get home in their exhausted state. Freed had teleported them both to the train station, and runed their carriage so Gajeel wouldn't be overly affected by his motion sickness. That had been it for conversation.

Freed had hoped to keep it that way. His relationship with Gajeel was tense enough before he attacked and nearly killed him, he now expected a verbal and perhaps physical assault from the other man now. He would have deserved it as well. But Gajeel had said nothing, as if he didn't have the energy to be angry,

"Excuse me?" Freed asked, pretending as if Gajeel wasn't entirely right.

"You didn't mean to do that spell, probably didn't mean to transform yer arm either, did ya?" Gajeel shrugged, as if the statement was both uninteresting and unimportant. When Freed said nothing, he continued. "You looked scared. Scared of yerself when you hit me with the spell, and scared for me when you resuscitated me."

"I didn't want to see you injured," Freed brushed off, Gajeel did not need to know about this. "Perfectly rational."

"If you didn't wanna injure me then you wouldn't have used the spell," Gajeel shrugged, looking at Freed as Freed looked out the window. "I deserve to know what happened, City-Boy."

Freed wanted to scoff, but perhaps Gajeel was right.

"No, I didn't intend to use the spell on you," Freed admitted, watching as the night rolled past them. "You have my apologies."

He wouldn't meet the man's eyes, because he didn't need to dammit. Gajeel had spent the last three days - well, two days, since he'd changed his mood today - tormenting Freed in whatever way he could. The entire point of this exercise had been to make Freed feel small, and pathetic; well, maybe not. He could have been crueler, and he did seem to have a flimsy reasoning behind everything he had done. Either way, Freed using a single spell on him didn't suddenly make them best friends, and it certainly wasn't enough to make Freed forget what had happened throughout the week.

Frankly, perhaps Gajeel deserved it. He might have deserved to be left in the lake!

Gods.

The realisation hit Freed with force. The attempts by his demon to possess him brought a lot of anxieties up to the surface, mainly about the possibility of losing control of his body. It was a valid concern - the demon would kill everything in its way if in control - but often made him forget about the smaller repercussions of his demon's growing power.

It wasn't just physical, the demon's effect was emotional. While it grew in power, it's cruelty infected the mood of him and everyone around him. It was why he had exploded at Gajeel so many times, and perhaps the reason Gajeel was hell-bent on making this horrid for him.

Dammit, he should have known this. He should have told Gajeel that this might happen!

"I can almost hear ya thinkin'," Gajeel commented. "And I know I ain't been fair in ya, but I don't think yer some kid without restraint. So you wanna explain what happened?"

Maybe he did owe Gajeel that.

It was comical really. Now he knew his demon was to blame for his foul mood, he suddenly saw how ridiculous it all was. Gods, how hadn't he realised it before.

"My demonic take-over isn't exactly like that of the Strauss'," Freed sighed, looking towards Gajeel again. "Rather than being born with a demonic alter-ego, like Mirajane, I have a living demon inside of my soul. Technically speaking, I'm being possessed at all times, I simply have the right magic to stop it from taking over."

"Oh," Gajeel grunted, because he clearly couldn't think of anything else to say. Freed expected that, most people didn't know how to react when they were told a demon could overthrow the man next to them. "Shit."

"It is," Freed agreed. "Typically it isn't an issue. It gets stronger around the full moon, and around the shortest day of the year. When they happen to coincide, it's power grows and incidents like that happen. I should have warned you, I'm sorry."

Gajeel didn't say anything. He looked Freed up and down, clearly worried. Freed understood that.

"It won't happen again," He assured, though it wasn't exactly a promise he could keep,

"You really got a demon living in you?" He asked, and Freed nodded slightly. "How the hell did that happen?" They weren't there yet. Freed tensed a little, and Gajeel seemed to know that was a limit not to push. "You gonna be okay to keep going with this? I know I was trying to push you around but if we need to call it in, I don't think Makarov's gonna be too bothered."

"It should be fine," Freed said firmly. "It only happened tonight because I lost concentration. I won't allow that to happen again."

He wouldn't. The demon was not going to control him, nor his life.

"Well, now I know what to do if it happens again," Gajeel said, and he was smirking now. Not a condescending one, nor particularly cocky. It was to break the tension. "So if yer voice gets all creepy and yer eye all glowing, I'll knock yer ass right out before y' can blink."

"You have my eternal thanks," Freed drolled.

"These runes are fucking amazing y'know," Gajeel turned the conversation away. "Ya think you'd be able to teach the bookworm how to cast 'em. Don't think I'm gonna get on a train without 'em anymore. Finally understand why people find it relaxing."

"I don't expect so," Freed chuckled a little. "They're more complex than you'd think. Levy might not be prepared for a spell like it just yet."

"Say that to her and I think she'd hit ya," Gajeel laughed. "But if that's the case, then I might have to kidnap ya for my next mission. Ain't a problem right?"

"Well, if you're being so kind as to offer to knock me out, then I suppose I owe you," Freed smiled a little.

"Damn right ya do," Gajeel grinned right at him, sharp teeth so clearly visible. "Especially after the fun couple days we just had."

For the first time, the two men shared a laugh together.

#Gajeed #Freedjeel #Freed x Gajeel #Freed Justine #Gajeel Redfox #Fairy Tail #Fanfic #Writing #Canon Divergent #Multi Chapter #Chapter Four #Word Count: 4.4k

4 notes · View notes

sazzafraz · 4 years ago

Text

ects snippet one

I don’t see this bit changing a lot so its spoiler freeeeeee

He thinks of acid and bile first. His tongue is on the points of his teeth searching for the stale carrot taste. Dead bodies in a lake almost make him hungry. Like soup, Kyuubi says, now, should add some salt. Naruto thinks of their families and draws from Konoha shinobi standard what he should do next. The Uchiha graves are the only ones he’s seen up close. Found and burned away by his Sasuke years ago, not yet warded against yin spirits. Those small piles had been lumped together too close to the houses at first and then reburied in a Konoha approved location when Sasuke became Konoha’s only Private Citizen. Now they’re done by matrilineal lines and decorated with Uzumaki shells and ribbons from Lightning. When Naruto was asked, allowed, to come Sasuke had him press strawberry seedlings into the ground. Sasuke had been messily eating from a different bowl and had pulp smeared across his mouth and jaw. Then, Naruto had wondered if he was allowed to sweep them away with his tongue, if people did that sort of thing in graveyards. Now Naruto knows that the dead do not appreciate love or lust.

People soup. Naruto counts twice and draws a grid on the shallow shore with his foot.

Monkey Leader is inattentive to Naruto’s actions. He sits between them and their merchants keeping his gaze on the horses. Only one of them likes Naruto. A chestnut mare with a band of white around her mouth and eyes that make her seem mean -she’s downplaying exactly how vicious she is, but she likes him, and that's more than he was expecting. Naruto pulls the body into the grid and starts with the teeth. Pulls back molars for the guys in T&I. The skin sloughs off the dead man's face, puddles down into his wet clothes. Naruto burns it off with Kyuubi’s power, excellent as always for getting rid of evidence. Molars should be enough.

He has a sort of frustrated passion about this. See, Naruto knows intellectually that this has to be done, is done regardless, because you can’t have dead bodies in waterways. They bloat and rot and make people sick. The kind of sick that people like Giri come to fix and then leverage into destabilising the entirety of the Elemental Nations. Naruto also knows that a missing tooth is a decent price for the families of these poor dead to get closure. The third, worst thing Naruto knows is that things come to see dead bodies, things like him. Ninja like him. Spirits like him. Sons of Oceans and Mountains and tall white pillars to the underworld, like him. None of them, really, should be looking at these dead bodies.

Six teeth. Naruto eyes a leaf moving out of sequence with the wind. Tanuki, an earth specialist. Tanuki nods and quiet as a mouse the bodies sink into the shore.

Sunagakure welcomes them and their trophies at dawn. They sneak in over the sand tide-line two to a row before even the most thrifty merchant has set their wares. Gaara’s office will not be officially open for another three hours, not even his Twilight Guard will accept a visitor now. So Naruto does what he does, cracks his back and makes a loud exclamation about finding a place to sleep. Monkey Leader sets them on a course through Suna’s cruisy districts and around the intelligence quarter. The Konoha away barracks are part of their recent trade deal. A cushy thing on their end and Naruto knows where his room is. After the Summit, before the War, Naruto quietly moved all the things he previously left in Gaara’s spare bedroom to a Jounin room with an ensuite. This room is at the end of the hall with no windows, nothing in or out. A dead end. Monkey Leader espys him but does not comment.

In the room Naruto turns off the radio left playing on the dresser. His old book lies with its spine cracked, a pair of pants he left to wash last time crumpled on the bed. His single pillow looks lonely. Someone has been in since he was here last, the footprints in the thick carpet aren’t his own. Following this probably-not-a-stranger he sees that his personals have been restocked in the bathroom, laid on the rim of the strange standing bathtub. The grates have been cleaned. Naruto runs a bath and dumps a satchel with Sakura’s clean, neat writing into the water. A small bag sits next to it and he recalls a short conversation at dinner some nights ago. Sasuke and Kakashi had been having one of their weird bonding moments over Naka rocks. Kakashi would run his bandaged fingers over them looking for some indefinable flaw. Sasuke would say that’s not the point and hand him another. He and Sakura watch this for a few minutes, giggling into their beers. Sakura had just shaved her hair down again and the elfin lines of her face were so perfect he’d had trouble not telling her so.

“Naruto,” Sasuke says in his low clear voice, “what are you thinking about?”

“Sakura’s pretty,” he blurts out. Sakura lowers her eyelashes for a moment, laughing.

“Yes.” Sasuke agrees. “But what are you thinking?”

“‘Bout rocks?” Naruto shifts his gaze carefully. He’s bowled over often by how much he loves looking at Sasuke. If he does it too fast the soft pink of his mouth and thin scar that meets his ear makes him drool. “Dunno, that one.” He picks one from the pile and holds it triumphant.

“Idiot,” Sakura says. She too picks a rock. “Momentos? Right?”

Sasuke flushes from his heart upwards, making the pink of his lips plush. Sakura keeps her rock, eventually Kakashi meets his proteges standards and departs with his own. Naruto pockets his but forgets it in the wash. Here it is again in Sunagakure with Sasuke’s hair ribbon around it.

In reality Naruto does not now nor has he ever had momentos. He has moments and memories aplenty. Long, too long sketches of Konoha night in the main thoroughfare in the early morning. The drift and drag of everyone's footsteps lying in the dirt, on the street, leading to the houses they share with people that want them there. Swing sets. Shrine steps. Stoops. All of them empty, at least when he’s there. A city is a lonely place in his experience.

Things are better now. He has Sasuke, when they aren’t fighting. Sakura, when she’s capable of acting without compromise. Kakashi, when he isn’t fighting a cold war alone. His other friends, when time allows. Allowance is better too. Assured at the very least.

Compromise is a word he knows now. A strange little door into the way life actually works.

See, Naruto’s first idea of how things work is formed at 4pm, 2am on weekdays and 7-11am on Saturdays. There’s a little alcove outside one of the curving windows of Konoha’s Library, high above the main hall near one of the old study nooks not even ANBU use. On rainy days the water sloshes off the side. On sunny days the heat only touches the edges. There is enough room for a boy to escape with a little apple and the free water from the front desk. The window is permanently cracked open to let out the musty air. When Konoha’s long hot days and nights were too much for even the most dogged badgering Naruto would skin himself raw heaving his body into it. A radio plays all day in the library, old records and ads for toilet paper. Like everyone else Naruto drowns out the patriot tunes and concentrates on the old radio head that chooses which stories play at the end of the school day. Hashirama and the Seven Headed Snake, Subaru and the Stolen Sword, Himawari Sunrise, Nariko Ascending. He’s heard them all at some point, drifted away to the tales of heroes and Hokages.

Naruto’s met Hashirama now and he’s a whole different deal. Tsunade makes more sense when you know that that was her first idea of a hero.

In The Seven Headed Snake Hashirama does not speak. He does wield a sword of redwood through the thick neck of a serpent so big it blots the sky. His heroism is in his quiet dutiful battle. The way the man telling the story describes his strong back and long hair. That’s your back, he says. That’s Konoha’s back. It sounds so absurd, even to a child training to be a ninja: cut through the sky, mold the earth, call forth life to do your bidding alone. The snake’s carcass, the narrator informs them, is as long as the Naka river, and buried somewhere near the big swell the Uchiha worship. On dark nights its eyes watch the village, warily, for Hashirama’s redwoods stand sentinel. Not even in death can he be escaped.

People don’t let things like Naruto in their houses. This he knows before he can speak. There is something in him people don't want on their doorsteps. Later he knows it's the Kyuubi. After that he knows that it’s the Uzamaki blood. Even later, when he came home from a war that crushed out the light he thought he could carry anywhere, he knew it was simple mortal fear. Something inside Naruto will never die, and anything more mortal than him knows that. Well, except Sasuke.

In the warm bath water he caresses his leg, not letting it go any further. Far from home he misses his love. There’s an edge in Naruto, sharp as his chipped tooth, that’s only soothed by long dark hair and a softening body. Naruto leans up to look at the scents and staples Gaara’s left in his room. Sweet aloe and greens. Salt and fresh made sand. He thinks of Sasuke’s skin and Sasuke’s soft smile and how he cuddles close to warmth. Naruto’s had grim reason to be grateful for how hot he runs, this last winter when Sasuke’s feud with their electricity provider cut their power mid cold-snap he’s had happier, hornier reasons to be joyful.

Sasuke has a vicious glee about domesticity that is deeply adorable. He loves arguing with the cashier about his coupons and going to PTA meetings and making trendy sandwiches. He does it with a soft violence that Naruto absolutely does not relate to but finds charming. Never has a man wanted for mass murder been so invested in a collect-a-coin newspaper competition. He plays music and cooks food. He goes to town halls and puts up with the mean crooked smile in their fruit vendors eyes. Naruto loves him so much when he makes noise. Naruto loves him more when it’s quiet at home. Naruto loves when Sasuke will talk to him about things he cares for: plants, dumplings, people. Here, far away from his love, Naruto loves that he doesn’t have to lie to him.

Naruto drags his hand up to his stomach and uncorks the bath. The soft slush of water is the last noise in the room.

#ects #snippet #welp #trying not to make a room a metaphor for anything

5 notes · View notes

floatingpetals · 5 years ago

Text

Call of the Mountains || Ch. 5

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader x Bucky Barnes (Werewolf AU!)

Warnings: Nothin, a little bit of language, maybe slight angst

Word Count: 4200+ (good lord)

Summary: (Werewolf-AU!Stucky x f!reader) Life had begun to overwhelm her. Work was insane and her life was a mess. There was a tug in her soul that called her to take this trip, deep into the forest away, where there was the peace and stillness of nature. She didn’t know why, but she knew she needed to listen. It was meant to be a relaxing trip, but one misstep on some moss sent her tumbling into the rapids of the flooded river. She thought she was gone and the earth decided it was time to reclaim her. She didn’t expect was to be pulled from the river nor the creature that saved her. Her entire world is turned upside down and all it took was an accidental step to the left. (18+ Only Story)

A/N: Ha. I did it. Jear Desus. This took too long to finally get finished. Once again, I couldn’t find a good stopping point. Thank you @itstartswithhelloo for inadvertently helping me find the ending lol I hope you all enjoy! It’s kind of a long one but it finally gets the ball movinggg!! yaaaay. However, I might not be able to work on this for a few more weeks cause I’m moving to NYC in like... two weeks lol. But anyway, let me know what you think!!! Please excuse all editing booboos. I tried my best. Okay, ENJOY!

The gifs are not mine, credit to the owner.

Chapter 4 | Chapter 5 | Chapter 6 | Series Masterlist

The main house was surprisingly large compared to what she saw outside. The front led into a giant open concept living room with the second-floor balcony wrapped around looking down with two handcrafted chandeliers lighting the space. Giant plush couches were laid out in two sitting areas, coffee table with stacks of books and blankets draped over the back of the couches. She eyed the warm fur rugs that laid in front of one of the televisions mounted on the wall and giant fireplace in the center of the room. It looked cozy, warm and incredibly inviting. Someone clearly wanted to make this a place where people could come and relax in a group.

Natasha led her around the living room and into the kitchen, where a heavenly aroma hit Y/N’s nose. Her stomach let out an incredibly powerful growl at the smell, causing her face to burn in embarrassment. Natasha stifled a laugh.

“I’m going to assume that sound means you like what you smell?” A deep baritone voice made Y/N stop short, her breath catching in her throat. The owner of the voice walked out of what she assumed was the pantry with a wide grin, a box of pasta in his hand.

“I can’t speak for her, but it does smell good Barnes.” Natasha greeted, walking over to the stove and the simmering pot.

Y/N stood rooted in spot, her eyes wide as she watched Natasha dip the spoon in the pot to taste the red sauce. The man clicked his tongue and waved her aside.

“Hey now. This isn’t for you, its for our guest.” He chided. Natasha rolled her eyes but stepped aside after deeming it suitable, sucking on the spoon as she went. The man grumbled at her for a moment before he turned to Y/N with a gentle smile on his face. “It’s good to see you up and moving.”

Y/N mouth fell open to answer, but she couldn’t get her voice to work. Her brain completely short-circuited at the sight of the man in front of her. The man’s shoulder-length hair was pulled back into a low bun that accentuated his sharp jawline shadowed with a scruffy beard. His bright gray eyes looked her over carefully, his gaze pausing heavily on her injured wrist before they slid back up to lock eyes with hers. He’s absolutely gorgeous, Y/N thought as she struggled to contain sigh.

“Oh yeah, Bucky this is Y/N. Y/N This is Bucky, the one who pulled you from the river.” Natasha waved from the sink.

A flash of black and grey eyes shot through Y/N’s mind, causing her brows to furrow. Something didn’t feel right with that sentence, but she wasn’t sure exactly what. Shaking off the strange feeling, Y/N stepped forward and stuck out her good hand.

“It’s nice to finally meet you.” She cleared her throat in an attempt to hide how breathless she was. He looked down at her hand before letting out a chuckle and gently pulling her into a hug. Y/N was caught off guard, but not against being wrapped up in his arms. He gave her a tight squeeze before letting her go.

“I hope you don’t mind; I’ve started cooking dinner. The only thing I can actually make is spaghetti and meatballs though. Figured you might want something to eat since you haven’t in a few hours.” Bucky replied sheepishly, waving to the pot on the stove.

“No, that sounds amazing. To be honest, I’m hungry enough to eat you,” Y/N’s eyes went wide when the words tumbled from her mouth. Bucky let out a soft laugh, his cheeks twinging a soft pink while Natasha snorted with a smirk. Flustered, Y/N immediately began to backpedal. “No-wha- I mean, I’m just really hungry! I didn’t mean- No-.”

“It’s okay.” Bucky chuckled, patting her arm. “I know what you meant.”

He shot her a crooked grin that made her heart flip and turned back to the stove. He grabbed the box of pasta and nodded to island where there was a set of bar stools.

“Why don’t you take a seat. Nat, can you grab her something to drink and I’ll get the pasta started?” Bucky asked while he opened the box of pasta from earlier. Natasha nodded and Y/N took up one of the barstools. She distantly heard Natasha ask what she wanted to drink, although she couldn’t tear her eyes away from in front of her.

“Water’s fine.” Y/N mumbled absently to Natasha, watching Bucky as he moved around the stove. The simple black t-shirt he wore stretched snuggly over his muscles, and Y/N was definitely not going to ignore the lovely view of his back. She didn’t realize she was staring, however, until Natasha set a glass with ice water with a sly smirk. Y/N squeaked and mutter a thank you, tearing her gaze away from the wonderful display.

“Where did Steve go?” Natasha asked. Y/N let out the breath she was holding, grateful she didn’t tease her further. Bucky glanced over his shoulder, mid stir of the noodles. There was a sharpness in his eyes that melted when he caught Y/N’s eye.

“Dunno. He stormed out the back right before you two walked in.” Bucky replied shortly and turned back to the stove. Natasha let out a puff of air and dug her phone out of her pocket. Did they get cell service up here? Y/N thought curiously. She didn’t think there would be a cell tower for miles.

“Hey Y/N.”

Y/N perked up at her name, humming at Bucky. She didn’t see the way his smile grew at the sound and how his cheeks turned pink at the cute noise. He had to bite his tongue to hold back from giggling and cleared his throat instead.

“I know you’re hurt, but can you go in the bottom cabinet next to the fridge and grab the strainer for me?” He nodded towards the fridge. Y/N nodded and climbed off the stool to do as he asked.

“Want me to put it in the sink?”

“Please,” Bucky replied over his shoulder, pulling out a noddle to check if it was done or not.

Natasha watched Y/N from where she was perched on her own bar stool, a knowing look in her eyes when Bucky glanced back at Y/N. She had to stop herself from letting out a heavy sigh and rubbing her temples. She knew that look all too well. It meant trouble.

“Well, as much I would love to steal a plate, I need to go talk with Steve.” Natasha sighed, her phone vibrating in her hand. She rolled her eyes at the text and swung her feet off the stool. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“O-oh. Okay, bye, Natasha. It was nice to meet you.” Y/N blinked in surprise at Natasha’s quick retreat. The redhead waved to Y/N and left out the back door without another word.

The click of the door echoed in the room, the only other sound coming from the bubbling sauce and Bucky’s spoon stirring the boiling water. Y/N would admit she was a little nervous, being left alone with Bucky. It wasn’t that she was afraid he would hurt her, despite his massive intimidating stature. She was just worried in her stupor she’d say something ridiculous. Like how pretty his biceps were when he lifted the pot off the stove to walk to the sink.

“Sorry about Natasha,” Bucky said, shaking the excess water out of the strainer. “She’d not usually so curt, but a lot’s on her mind right now.”

“So she’s not always that… cryptic?” Y/N didn’t really believe that. Bucky paused and laughed after a beat.

“No. She is. She’s just usually less so on her good days.”

Y/N giggled and shook her head.

“Well, she wasn’t that bad. A little scary on the walk up here,” Y/N paused. “Actually. I have a few questions I’d really like an answer for.”

“Hmm?” Bucky replied absently. He was putting the noodles back in the pot and headed back to the stove to turn down the stove on the sauce. The meatballs were already done resting in the skillet and the sauce was ready to be served.

“How-What was with the field and there not being any buildings? And then it just appearing out of nowhere? And what’s with the glowing totem pole out front?” Y/N rubbed her temples, her mind reeling once again. She hoped Bucky might be willing to answer the several questions she had regarding the strange settlement. Or whatever this was called. “And why did I get a feeling of complete and total doom when I walked into the field?”

Bucky didn’t answer right away, instead, his back tensed at her question. All emotions slid off his face for a split second, his lips tugging down into a scowl. They were perfectly reasonable questions, questions any sane human would have after experiencing them. But it didn’t mean they weren’t something he was willing to answer. Yet. Bucky was quick to wipe the scowl off his face before he turned to Y/N.

“Do you mind grabbing the silverware from the drawer and setting the table? There in the middle drawer there.” Bucky skirted over her question and nodded towards the drawer in question. “Why don’t we sit in the breakfast nook. I don’t think we need to use the dining hall for just the two of us. I’ll fix you a plate.”

Y/N’s mouth fell open and quickly snapped shut. Why was it not surprising that he would completely sidestep the question? Not even sidestepped. Complete and totally ignored that she said anything. That seemed to be the recurring theme around here, being all evasive and crap.

Despite her simmering frustration, Y/N bit her tongue but did as he asked and walked over to the drawer. Grabbing a pair of forks and knives, Y/N walked over to the little nook he told her about. It was warm and cozy, much like how the rest of the house and set up with comfy cushions on the benches along with a number of pillows to lean back on.

She just picked her spot to sit when Bucky stepped up with two plates, setting one in front of her and the other opposite her. He went back to grab her glass of water and grabbed a beer from the fridge for himself. She mumbled a thank you when he placed the cup in front of her.

“Of course.” He replied with a wide toothy grin. “I hope you like it.”

“If it’s as good as is smells, it’ll be incredible.” Y/N tittered softly and picked up her fork. Even though she was desperately wanting answers, she couldn’t ignore her stomach practically eating itself over the smell of the food. Digging in, Y/N took a bite and had to keep from groaning aloud. “Holy shit, Bucky. This is amazing!”

“Thanks,” Bucky let out a bashful chuckle and poked at his food. His cheeks burned a soft pink as if he didn’t get complimented often on his cooking skills. Which was crazy, because this was some of the best she’s had in a while. There was a touch of hominess to it as well, comforting and familiar to her.

Y/N seemed to lose herself a little bit, taking another bite of the delicious food and did a little dance. When she opened her eyes, Bucky had leaned back against the pillows and was watching her have her moment with a giddy grin. Her face burned.

“I can honestly say, I’ve never had someone actually dance because of my food.” Bucky teased, wagging his brows. “And it was adorable.”

“Yeah well,” Y/N mumbled, twirling the noodles on her fork. “Consider it a huge compliment. I don’t dance for just anybody let alone someone I just met.”

“Don’t worry,” Bucky replied with a smug grin. “I took it as one.”

“Alright, don’t get a big head.” Y/N rolled her eyes at his laugh. “One good meal doesn’t mean you’re the best.”

“You’re right,” Bucky nodded. “I’m just the one who made a great meal and saved your life, all in one day.”

Y/N blinked at him before she burst into giggles. He beamed and went back to eating his food, the smile never faltering on his face. Y/N would let him have that. He did deserve a little praise.

Just as quickly as she reached her high, she came crashing back to reality. The sobering memory of what happened just hours ago sent her crashing back to reality, shattering the sliver of solace she had. That’s right. There was a reason why she was here, sitting in the breakfast nook with a man she just met eating his food. Y/N took in a deep breath and set her fork down softly.

“I know I’ve said this before, but I need to say it again.” Y/N said seriously. Bucky sat taller in his seat with his attention firmly on her. “Thank you for saving me. I don’t remember what happened after I fell in the river, but I remember all of it before. I definitely haven’t had time to process it yet, but the feeling of complete hopelessness and sheer panic is something I’ll never forget.”

Bucky sucked in air sharply when tears started to fall from Y/N’s eyes. He tossed his fork aside and quickly stood to sit by her side. He wrapped an arm around her shoulder and tugged her close, hushing her gently with words of comfort. She was safe, she was alive, and he wasn’t going to let anything harm her again.

For Y/N, it was enough to break the tight seal she was keeping on her emotions. She curled into his side and gripped his shirt tightly between her fingers as ugly, broken sobs wracked her body. Bucky let her cry, his heart breaking at the sound of her anguish. He ran his hand through her hair, nuzzling his nose against her head and reassuring her it was alright. That she could let go and he would hold her tight.

There hadn’t been many moments in her life that Y/N could remember where she broke down like this. However, this wasn’t a small matter. She nearly drowned, her life seconds away from being over. She was miles from home, in an area she barely knew, and the weight of what happened had finally settled on her chest. Any thoughts of this being remotely attractive never once crossed her mind. She didn’t care what Bucky would have thought about her after this. It was simply all too much to keep inside for much longer.

“It’s alright,” Bucky soothed. “You’re okay.”

“I-I’m sorry,” Y/N stammered through her sobs.

Bucky quickly shook his head and shushed her once again.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about sweetheart.” He spoke gently. “You’ve had a lot happen in the past 24 hours. It’s not healthy to keep that all bottled up.”

Y/N didn’t reply, couldn’t through her tears. She nodded and clutched tighter, desperately leaning against him for support. He would gladly give her any help he could. Including brushing her tears with a napkin and holding her tight.

It wasn’t until her sobs started to slow that Bucky loosened his grip to let her sit up. He passed her another napkin, which she thanked him with a watery smile. She wiped her tears and dabbed her nose.

“Sorry for crying all on your shirt.” She mumbled hoarsely. Bucky hummed and reflexively tucked a stray hair behind her ear.

“Like I said, nothin’ to be sorry about. I’m surprised you lasted this long before it finally clicked.” Bucky grinned with a hit a pride. “You’re pretty damn strong if I do say so myself.”

Y/N scoffed and rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand.

“I guess.” She sniffed. She paused for a moment before exhaling softly. “Guess that’s another thing I get to thank you for.”

“You’re just full of those today, aren’t you?” Bucky teased. Y/N rolled her eyes, a smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“Apparently just for you.”

“Guy could get used to that,” Bucky smirked down at Y/N. His breath hitched in his throat when she looked up at him. Puffy red eyes and all, he couldn’t help but think how beautiful she was. Clearing his throat, Bucky gave her a gentle squeeze and began to stand before he could make a complete fool of himself so soon.

“Hey, Bucky.”

The call from the side door made Bucky pause, a frown tugging on the corner of his lips. He wasn’t expecting him to come back any time soon.

“Kitchen,” Bucky called back and settled in his original seat, scowling at his plate of unfinished spaghetti. Y/N sat silently, a little bewildered at Bucky’s sudden shift in behavior. His jaw ticked when the sound of footsteps grew closer and he exhaled loudly through his nose.

A man came into the kitchen and stopped short under the gaze of Y/N and Bucky. He glanced over to the pot of pasta and the spaghetti and Y/N could have sworn there was a spark of excitement in his eyes. But when he turned back to Y/N and Bucky it was wiped clean.

“What can I do for you, Steve?” Bucky questioned pointedly. Steve’s eyes narrowed at Bucky and he took a step towards the table.

“Natasha barged in the house and told me to head over here. I didn’t know you were eating dinner though.” Steve nodded to Y/N, who wasn’t paying any attention to the two’s conversation in the slightest. She was rather blatantly staring at Steve his equally tight shirt and tight-fitting jeans.

No one could blame her. He was just as attractive as the man sitting across from her. Long dirty blonde hair, thick well-groomed beard, and bright blue eyes that landed on her. His eyebrow raised when he caught her gawking. Bucky cleared his throat, causing her to jolt at the sound.

“What?” She squeaked.

Bucky snorted, while Steve looked on mildly amused. He leaned against the island, crossing his arms across his chest. Slowly, he looked her over up and down before stopping on her face. He noticed the puffiness and redness to her eyes. He didn’t have to ask to know she had been crying moments before. Strangely, he felt unsettled at the thought of her being up. That made him pause. Why would he care if she cried or not? Then the image of her lying unconscious on the bed, weak and defenseless, flashed across his mind and his stomach churned.

“Y/N, this is Steve. Steve this is Y/N, the woman I pulled from the river earlier.” Bucky said, interrupting Steve’s thoughts.

“Hi,” Y/N said meekly.

“Nice to meet you.” Steve nodded with a small smile, forcing aside his contempt. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m… doing better. Wrist still hurts, but that’s to be expected.” Y/N replied, softly rubbing the brace. Bucky frowned and sat taller.

“Did Nat give you pain meds?”

“Yeah, she did. It’s just a little sore is all. Don’t mind me.” Y/N said with a wave of her good hand. Bucky scowled at her flippant tone and disregard for her obvious discomfort but didn’t press. Rather, he turned back to Steve and felt his hackles rise as the look on Steve’s face. The tension had slipped from his face as his eyes trailed over her form.

“What exactly do you need that can’t wait until later, Steve?” Bucky nearly bit out to gain Steve’s attention. Every protective instinct screamed to drag Steve away from Y/N. He had already made his disdain for the woman clear. Steve didn’t have the right to look interested.

Steve slowly blinked and tilted his head in Bucky’s direction. He was less than impressed with Bucky’s growl. He clenched his fist against his forearm and struggled to hold back an answering growl. He would have, but they had company. His mother didn’t raise a complete animal.

Instead, he tightened his jaw and took in a sharp breath through his nose. He faltered, catching a sweet smell that didn’t fit the savory smell from the dinner. It wasn’t too sweet, like a peach and cream sweet, soft and pleasant with a hint of cinnamon. The unusual smell made the beast inside him raised it’s head in interest. For a brief second, Steve felt panic bubble up to his chest. His beast never sat up in interest, at least not then.

He shot Y/N another cautious glance before he shook the thought. It didn’t keep the smell from lingering nor his beast pushing to get closer to the source of the smell. It had gained interest that wasn’t there before. He knew he needed to escape, fast.

“I-,” He began, his voice cracking from the strain. Bucky’s scowl deepened, his gaze darting to Y/N who was oblivious to the tension between them. She was too busy pushing her food around to notice. “Natasha mentioned about getting a room set up for our guest. In our house.”

That caused Bucky’s heart to skip a beat. Shit. He didn’t think about that.

“Oh.” Y/N blinked, realizing they meant her. “You don’t have to do that. I can just go back to my camp and stay there. It’s just a sprain.”

“You forget your concussion.” Bucky tilted his head, a tiny grin spreading on his face. Y/N’s mouth snapped shut. She totally forgot about that. Shit. Maybe she shouldn’t be alone for a little bit. “Tell her it’s fine with me. But I’m not the issue.”

His tone was sharp as he glared at Steve. The blonde glared back, less than impressed at Bucky’s tone.

“I… will admit I’m not too keen on a stranger sleeping under our roof, however, I’m not going to throw an injured person out in the woods.” He grumbled, speaking as if she wasn’t even there. Y/N would have been offended if she had the energy to argue. So far, she was getting that Steve had a pretty big issue with strangers and that the two men share a house, which would be her in his crossfire fairly regularly.

“And we are the only ones who have a room that would be willing to house her till Bruce gives her the all-clear.” Bucky stated simply, his eyebrow raised. Challenging Steve to argue further. It was true and he knew it. The others in the pack wouldn’t exactly be thrilled putting a human up in a spare room. It was already pushing it as it was having her here.

Steve didn’t respond, he didn’t need to. He knew before he walked in the main building he was going to lose this battle. But the alpha in him wanted to at least attempt putting his foot down with Bucky. He wasn’t the only one in charge of this pack, damn it.

“Look, just go tell Natasha to get the guest room near my room ready and we’ll discuss this later,” Bucky said with a wave of his hand and turned back to his plate, effectively dismissing Steve.

Steve had to bite his tongue from arguing. He didn’t want to wait till later to discuss this. He wanted to argue now about how stupid and dangerous this was. But he made the mistake of glancing over to Y/N.

She sat staring at Steve, a torn expression on her face. As if she knew he wasn’t comfortable and was debating on arguing herself. When she locked eyes with him, a tiny smile grew on her face along with an apologetic look in her eyes. He didn’t know why, couldn’t possibly explain it at that moment, he felt the mounting frustration just fizzle out of him. He heard the wolf inside him whine at the conflicted expression on her face. No. He knew he had to get out while he could.

Biting out a gruff goodbye, Steve turned back and head out the door he came in. His fists were clenched at his side, his heart pounding in his chest. This has never happened not since-No. He threw that thought from his mind. He couldn’t think about that, not the past, not now. It was just a fluke, a freak reaction that he was sure would never happen again. He’d make sure to put as much distance between them as he could. The house was big enough and their rooms far enough apart. It would be easy. He wouldn’t have to worry.

While the alpha marched on to his shared home to tell Natasha to keep up with what she was doing, the trees and sky watched on. They knew it wasn’t a fluke, that things happen for a reason. Only time would tell how their stories would play. If they didn’t go down the paths they were meant to, then it could be fixed. It would only require a gentle nudge, and everything would fall in the right direction. Perhaps there would be a lull before the storm, a sense of reprieve before the panic. The birds did their part, now it was the skies turn.

NSFW Tag: (Open- MUST BE 18+, NO EXCEPTIONS)

@cherrynat / @221bshrlocked / @theapologies / @lusts-of-the-flesh / @rowencarter3 / @littlehellflame / @buckyb4rnacle / @diinofayce / @sincerelymlg / @punkrockhippiefromthefourties / @slytherinlifeislove / @moderapoppins / @nirinael-the-rising-demon / @girlwhoisfearless / @whatisanniedoin / @xxashy999xx / @cinema212 / @sergeantjbuckybarnes / @lokigodofsasss / @myforeveryoungblog / @serpentbaby / @palaiasaurus64 / @electra-hxart / @libbymouse / @disaster-rose / @cloverrover /

Call Of The Mountains Taglist: (CLOSED!!!)

@sophiabulbu69 / @honeyloverogers / @jessieray98 / @wtfisthiswebsite / @storyteller-le / @itty-bitty-dancer / @steebrogurz / @chook007 / @peculiarlittleprince / @hae-bee / @bunniotomia / @itsevalace / @tanelle83 / @sunmoonandbucky / @elizabeth-marie-moon / @ragnarsdrapa / @lazinessisalliknow / @rippedpiece / @lanabgil / @sister-of-stars / @grimmlytimelord / @opaque-daydream / @vitamingrant / @marvellover1819 / @cobalt-gear / @e1e4n0r5 / @andy-blur / @aactuaaltraash / @kyrah-williams / @flowerchild1216 / @go-river-flows / @yimi-papril / @lanabgil / @samiiicg / @juliae03 / @fantua / @hungoverhellhound /@lille-kattunge / @lbuck121 / @the-olive-alexis-stuff / @caramelunicorns / @toc1985 / @imamom-makingadifference / @smileyishere92 / @nickie-amore / @justmevoldemort / @vitamingrant / @agirlruinedbybands / @womanontheedgeofnothing / @sarcasionmew / @xxlilqueeniexx / @sailorstupidsblog / @dontforgetthepieh / @thewintersoldierswifu / @one-girls-life / @mom—nicole / @capandbuckylvr / @mcdanno71 / @ahappylilybug2019 / @neverforget-whereyoubelong / @whatdoyxumean / @peach-acid / @nickie-amore / @boomshakalaka8 /

377 notes · View notes

rohad93 · 4 years ago

Text

Moonlit Masquerade: Ch 1

Because I couldn't help myself. This was inspired by a piece of fanart i saw. This is also on AO3

After the events of the last week it felt strange to just go back to school like she hadn’t gone up against Belos and everyone hadn't seen her rescue Eda and escape from the Emperor's coven and petrification.

It was weird, to say the least, but then again, there was never a day in the Boiling Isles that wasn't weird in some form or fashion if she were honest, she'd gotten pretty used to rolling with the punches in the last month though if she did say so herself.

This was a little different of course.

Gus and Willow had come by the very next day to check on them and get the rest of the story they’d missed after they’d gone to get Eda.

She could tell that her friends were disappointed that she hadn't come to them or even talked to them about it before throwing herself headlong into danger as she had been want to do as of late, but she had already dragged them into this mess with her once and she’d decided that was to many times, especially now that she had a better idea of what kind of real danger the Emperor posed.

She'd managed to pull one over on him and prove he wasn't invincible, but she also knew he was just messing with her, despite her giving it her all and pulling some rather dangerous stunts to boot.

She couldn’t decide if she was becoming more reckless or if she always had been and the Isles just really brought it out in her what with all the… well, dangerous stuff.

Eh, unimportant right now.

They decided it was probably better for Eda and Lillith to lay low for a while and stay inside the house for now, not draw any attention to themselves, difficult as that was for Eda. Lilith would help keep her wrangled, and maybe King.

Though he was just as likely to egg her on as anything else.

Since they weren’t leaving the house Eda couldn’t take her to school on Owlbert, so it was just her and her trusty legs walking to school that morning. She was a little nervous at the prospect of facing… well, everyone.

Everyone had seen her and as the only human on the Isles she wasn’t exactly hard to miss on a regular day much less when being broadcast by crystal ball to everyone.

Her fingers played with the strap of her bag nervously.

She met up with Willow halfway and some of her fears were temporarily relieved as they walked the rest of the way, chatting animatedly. She almost completely forgot about her worries until the school came into view and she could see all the students moving about outside and on the front steps.

Her grip on her bag tightened again and her shoulders bunched up around her ears.

“You ok?” Willow seemed to quickly pick up on her tenseness.

“Yeah…,” she started slowly, eyes darting around the field out front of the school, no one seemed to even be looking at her, anymore than usual that is, even as they walked right up to the school steps where Gus was waiting for them, waving. “I guess I just thought… I dunno, that after what happened more people would be… talking about me?” She wasn’t really sure what she had been expecting.

“Well, you had your cloak up the entire time and the Emperor did say the titan told him to free Eda, so you’d be included in that.” Gus shrugged.

"Gus and I recognized you, but we're together all the time too," Willow added.

“Yeah, I guess…” She wouldn’t say she was disappointed by the lack of attention, it was just so, anticlimactic she supposed. Luz didn’t mind being in the spotlight, but she didn’t actively seek it either.

The bell screamed its first warning toll and all the kids roaming around outside the school began making their way inside.

“See you guys later!” Luz waved as Gus and Willow headed off to their perspective classes, waving to her over their shoulders as they disappeared in the crowd of students.

Tapping a finger against her cheek she had to think for a moment to remember what track classes she had today. There wasn’t enough time in the day for her to take all nine tracks a day so it had to be split over the five weekdays.

It was Monday, so she had beast keeping and potions. She grinned at the thought. She loved learning about all the tracks, but beast keeping was especially fun.

She never got to practice manticore taming or griffin riding back home after all!

She paused mid-step.

Home

The thought made her frown but she tried to shake off the heavy feeling that had settled over her, there was no point in moping about it right now. She did what she had to do, for the good of everyone… and it was her fault that they had been put in that situation to start with, it was only right that she fix it.

Eda was already looking into it but there were other things going on that needed her attention to, and that was fine! Luz knew what she was doing when she’d done it.

She guessed these were just the consequences of her actions catching up to her that her mom had always been warning her about. Maybe now she’d start learning to look before she leaped.

She had started back toward the steps only to be stopped again.

“Luz!?”

She immediately recognized that voice as she turned around to come face to face with Amity as she jogged up to the steps, her abomination trailing behind her as it carried her books. She stopped a few feet from her.

“Hey Amity! You're out of your cast!” Luz grinned at the sight of her friend finally out of bed and back at school.

“Huh? Oh, yea, a few days ago.” She seemed to fidget as she tucked a stray strand of mint colored hair behind her ear. “Forget about that though!” she seemed to focus again, looking at Luz with a frown, face set in a stern look. “What happened?!” she demanded.

Luz frowned, fingers twitching over the rough canvas strap of her bag, she didn’t need to ask what Amity was talking about, she could only mean the whole petrification, escape from the emperor’s coven thing that had been broadcast across all of the Boiling Isles, she’d no doubt seen it.

“Ah well, it’s kind of a long story…” she rubbed her arm and laughed nervously. Amity did not look at all impressed by that answer. “If you want to meet at the library after school I can explain it all,” she offered. She felt bad that out of all her friends Amity was the only one completely in the dark since she didn’t even know about Eda’s curse or had gone with them on the trip to the Emperor’s castle.

Amity didn’t look satisfied with the answer but just as she opened her mouth to speak the bell screamed again, it’s last call for students to get to class before they were tardy and if Luz knew anything at all about Amity, it was that she loved Azura and was never late.

“Alright, I’ll meet you there,” she agreed, though she still didn't look happy about it.

Amity quickly hurried off to class with her abomination, leaving Luz standing there before she smacked herself in the forehead with her palm.

"I'm gonna be late!" She helped before taking off in the direction of beast keeping 101.

~ ~ ~

The day seemed to fly by after she actually made it to class.

It was nice to have something else to occupy her mind other than impending doom in one form or another.

Potions always took all her concentration, unless she wanted to accidentally turn a potion for curing mild rashes into a literal bomb.

...It had happened before...

It had only been a small explosion and her teacher had quickly put out the fire though.

Now that she thought about it, that would have been so much more useful last week.

She pondered the merits of magical bombs in convenient, throwable glassware as she walked quickly through the Bonesborough market toward the library.

She'd been a little slow cleaning up after her potions class and had ended up staying a little long. Amity would probably be waiting on her already, she was punctual to a fault.

She skipped up the library steps two at a time and quickly snuck by the librarian at the front counter when he wasn’t looking.

After the time she had gotten kicked out with the Blight twins, she wasn’t sure she was exactly welcome in the library, so it was better to just not let the librarian see her really.

She snuck quietly through the halls to the romance section. It was devoid of people as it typically was.

She scanned the shelves before smiling as her eyes settled on a book. ‘The Lone Witch and the Secret Room.’

She pulled the book out and shoved it back in, there was a loud click as the shelf slid away to reveal Amity’s secret room.

Amity was already waiting inside for her, curled up in the corner on some cushions, a book splayed across her lap as she stepped in, letting the shelf slide back into place behind her.

“Hey” She held up a hand in greeting. “Sorry it took me a little longer than normal. I had to clean up after potions.”

“It’s alright, Luz.” She closed her book and motioned to the other cushion several feet away. Luz dropped her bag and plopped onto the floor,crossing her legs as she looked up at the youngest Blight and smiled.

Gold eyes flitted away and cheeks took on a rosy hue. Luz wondered if Amity was hot, it wasn’t bad in here but some people ran warmer and colder than others.

“So…,” Luz started, unsure.

Amity seemed to jolt as her eyes were once again on the human and her expression morphing into one of serious expectancy.

"What happened last week?"

Straight to the point then. Luz nodded as she started with Eda's curse and the field trip to the Emperor's castle.

Amity's face seemed to shift through a myriad of emotions over the course of the story, especially when Luz talked about how Lilith had kidnapped her and tried to kill her.

The horror on her friend's face and those intense gold eyes focussed on her made Luz self conscious and she pulled her knees up to her chest but didn't stop her tale. She squeezed her legs as she got lost in thinking about it.

Amity wasn't the only one experiencing a lot of emotions right now.

The fear as Eda sucame to her curse and later the rage she felt anytime someone so much as uttered Lilith's name or she saw one of those dumb posters made her whole body shake, and finally the helplessness and sorrow as she'd handed over the portal and then had to burn her world away in a flash of fire. All of it came back to her so easily, still fresh on her mind even as she tried not to think about it too hard.

"So, you can't go home?" Amity finally asked quietly after a brief silence following Luz’s explanation of everything that had happened.

She shook her head sadly, eyes downcast and quiet.

Amity hesitated a second before reaching over to set a hand on one of Luz's, resting on her knees and making her look up, brown meeting gold.

"I'm sorry, Luz…" She squeezed gently.

The small touch and the look on her friend's face caused a comforting flash of heat in Luz's chest.

"Thanks… Eda's working on it so…" She shrugged.

Eda who was also without magic, which Amity knew now.

“I’ve seen the owl lady do some pretty impressive things, I’m sure she’ll figure something out.” Amity gave a final squeeze before pulling back, trying to will away the touch of pink on her cheeks, now wasn’t the time for it and she scolded herself for the automatic response.

“Yeah…” Luz nodded to herself, a small smile managing to pull at her lips, which made Amity smile in turn.

“I can’t believe how selfless you are sometimes… destroying the portal to save Eda…,” Amity said, fiddling with her hands now sitting folded in her lap.

“It was my fault she got caught in the first place, I had to fix my mistake…” Luz shrugged, a little flustered by praise she hardly deserved. “She didn’t leave me… I couldn’t leave her.”

“Most people wouldn’t have done that, even if it was their fault,” the young witch insisted.

“Maybe…” Luz shrugged again but couldn’t help the widening of her smile.

Amity glanced at the clock on the wall, her smile turned into a grimace, they had been here longer then she had planned.

“I need to head home…” Amity stood and Luz followed suit as they headed out of the secret room, checking quickly to make sure no one was around to see them as they headed out.

“I have abominations and illusions tomorrow, so I guess I’ll see you in class.” Luz smiled as they stepped outside the library.

“Of course…” Amity nodded but she seemed distracted as they paused at the top of the library steps.

“Amity?” Luz called and again she was focussed on her, but the look on her face was one Luz had seen before, she was thinking.

She hesitated a second, looking around the empty area outside the library before closing the two feet of distance between them.

Luz could only blink as Amity's arms wrapped around her in a tight embrace, chin tucked into her neck, mint green filling the latina's vision.

"I'm so glad you're okay."

It was said so quietly she almost missed it, hardly a whisper, breathed against her neck.

Warmth immediately flooded her chest at the quiet murmur.

Before Luz could reach up to return the embrace Amity was already pulling away.

“See you tomorrow, Luz.” she called as she hurried down the library steps, never looking back and leaving Luz standing there, stunned, in her wake.

“Bye…” she held up a hand in farewell at the retreating witch’s back.

Why was her face so warm?

Shaking it off, Luz adjusted her bag as she hurried back to the owl house before Eda could wonder where she was.

The heat in her face faded quickly but the warmth in her chest lingered all night.

The minute Amity set her things down on her desk she caught sight of the Emperor’s coven poster, with Lilith Clawthorne staring back at her with a smug smile.

With a frown Amity ripped the poster from the wall and stuffed it into the trash can next to her desk.

#Amity Blight #Luz Noceda #Lumity #Eda Clawthorne #Willow Park #Gus Porter

47 notes · View notes

anika-ann · 5 years ago

Text

Errare Humanum Est - Pt.12

Alice in Wonderland

Type: series, soulmate AU series (part 1, part 2) x Supernatural

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader (past?) Word count: 3500

Summary: The cat’s outta bag and ‘Nat’ really isn’t sure she likes it. Perhaps she prefered it the other way around. There’s a lot more emotions in the air now.

Warnings: mentions of violence, blood and death, amnesia, swearing, bit of a metafiction, mentions of tumblr-like sites ;) ...and possibly messed up format

Story masterlist

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Sam and Dean seemed more than a bit dumb-struck when you finally emerged from the bathroom, which had you shift uncomfortably. Now they were looking at you like the rest of the café and wasn’t that just perfect. You were regretting choosing to dress like the Winchesters now; maybe that was why people here kept staring at you. Except it didn’t explain why Dean and Sam were staring too all of sudden.

Despite their expressions, Sam shook his head as if snapping from some kind of daze, his eyes again displaying concern for your well-being, asking about it. To be fair, it was a very valid question.

“Hey. You okay?”

No. “Yeah. Just… dunno. The staring doesn’t make me feel good,” you muttered, taking the seat next to Sam.

It was only partly the truth. While you didn’t have any solid lead on your soulmate, being here, possibly closer to him… it made you as excited as nervous. Restless, definitely.

“Well, it helped a lot,” Sam announced, sounding almost cheery. It got you shift your gaze to stare at him, your expression no doubt as puzzled as you felt at such statement. Huh? Sam smiled softly. ”We might have found your soulmate.”

“Really?!” you yelped, quickly covering your mouth when you realized how loud your voice went. But frankly, you didn’t care much about that. Because… WHAT?! When? How? “How is that possible?”

Sam’s gaze travelled to the counter, where the orange-haired girl who had welcomed your trio was smiling your direction subtly. You lowered your eyes, your mind racing. What did that woman had to do with it? Had you known her? From… before? Did she know your soulmate?

“Yeah. He’s Captain America,” Dean dropped the bombshell bluntly.

You saw clearly that they expected you to have a flash of recognition in your eyes at least, but it wouldn’t come. You had no clue what they were talking about. Was that some kind of a… special army rank? Or… a stage name for an artist or something?

God, you hoped it wasn’t a stripper’s name.

That idea made blood rush into your cheeks, only a dumbfounded noise leaving your mouth.

“Huh?”

“Right,” Sam cleared his throat, shifting in his seat. It took your eyes from slightly disappointed Dean.

“He’s a superhero-“

What.

“-he kinda is around hundred now-“

WHAT. ‘Kinda?’ What did that even mean?

“-so that would explain the… peculiar soulmark you have. But don’t worry, he doesn’t look hundred, he isn’t really, it’s complicated…”

Nope, still not following.

A superhero? your mind echoed again, not even the tiniest bit helpful. Kinda hundred, but not really…?

“Anyway, even the way you were when Cas brought you in? It all checks out with the story. Even the last name you picked. His name is Steve Rogers,” Sam added, his voice dropping in both volume and tempo, seeing your brain momentarily fried.

You stared blankly ahead, trying to process all the new information you were given, letting it merge with what you had already knew – which wasn’t much. Sweet ‘doll’ caressed your ears, Dean’s joke about time-travel and a mafioso kind of soulmate, about Rowena talking the strong bound with the man you had met but hadn’t met.

You didn’t realize you had closed your eyes and how long you had remained quiet until a warm hand landed on your shoulder, Sam’s voice calling out your given name.

That was funny, wasn’t it? You chose Natasha, not knowing why. But you also chose Rogers – because clearly, that was your soulmate’s name. A soulmate who was sort of hundred years old and a superhero.

You blinked your eyes opened, still unable to let the supposed facts sink in.

“Nat? You okay there?” Dean joined his brother in mother-henning you and you couldn’t help but try and charm a slight smile on your lips at their care.

Sam gently squeezed your shoulder to ground you.

“I… I guess. It’s just…I-- … a lot. This is a lot. I’m… I’m not sure I get it,” you stuttered finally. Judging by their expressions, they didn’t trust you that you were okay, but didn’t push you. It was a lot to process. How was such thing even possible? “You really need to explain further. What even made you think I’m some… superhero’s soulmate?”

“We will explain it all,” Sam promised, removing his hand only to motion toward the latté and cake on the table. Why was here a cake? And why only one? Was this about Dean making you eat more again? You didn’t even need an answer. “But first, eat. Then we might have a trip.”

You honest to god would have raised the tea spoon to start eating, but his Sam’s later words had you frozen in mid-motion. A trip?

“To where? To find this… Steve Rogers? You know where he lives?” you blurted out, shocked. The sinking feeling in your stomach, the nerves working, nudged you intently.

“Yeah. Kinda. Though maybe we could stop by in a church first.”

You frowned at Dean, your confusion spiking. Was there anything at all that actually made a freaking sense?!

“A church? Why?”

“To light a candle for you,” Dean hummed, almost indifferent as if he was talking about weather and not about visiting your grave or whatever.

“…what?” you squeaked, earning an eye-roll.

“Just eat, Nat.”

Right. They probably knew your actual name now. That was why Dean made the point of… articulating it so pointedly.

Upon that, you dug into the cake obediently. Something told you that you’d need that sugar rush.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

It was a good thing that Dean had forced you to eat first; if you had been eating when being shown the pictures of Steve Rogers, you would have choke to death and that would be embarrassing. Not to mention ironic.

Sam was introducing the man known as Captain America in a hushed voice, clearly not wanting to attract attention. He explained that the man was the Second World War hero (what?) and how he had become one.

You saw a black-white picture that had been taken around 1942, showing a handsome light-haired man, maybe too skinny and short, but with a determined spark in his eye, lop-sided soft smile gracing his lips. For some reason, a warm feeling pooled around your heart – he looked adorable. A man would probably punch you if you told him he was that, but it was how you felt.

The very same year, only few days later, actually, had been taken another photo. You could tell it was the man still, but he was… bigger. Like… bigger. You weren’t sure you were buying the fact that some sort of a serum had made him like this, but… angels were a thing. So you didn’t voice your disbelief.

You did though when Sam got to the pictures of him in a ridiculous costume – and there it was, Captain America being his stage name. You were quickly explained that his performing to raise money for weapons had been a very short-lived gig. He had soon earned the rank of a Captain for real.

You couldn’t believe your eyes when the current pictured appeared. Steve Rogers, who had apparently been trapped in ice for seventy years, still looked the same and was still saving the world.

It was too much.

It had become too much about half an hour ago.

You stared at the device in your hand, a close-up picture of the man in question on the display, the very same spark you had seen in the old picture of him pre-serum now flashing in beautiful blue eyes.

He was a special breed of a man from what you saw and heard and for some reason, Sam and Dean believed your soulmark led to him.

How?

“That’s… you think… you think that this is my soulmate?” you whispered, voice weak, laced with uncertainty. Hell, doubt even.

How could this be?

“Yeah,” Dean shrugged, a playful smirk playing on his face as he lost the let’s-break-it-to-her-slowly attitude. “That’s what we said. What, you’re not into blonds?”

You scoffed, resisting the urge to massage your temples, suddenly bone-tired, a headache starting to build.

“That’s not… are we seeing the same pictures?”

“I sure hope so,” Sam noted, head tilted to side in confusion, begging you to elaborate even without words.

“He’s… just look at him. And he’s some kind of a hero, a superhero? Again or… still? How could a guy like him be paired with someone like me?”

Was this man even real? You weren’t sure about it. If he was, there was no way you were his soulmate. Right? That would be insane.

“I’m not even sure what that means and what to say to that,” Dean replied, his brows knitting together. You were confident he knew exactly what you meant. “Just… look, we have a video evidence-“

“I beg your pardon?!” you squealed, jumping in your seat and tossing the tablet to Sam’s hands.

“Not like that!” the taller man chimed in instantly and you gripped at your chest, your heart beating rapidly under your palm. Christ. You having certain kind of video evidence online was really the last thing you needed – or even wanted to know. “It’s from when you… died, well alright, when you were killed… it was sorta by a supervillain? He broadcasted the whole thing to every channel in US. There’s a footage of you… dying and Captain here running to your rescue. Would you- eh, would you like to see it?”

I bet you would prefer the porn kind of evidence now, a low solemn voice mocked you in your head, while your ears started ringing, your stomach making somersaults, your head pounding.

“I… I don’t know. Definitely not- not here.” And now.

Or, you know, ever.

Sam and Dean nodded in sync, expressions solemn all of sudden. They slowly rose from their seats so you followed their suit. You weren’t you sure wanted to or that your trusted your body to stand upright without passing out; however, you chose to trust the brothers to catch if your brain suddenly decided this was even more than too much and you’re sending your body vessel to the ground.

It didn’t feel like you had a choice anyway.

…

As they gathered their belongings, none of them saw their barista smile for herself and being nudged by her friend. The orange-haired girl smirked, but couldn’t keep her excitement contained. She spilled the beans about the woman; along with the fact that two days ago, she had already seen them all coming here.

That shit happened when one was a psychic after all.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Sam and Dean decided to take a walk; more precisely, Sam had made the decision and dragged Dean away in a way that was everything but subtle. You didn’t pay any mind to that as they left you in the car with a burner phone (a gift from Dean that earned the man an appreciating look from Sam) and the tablet to go down the rabbit hole – whatever that meant. It kinda felt like it though, surfing through the net again.

First, you learned your actual name. It felt almost foreign, you had got used to Nat now, but it still had an air of it being right and you knew it was the truth.

Only then, you watched what Sam prepared for you.

The so-called video evidence caused tears to fill your eyes, soon flooding down your cheeks.

There was no faking it. There was no doubt it was you strapped to the chair. There was no doubt it was your soulmate’s voice, even when modified by the unclear record – you had heard this voice in your dreams. There was no doubt that what you heard in his words was a desperation worth losing a person he loved.

Seeing your fear and resignation-filled expression had you known that once you had felt the same about him. There was no mistaking that at least part of the fear was for him as he rushed towards the bomb instead of sprinting away to save his own skin.

A pain so sharp it made you gasp expanded in your chest, burning sensation on your skin for a fraction of second and you had to wonder if it was the last memory of your past life. Being blown up.

You had been blown up. And your soulmate witnessed it. What a twisted way to go.

What a twisted way to return, echoed in your skull and if you hadn’t been already pre-occupied with the record, you might ask heavens why you were brought back from death.

But you weren’t sure you wanted to know anyway.

To take your mind off the horrifying pictures flashing behind your eyelids, you searched the web again in attempt to find anything else.

And there was a whole new rabbit hole to find.

People indeed lighted candles for you, built altars with what you assumed was a picture of you; there were all around the United States, but mostly in New York City, near places where the explosives had been planted, where many people would have died if Captain America ran for your rescue first.

It only brought fresh tears to your eyes.

Fanfiction was a new concept to you – but what wasn’t these days. You read a few summaries, very few stories which focused on Steve after your death. It was so surreal.

Some plotlines had Steve Rogers die in the battlefield soon after losing you, often including your souls reuniting in Heaven. Those were beautiful, but also incredibly sad. Others had you resurrected somehow – which… good guess, whoever wrote that. You weren’t confident the reunion would go that smoothly though. Or, well, that passionately, as in jumping-to-bed-with-him good. All of those had a ‘fix-it’ tag. The amount of hits with those was dizzying.

Another tag that caught your eye was ‘dark!CaptainAmerica’ and dark!SteveRogers’ ; naïve, not knowing what it meant, you read summaries at least. It had your insides clench in the worst possible way, reading about the clearly good-natured man turning into a twisted stalker, sometimes even a rapist, in better cases a guy looking for a mindless fuck each night. When the element of the stalked girls looking like you joined in, you had to leave the site.

It was simply too much.

Hoping to move on, you went to click on something else entirely.

There was a website dedicated to… peculiar offers, suggestion to the hero. Basically, many people were offering to suck captain’s sorrows through his-- yeah. Sometimes, the posts were accompanied by naughty pictures and it made you ridiculously angry on both captain’s behalf and yours (not that you would ever admit it, because there was no way you were jealous, right?).

It was almost a relief to read some posts from people who had lost their soulmates too and simply were looking for a new connection. Was that how it worked? Was this what people did, drowning their sorrows together? Did it work? Was there someone who caught the captain’s eye? Or was he hoping to meet his soulmate, having a new set of marks like she – possibly you – did? He must have, right?

You shook your head and sighed, absentmindedly going through some comments on what was called Tumblr. A long post with many reactions caught your attention and you had decided to read it, rather not trying to figure out what exactly possessed you to do so when many things seen today had already made you sick from your stomach.

He used to come to our coffee shop sometimes. I was trying to woman up and flirt with him for weeks. Never got to it and now I’m kinda glad. One day, he didn’t order and just sat there, clearly waiting for someone – and looked super-impatient, I swear he was tapping his foot. I didn’t call him out on it despite how annoying it was. I couldn’t even tell him to order or get out – try to say that to a national icon! And then… then she came in. You know, I read a lot of chickflics, not gonna lie. But for the first time, I actually saw someone looking at another person as if ‘they hung the moon’. Seriously. He had hearts in his eyes. I would wish everyone to find themself a better half that looks at them like that. She wasn’t any different, but that’s implied – she was dating a gorgeous man and a hero on top of that. They were so obviously in love and while they were polite all the way – that woman was super-nice, alright, – it was clear the rest of the world disappeared when they were together. Just wanna say: stick your disgusting offers to cure his heart by sucking his D to your arse. That man is mourning the woman he clearly loved with his whole heart and he has every right. I want to thank him for the lives he saved. I want to thank her for not spending their last moments yelling accusation to his face to make him feel guiltier than he already had, no doubt. I hope her soul is in a good place and one day, they will reunite. Rest in peace, sweetie. I hope you get see the way he was looking at you every day.

→ Amen, sister.

→ That’s equally heart-warming and heart-breaking. Poor girl. Poor guy.

→ Has anyone actually seen him outside since it happened? I hope he’s handling it. As much as a person can.

→ So what? You think he should just be alone for the rest of his live? Grow up, girl. Guy needs to get laid on regular basis. And yes, I’d gladly offer when given the opportunity. → Jeez. She didn’t say anything like that. But it’s kinda soon to get laid, don’t you think? This is clearly a note exactly for people like you. Let the poor guy have his peace. Let him mourn and come to terms with what happened before offering him a BJ. Excuse me while I go throw up…

→ God let her rest in peace indeed. My daughter was at school at the time, few feet from one of the bombs. She’s alive and well. I won’t forget this woman, ever.

→ Can we talk about how a person can date Captain America and be actually a nice person, not bragging all the freaking time? Like, even I might gain a superiority complex or something tbh. → I hear you. Same.

→ She sounds cool. Seems like they were amazing together. Life can suck. RIP.

→ This is so sweet and heart-breaking I’m crying.

The person writing the last comment wasn’t alone in their misery, having their heart breaking and warmed up at the very same time. Fresh tears welled up in your eyes and you vainly tried to blink them away as you sniffled and covered your mouth with your palm to muffle your sob.

You gave up then. You tossed the tablet on the driver’s seat and hid your face in your palms, letting the tears stroll down your cheeks as your loud sobs filled the car.

You had no actual reason to cry, you reasoned with yourself, but it was all in vain. The many confusing and overwhelming emotions swirling in you finally found a proper out – and it was in the form of salty waterfalls on your face.

So be it. God knew that good cry might be exactly what you needed. Better now than in front of your soulmate.

Something told you it wouldn’t be too hard to find him.

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

“Well. You look like shit,” Dean exclaimed when he opened the door, effectively causing you a heart-attack. Your tense shoulders slumped and you melted into the seat, looking up at him with your no doubt red-rimmed eyes.

Still, his compassionate eyes somehow smiled at you, warm and open and you couldn’t help attempting a smile in return. You were the luckiest girl on Earth to be taken care of by them.

Thank God for Sam and Dean.

Or thank angels? One in particular? You didn’t know and perhaps you never would.

“Thanks, Dean. You know how to sweet-talk a girl,” you rasped, blowing your nose in an unladylike manner (not caring).

“Ha! Sassy mouth is back. Sam, she’s good!”

Sam peeked to the car, his tall form nearly bending in half to do so. He offered you an apologetic expression along with a ‘hi’ and a pointed look at his brother, but you mouthed it was alright. Dean actually lifted your spirit.

“So… what now?” you asked in a small voice, which caused the brothers to exchange a look.

“Well. Two things. First, we have lunch-“

“Not really hungry, honestly-“ you interrupted Dean, only for the younger brother to interject.

“A small lunch then, even if it’s only the cake you had earlier,” Sam offered with a wink which would have made you laugh, because health-freak Sam suggested a cake for lunch, but you were dreading the second step in their plan.

“And then?”

Instinctively, you knew the answer. It was the writing on the wall, really, the only logical step. The cause of the knot in your stomach of which you weren’t sure was nerves, nausea or excitement.

Dean confirmed your suspicion of course.

“Then we go to the Avengers Tower to find America’s sweetheart.”

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Part 13

༻༺༻༺༻ღ༺༻༺༻༺

Thank you for reading!

We really are getting close now, aren’t we? :)) Yay?

P.S. - if anyone wants on the taglist - or out - shoot me a dm or an ask, it’s (usually) no problem :))

74 notes · View notes

idkthisisjustforfanfic · 5 years ago

Photo

two years too late, chapter e i g h t

A gust of wind blew the door shut behind you, Alyssa pulled the hat off of her head and let out a groan. “Officially ready for spring,” she laughed.

You rolled your eyes, with mid-January upon you, spring still felt like a far fetched dream--one with sunshine and flowers and maybe more kissing than winter.

The Chelsea Market was always a fun Sunday afternoon adventure, but only if you stopped for a snack and felt up for handling the crowds of people, scarves wrapped around necks to shield from the winter air outside.

You trailed behind Alyssa at first, meandering around the booths, glittering gold jewelry and beautiful pottery lined the counters, smiles from the hopeful merchants.

“This is cute,” you cooed, picking up a signet ring and inspecting it closely.

“Maybe your boyfriend will buy it for you,” she elbowed you in the side, her eyebrows raised in suggestion.

“You’re so obnoxious,” you laughed, brushing her comment off like snow on your boots. “And uninformed, clearly.”

Alyssa had been bugging you about it for a while. Ever since he slept over, she’d been coming up with questions that only made you more nervous. You were not about to bother Harry with a conversation about labels or logistics. Instead, you felt rather content with just ignoring all of that and hoping for the best. After all, your important conversations track record didn’t look so good.

“Oh come on, it’s not like he’s seeing anyone else.”

“You don’t know that,” you said casually, as if the thought didn’t make your stomach churn or your heart ache.

“He spends most evenings in our apartment and a lot of his days in fittings or tour meetings or doing whatever he does. I don’t think he’s seeing anyone but you.”

You bit your tongue, not because you didn’t agree, but because you hoped she was right. The room was filled with other people hiding from the cold on the West Side, wandering around and inspecting tiny treasures.

A tap on your shoulder. “Hi, sorry to bother you, uh--are you Y/N L/N?”

Your eyes pulled up from the necklaces you now held between your fingers, Alyssa’s head whipped around to inspect the source of the question.

You didn’t get recognized often. While internet fame was something you dabbled in, your personal life was pretty untouched, meaning a trip to Chelsea Market wasn’t exactly the time you’d planned on seeing someone who read your stories. Hence the lack of make up and greasy hair up in a bun.

“Hi, yeah, how are you?” You stuck a hand out for her to shake excitedly, a beanie pulled over her head hid what seemed to be blonde curls.

“I’m good, I don’t mean to interrupt, I just, uh, I follow you on _The Scoop _and online.”

“Oh thank you, thanks so much! What’s your name?”

“Courtney,” she smiled. “Nice to meet you. Could I get a picture?”

She shoved her phone over to Alyssa, who hid her surprise well when she held the camera up in front of you.

“Say cheese,” she said, her tone rather flat and a forced smile on her face.

“Thanks so much,” Courtney looked over the photo quickly, shoving it back in her pocket when she deemed it was acceptable. “Nice to meet you, have a good one!”

She left as quickly as she’d shown up, Alyssa’s eyebrows arched when you turned to look at her. “Don’t get famous,” she shook her head. “That would be so annoying to have to deal with all the time.”

“She was nice,” you laughed, turning back to the jewelry. “At least she wasn’t awkward.”

“She was awkward,” Alyssa stared at you, her face contorted in a way that let you know she thought you’d lost it. “What about that wasn’t awkward?”

“Okay, you’re the one who rubbed your body all over that Spotify couch because you thought Harry sat there. You can’t judge her for wanting a photo or to say hi.”

“I was young and stupid,” she narrowed her eyes at you, brushing hair behind her ear when she moved to the next vendor: succulents and mason jars.

“Right,” you rolled your eyes at her. “Speaking of, though--”

She looked back at you, her eyes expectant as you picked up a potted plant to look at the price. Fourteen dollars for a cactus? Nevermind.

“I, uh--I have a new assignment at work.”

“Yeah?” Her expression shifted, excitement in her eyes. “What is it?”

“An interview.”

“Of a person?”

“No of a plant,” you held the tiny cactus in her face. She shoved it away and made a face. “Yes a person.”

“Who?”

You looked around, thankful for the buzzing around you of people in coats and hats. “With him.”

“With Harry?” Her jaw dropped and she seemed to freeze in front of you when you nodded. “Uh--I know I don’t get the whole journalism thing but that seems, like, wrong...wasn’t the whole point of keeping it a secret so you didn’t get fired? How the hell are you going to manage that now?”

“I don’t really know,” you said honestly, putting the cactus back. Her eyes grew rounder at your quiet words. “But it gives me time to figure it out!”

She pulled you away from the vendor, her voice a whisper. “Does Carly know?”

“No! Whitney gave me the assignment last week--I haven’t, I don’t even really know how it’s gonna work yet.”

“Jesus, Y/N--this feels fucking risky.”

“Okay, thank you for the moral support.”

You pulled your arm out of her grasp and threw your attention towards the handmade soaps at the next booth.

“I’m sorry, I just,” she let out a sigh. “This is a big change.”

“I know,” you said. “He made a good point though: it would explain the photos of us. We can just brush it off that way, y’know? Say I’ve been with him for work, interview comes out, photos make sense, it all blows over.”

She tilted her head to the side, her bottom lip between her teeth in thought. “You better hope.”

You didn’t necessarily believe it would blow over, but saying it would seemed better than admitting this was getting out of hand. Like a web that was spun and now trapped you, your relationship with Harry and the ties to work felt like they were growing by the second. “Yeah, well, going to dinner with him tonight.”

“Dinner, like, out?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, a few steps forward, another booth, this one with lotion. “Somewhere uptown.”

“Jesus, I thought dating him was bad enough but now you’re going to be seen with him and you have to recognize how that is going to change things!” She was more animated now, her emotion elevated as the words tumbled out of her mouth.

You turned to look at her, straight faced and calm. “We’re not dating.”

“Right. Okay.”

“We’re just hanging out,” you whined a bit when she turned away from you, her hands now on a book as she flipped it over to read the back cover.

“And making out,” she replied coolly, a lift of her eyebrows in challenge.

“That too.”

She smirked at you from the corner of her eye, a reminder that while she loved you and wanted you to be happy, she also wanted this relationship to work out, for fear of what would happen if it didn’t.

He hadn’t given you any guidance on what to wear. Nice, he’d said, the chef was a friend of a friend, plenty of celebrities went and hopefully it wouldn’t cause much of a scene for him to be there. You only hoped that the black dress buried in Alyssa’s closet was good enough.

So when you walked in to find a table in the back for two, far enough away from any other diners in the restaurant, a wave of relief washed over you and the emerald earrings that used to be your mothers.

“Good?” He asked, pulling out your chair before you sat.

“Yeah,” a nod. “Should be fine.”

“S’nice to actually, y’know, be out.”

More nodding, the nervous kind, when a waiter appeared with a drink menu and a napkin over his wrist--like they did in movies. You weren’t nervous to be with him, it was more just a nervousness that seemed to spike when you realized the way people looked at him in public, the wandering gazes and excited smiles. And maybe it was the fact that you were bare-legged in a wintry New York, the leather of Roger’s backseat cold against your legs when you had climbed in.

But it was fine--glasses of wine were delivered to the table and you heard about the specials, wowed by the art on the walls and the dim lighting that made the room feel even more private.

“You don’t think it’s too romantic for a work thing, right?”

You looked up from the menu. “Huh?”

He set his wine glass down, looking around the room. “The place--I mean, you think people will believe that we’re here to talk business?”

“Are we here to talk business?” You laughed at the look on his face, a goofy expression that reminded you of being kids, sitting across the table from him at Annie’s over a good fry up.

“I mean, figured I owed you a proper date,” he laughed, the words lodging between your lungs and setting up shop, a trickle of anxiety like a leaky faucet.

“Doesn’t have to be a date,” you said quickly. “S’work, really, right?”

He cleared his throat, an awkward beat passed when you sipped your wine. A date would be nice. It wasn’t like you didn’t want it to be one. But the harsh reality of Harry leaving for tour in a few months seemed to loom overhead like a storm cloud on a summer afternoon--inevitable and threatening.

And besides, avoiding a label would make that break much cleaner, void of rubble or ramifications.

“So, how does this work?”

“Well,” you shifted on your seat, thankful for a change in topic. “We have to talk about the direction.”

“The band?”

“No, the direction of the story,” you laughed. “I’m interviewing you. So what? What do we want to share that makes this different from all the others?”

“Oh,” a huff of air escaped his nose through a laugh before he let his eyebrows sink low in thought. “I dunno, where do you see it going?”

You hummed, eyes wandering from one portrait on the wall to another. He ran a hand through his hair but then set his elbows on the table, his gaze on you as he leaned in.

“Whitney said something about how I wouldn’t be impressed by fame--so I guess I have to take it in the direction of bringing you down to earth.”

“You don’t have to bring me down to earth, Smalls,” he twisted his face into a scowl, pretending to be offended when his fingers twisted around the stem of his glass. “M’already down here!”

“I think it’d be fun to do a piece that shows you as you.”

“What do you mean?”

A shrug of your shoulders. “The kid that I’ve known for ages--not just the funky pants and the hair.”

A gasp, “they’re fun!”

“They are fun,” you laughed, “but they’re not all of you.”

“So you want to show what’s underneath the pants,” he wiggled his eyebrows, lifting his glass to his lips and leaning back in his seat.

“No--what? You know what I mean,” you rolled your eyes, letting a sip of wine wash away the blush on your cheeks.

“Sure, sure,” he teased. “I mean, you’ve seen it, so.”

“Harry,” you leaned forward. “That’s a good example of the things you can’t say in public with me.”

“Right. This is strictly a professional relationship,” he gained composure, raising his voice so people around you could hear his declaration if they happened to be listening. He was cut off by a server, one who memorized your orders and kept the wine bottles coming.

So you didn’t talk too much work--you mostly talked about Alyssa and Carly and listened to him detail his meetings and his ideas for the upcoming leg of tour. New cover songs, bigger venues. Just as many fun outfits. His eyes crinkled by the sides when you asked if he was excited, but his smile faded suddenly.

“Listen, I’ll be--I know it’s not ideal for me to leave--”

“S’fine,” you said, finishing off what was left in your glass, hoping the final sip would numb the ache in your chest at his words. “You’re going to have so much fun!”

“Right but we just--”

“The interview will be done by then,” you cut him off, as if his hesitation was about the story, not everything written between the lines.

“Smalls, I don’t mean that.”

“Oh.”

The waiter came and lifted the bottle off the table, pouring the last of it into your glass. Harry watched you, his eyes unreadable once you were left alone in the dim light, a candle flickered between you.

What did he expect from you? A confession of your love and a teary admission that you didn’t want him to go on tour? Work was work, you’d been left behind far too many times to not know the empty feeling by heart.

“It’s still fine--we don’t have to like, have that conversation of what it means when you leave and what it means now.”

“We don’t?”

“No.”

Didn’t that conversation scare guys away? Didn’t it feel needy and overwhelming--especially when one of you was an international celebrity who probably didn’t need any strings attached? You weren’t about to be the small town girl with a big dream, you’d been her once before, she was a person you didn’t care to know.

Maybe you were jumping to conclusions. Your heart beat slowed when he let out a sigh.

“Back to my place? Watch a movie?”

You nodded, you’d been hoping he’d invite you.

You stumbled in behind him, eager to kick your heels off once you grabbed hold of the wall. They clattered against the hardwood floor and he let out a laugh. “That bad?”

“Terrible.”

“Want socks?”

“Sure,” you dropped your purse on the floor and padded over to the couch, hoping if you got to the remote first, you’d be able to pick whatever film you’d pretend to watch.

“TV’s better in the bedroom for a movie,” he said casually, his voice disappearing down the hall as he walked to--you assumed--fetch the socks. You looked around the empty living room, the leftover pasta from his dinner in a paper bag on the counter.

Celebrities bring home leftovers too, you thought. Good for the story.

You stood up and ventured down the hall--you’d caught a glimpse of his bedroom before, only bits that were illuminated from the moon that shone through the window. This time, he flipped the lights on and walked over to a dresser.

“Do you keep clothes here even when you’re not?”

“Eh,” he shrugged, his voice high as he pushed a few pairs aside. “Basics. Socks, underwear, some work out stuff.” He tossed you a pair and turned to look at you, leaning against the edge of his bed.

A mirror on the wall above, a telly that came down from the ceiling. Crown moulding and a beige carpet laid on top of the same wood that spilled in from the hallway. His bedroom was at least the size of your living room and kitchen combined. Big enough that a beautiful navy armchair sat in the corner, a throw blanket splashed over the side.

“What’s your favorite thing about New York? Aside from that Thai place?”

He walked over to another armoire, one that stared back at the king-sized bed. He lifted a remote and pressed a few buttons, the TV lowered from a slot in the ceiling. “Who’s asking? Y/N the journalist or Y/N the girl in my socks?”

“We’re the same person,” you laughed, hoisting yourself up on top of the comforter, a stark white that smelled like traces of lavender and tuberose.

He rounded the corner of the mattress, propping a pillow behind him when he climbed on, too. He kicked his shoes off, a floral patterned shirt was already unbuttoned low enough to expose flecks of black ink on his chest.

“Roof deck upstairs is nice. Don’t go up there too much.”

You laughed, leaning over to shove him a bit. “Seriously. A restaurant, a super cool studio? New York must be filled with celebrity hot spots.”

He turned his head to look at you. “You want an exact location?”

“Sure.”

His fingers traipsed up to his lips, tugging at the lower one like you’d seen so many times. He let out a hum, a soft one that seemed to echo off the sheets. “Your living room.”

“My living room?”

“Yeah,” he said simply, his eyes flickered over to you.

“I can’t write that in the story.”

He laughed. “So that was Journalist Y/N asking.” A poke to your stomach before you retreated.

You rolled your eyes, leaning your head back on a pillow to stare up at the ceiling. “What do you wish people knew about your time in the band?”

He crossed his arms, another stoic stare into the distance. “I loved it, honestly. I think in the years since it’s been over there’s been a lot of talk about the things that were hard. But, it was still a lot of fun--despite all of the shit that came along with it.”

You looked up at him, he looked down at you. “Sounds like a robotic answer if I’ve ever heard one.”

“It’s true!” he laughed, his lips quirking up to a smile. “Meant every word of it.”

“I know you did.”

He scooted down on the bed, until he was laid beside you, your eyes on him and his on the ceiling. When he looked over at you, he smiled, his lips pulled up before he leaned in and kissed you, a hand on your waist.

You’d thought about having sex with Harry more times than you could count--not in a weird way, just in that teenage crush turned celebrity way. By the time the fire of your teenage crush was put out, pictures of him were sprinkled over the internet, inescapable and hard to ignore. And then you had to listen to other people talk about wanting to have sex with him.

You never imagined it to be so comfortable, a laugh when he nearly elbowed you in the face, a giggle when a book fell off the nightstand.

You didn’t think it would feel so natural to lie on his chest and stare out the window in his bedroom, watching the sky spread towards Brooklyn. But it was better than you imagined. Real, tangible, and still slightly unbelievable.

So instead of focusing on the voice in your head that felt like all of this was destined to crash and burn, you let him kiss your shoulder in the shower that night, beads of water dripping towards the drain like the anxiety you tried to ignore.

Carly seemed content with doodling flowers on the side of the staff meeting agenda sheet. You watched as her pen looped around the petals, down towards the stubby grass, back up towards the sun she’d scribbled on the edge of the margin.

Whitney was nodding continuously as Gabrielle explained the new lead she had on a long-standing project. All you could think about was your terribly unethical behavior.

It hadn’t really hit you at first. Not in the shower, not when you changed into a pair of his sweatpants. It didn’t even sink in when you ate breakfast in his kitchen and climbed into the backseat, Roger behind the wheel to drop you off at the office.

It didn’t even begin to take form until long after you’d texted Alyssa and given some details--more over dinner tonight, you promised.

So maybe what did it was when you walked into the meeting to see a line of text on the agenda that made everything feel more real.

Digital Department Updates: topics, stories, interviews, etc.

Whitney loved to have the writers go around and share whatever new, exciting things they were working on. And while it normally felt like a good time to humble brag about fan mail or well-received stories, today it felt more like a set up.

Carly had no idea about the interview and now, as of last night, you were officially sleeping with someone you were writing about. That added a whole new layer of nervous sweat to your forehead. So when Gabrielle finished her update and shifted slightly to offer you a smile, it took prompting from Whitney to make you talk.

“Y/N,” she smiled, “why don’t you let everyone know what you’re gearing up to work on.”

You smiled at her, wide eyes when you realized she wanted you to break the news to Carly. Right here, in front of everyone. Maybe it was your own fault. Maybe she assumed you’d already told her--after all, Whitney was missing a huge piece of context.

Sure, if Harry wasn’t someone you’d grown up with, wasn’t someone you had feelings for, and wasn’t someone you were now sleeping with, you’d probably have already told Carly that you got a once-in-a-lifetime assignment.

But the whole ethics mumbo jumbo seemed to blur some lines and make that conversation a bit more difficult. You let out a quiet laugh, wishing you could disappear into your sweater or melt into the floor.

“Yeah,” you looked around the table, all eyes on you as you adjusted in your chair. “Lists are going well--great one the other day about obnoxious New Year’s resolutions.”

A few smiles from coworkers, you looked down the line of those who sat across from you, willing them to ask a question or change the subject--even someone suddenly having a heart attack felt like an unfortunate, yet welcomed, distraction.

“Great--big interview coming up, though, right?”

Your chest deflated a bit, Whitney’s excitement for you was pure and encouraging. She wanted to help you grow as a journalist and she was putting enormous faith in you by giving you this assignment. You only wished she’d entrusted you with a celebrity that wasn’t the one you were sleeping with.

“Yes, yeah. I’m uh, I’m doing a story with Harry Styles.”

A few quiet gasps, Gabrielle seemed excited and Rachel--one of the interns--had eyes as wide as swimming pools. Carly’s head turned slowly, her gaze pulled up from the doodles on her paper to land on your face, her expression somewhat glazed over.

“Huge!” Whitney smiled. “It’s going to be great! You’ve been in contact with his team? Someone reached out like his publicist said they would?”

“Yep,” you nodded, “was planning to fill you in this week in our one-on-one.”

“Great, can’t wait to hear about it,” she clapped her hands together. “Anything else?”

“No,” you shook your head. “S’all.”

You turned to look at Carly partly out of fear and guilt, but also because it was her turn to give the staff an update on her recent projects. She looked at you, her eyes unimpressed and her expression unreadable.

“Right--me,” she parted her lips to speak and then shrugged her shoulders. “Not much is new. Wrote a story about Camila Cabello and she tweeted about it. That was cool.”

Carly seemed to look anywhere but at you--her eyes scanned the rest of your coworkers, down the line to Whitney at the head of the table. “Amazing, yeah. Any exciting things coming up?”

She pursed her lips, a thin line of disappointment. “Nope--nothing.”

“Well more will come,” Whitney smiled, her words an attempt at reassuring your friend.

You could feel the resentment emanating off of her for the rest of the meeting--but it was especially obvious when you walked out behind her. Once you were far enough away from the conference room and the rest of the staff, you cleared your throat. “I think we should talk.”

“Good idea,” she turned around, her eyes narrowed. “Care to explain?”

“I was going to tell you!” You crossed your arms quickly, looking around to watch as people settled back into their cubicles. “I didn’t know she was going to put me on the spot like that. I would have preferred to tell you not in front of everyone else.”

“Well too late,” she shrugged. “Does she know? Is that why you’re doing a story on him?”

“No,” you tugged at her arm, pulling her back towards your desk and away from a marketing woman who passed by. “She has no clue--which is shitty, I know. I guess his team wanted to do some interview with a different outlet, she brought it up maybe a week ago.”

“And you’re doing it?”

A nod. She turned a corner around someone’s desk, you kept following her.

“And you didn’t tell her that you grew up with him?”

“No! Carly, this is huge for me, okay? I know it’s fucked up and I know I’m a terrible person but she offered it to me and I couldn’t pass it up. You know I asked her for more news before Christmas.”

“I know,” she let out a sigh, slowing when she reached your cubicle. “I just--I don’t know, I kinda thought she would have asked me to do it knowing how much I like him.”

“Yeah,” you sighed, deciding to keep Whitney’s comment about professionalism to yourself. “I think she just wanted to throw me a bone and, besides, she figured I didn’t know much about him and I think she thought that would lend itself to a different take.”

She was quiet, watching as you went to sit at your desk. She leaned on the edge of your cube, another sigh escaping her mouth, she rolled her eyes back in her head as if she was about to become a puddle on the floor.

“Are you mad?”

She shrugged, made a face, and then laughed a little. “I’m jealous--I wish I had found out some other way than that. And I do think it’s kind of fucked up that you’re doing it. I mean, aren’t we supposed to be unbiased as journalists?”

You offered a challenging smirk. “And all of your stories about him have been unbiased?”

“Being a fan is different than being a friend,” she wrinkled her nose at you.

You shushed her, waving a hand to calm her down. “Listen, I know. Maybe--I dunno--maybe you can come with me when I interview him one time and I’ll tell Whitney that you were a big help and,” you paused, unsure of where you were going with it. “You can help keep me unbiased.”

She laughed a little, her head tilting to the side. “You’d let me tag along again? I wasn’t too annoying the first time?”

“Annoying? I was prepared for you to be intolerable--and you were pretty put together, surprisingly.”

She pushed some hair over her shoulder, a metaphorical pat on the back. “I was pretty cool, wasn’t I?”

“I’m sorry I didn’t get to tell you first.”

“S’alright,” she shrugged. “But I wouldn’t hate being invited. I can ask him more questions and it’ll be work!”

“How exciting!” You teased.

“Hey, not all of us know everything there is to know about him.”

“You probably know more than I do.”

“Do you know that he eats his meals one food group at a time?”

You blinked a few times, “what? No--I’ve never noticed.”

“Huh,” she pulled her head back in surprise. “Maybe I know too much.”

You’d gotten a text from Harry that afternoon--an invitation to dinner at his apartment.

Harry S (3:21pm): Just us. I’ll cook.

The sky was dark when you left work and the subway wasn’t nearly as comfortable as Roger’s leather backseat--but rides to work didn’t seem like something you should get used to.

The doorman at Harry’s building opened the door for you with a smile, the security at the front desk handed you a post-it note with his handwriting on it.

952347 - xx H

You headed for the lift, only realizing what it was when you saw the keypad above the other buttons. You pushed the button for his floor, typed in the string of numbers, and watched as the light above turned green.

He gave you the access code to his flat.

You didn’t think much of it, not until he greeted you off the lift with a kiss, the scent of dinner wafting over from the kitchen. He had a glass of wine poured on the counter--his was over by the stove.

“How was work?”

“Fine--I told Carly about us.”

“About us?”

You clarified, immediately regretting your choice of words. “About me interviewing you.”

“Oh,” he nodded, heading back to the stove to look at whatever was sizzling in the pan.

You shrugged out of your coat and hung it by the lift. “She took it fine. What are you making?” A change of topic felt necessary.

“She was fine? Really?” He stuck a spatula into the frying pan, pushing something around over heat.

“I told her maybe she could tag along to one of our meetings.”

“Meetings? S’kind of hot.” He looked at you over his shoulder, his eyebrows shot North as if he was still in middle school.

You leaned against the island now, your glass of wine in hand as he snickered to himself. It didn’t feel totally necessary to have the conversation--you know, the one post-sex where you derive some sort of meaning from whatever just occurred.

So you didn’t--you sat at the island and told him about your day, the way Whitney put you on the spot and the way Carly seemed more relaxed than you expected. He asked about the items on your desk. Stellotape? Pictures? A phone?

You told him more about Whitney, about the way she totally intimidated you at first and how one day you dreamed of having an office like hers. He smiled at you over plates of honey roasted chicken, you offered to do the dishes after.

And once you were sat on the couch, the news on as if you were just ordinary people, your phone buzzed with a FaceTime call from Jessie.

“Why’s she calling?” You looked at him quickly, your heartbeat rising when he pulled his head back.

“I don’t know--have you talked to her lately?”

“No--and it’s late there.”

You slid a thumb across the screen, a smile when you saw that she was laying in bed. “Hi, Jess--how are you?”

“Can’t sleep. Where are you?” She squinted at the new light from her screen, a yawn escaped her lips.

You moved the phone to show Harry quickly. “At Harry’s. Just had dinner.”

“Oh,” she said. “Hi Harry.”

“Hi Jessie,” he leaned towards your shoulder and offered a grin. “What’s wrong?”

She let out a dramatic sigh. “Insomnia strikes again. What are you two doing, anyway?”

“Just hanging out,” you said, your tone so casual it almost sounded suspicious, even to you.

“Yeah?” She smiled a bit, the look on her face told you she was about to say something you wouldn’t like. “You should have a monopoly rematch.”

“I didn’t cheat!” Harry said quickly, a frown crossed his face when you looked up at him.

His words immediately brought Jessie’s energy level up, she rolled her eyes and let out a sharp laugh. “Bullshit, Harry! You’ve always been rubbish at board games--there’s no way you beat all of us!”

“Maybe you just suck at buying property,” he said, his tone serious and his face still twisted--he threw in her full name for shock-value, “Jessica.”

“Okay--anyway--Jessie, maybe a good cuppa and a book?”

Another groan, she sighed and sunk deeper into her pillow. “I dunno--maybe.” She told you about a date she went on, a nice kid, good job. She reminded you that Adam’s birthday was in a week, only a few days before Harry’s.

Soon enough she bid farewell, yawning into the camera and promising she’d catch up with you soon. You knew what it meant: you have to tell me why you’re hanging out with Harry.

When you hung up the phone the room was quiet. The telly was on mute and Harry seemed to let out a yawn himself, a smile when you locked eyed.

“You didn’t tell her anything, right?”

“No--did you?”

He shook his head.

“Best to keep it to ourselves,” the words felt somewhere between a statement and a question, both woven together to fall out of your mouth and settle on the couch between you.

You hoped for some type of signal from him, but he was quiet. “Are you okay with last night?”

He turned to look at you, anxiety crossed his face. “Yeah--I--are you?”

“Yeah--I just, kind of, y’know, takes it to the next level.” Your words felt clunky and articulate.

He let out a small laugh before he let his arm rest on the back of the leather sofa. “I guess so--is that bad?”

“No, s’not, I just--I don’t want you to feel like you have to, I dunno, be nice to me.”

“Smalls, have I ever not been nice to you?”

It was your turn now to lift your brows, a challenging look in his direction as you adjusted beside him.

“Never mind,” he laughed.

“I just mean--we don’t have to, y’know, make a big deal of it.”

A nod. “You don’t want to make a big deal of it,” his tone mirrored yours, not a question, not a statement, somewhere in the middle.

“Nothing to overthink, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Maybe you said it more for yourself and less for him. For the knot in your stomach or the rush in your veins. For the girl who was fifteen and wishing he’d come home, the girl who knew he wouldn’t. Nothing to overthink.

You repeated it to yourself on the way home, the uber you insisted on calling when you wondered if Roger had a family. If you were going to ride around in the back of his car, you figured it’d be best to learn that sort of thing.

Nothing to overthink.

You said it four times to Alyssa when she caught you in the doorway, trying to sneak in without a sound, knowing you bailed on a roommate dinner date. She had sleepy eyes, but she didn’t seem mad.

Her eyes closed as she laid on your bed_. You pulled on sweatpants._

I can’t believe you slept with him, she said.

I can, you told her.

Nothing to overthink.

read the other parts here

come talk to me about tytl

tag list: @clorenafila @ainsleesolareclipse @castawaycths @harryspirate @wanderlustiing @ursamajor603 @thurhomish @omgsharry @stepping-into-the-light @rachkon @jdcharliewhiskey @sad-little-asshole @shawnsblue @gendryia @g0bl1nqueen @laula843 @flooome a-woman-without-a-plan @awomanindeniall @shaw-nm @staceystoleyourheart @ohprettylittlemind @anssu-amry @my-fandomful-life @stylesfantasy @bookingbee @mleestiles @haute-romance-quotidienne @craic-head-horan @talk-british-2-me-britbritharry @at-least-im-1 @paigemck00 @rawmeharry @pinkpolaroidgirl @blackxxmagicc @sksspotkitty @nearbyou

#tytl #two years too late #harry styles fanfic #harry styles fanfiction #harry styles fan fiction #harry styles fiction #harry styles writing #harry styles fic au #harry styles x reader #reader x harry #harry styles story #harry styles smut #harry styles imagine #Harry Styles #harry styles blurb #harry styles blurbs #harry styles imagines

189 notes · View notes

missmaxime · 4 years ago

Note

wip game: might, slight, tight, white!

Thank you so much for these! 💖💖 Quite a lot too!

MIGHT

From (Work Title) ‘Shine a Light Now (this Time it’s got to be Good)’ aka the Reality TV/Bachelor AU:

It’s not like she’s not having fun – okay, maybe a little less than she had anticipated. But once they’re halfway through that fishbowl she won’t be able to tell Thumbelina from Fabio the Stud, so what does she care. And on the other hand she didn’t really want to go somewhere where she might run into someone from work, or the PTA or any other part of her life. So when Phoebe dropped the words Feisty Freakshow that sounded exactly like a place she’d definitely be absolutely anonymous. “Looks like your friend is having a good time.”

From ‘Wild at Heart’ Chapter 5

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I was-” he started exclaiming – but held himself back mid-sentence, lowering his voice immediately. “Should I congratulate you?” he asked. Beth shook her head. “Not yet, it’s just a first check-up. Honestly, we’re fine if it’s false alarm. But Rio has a good friend in town who’s an ob-gyn, so we might as well get it checked out while we’re here.” Paul waved a finger at her. “I was wondering why you two weren’t drinking,” he laughed.

From ‘If worst comes to worst, I left a note’ (Speed dating AU)

“Why don’t you like me?” she asks, as she gets more into his space. He looks kind of defeated, really. “I like you.” “You could just put that on the form. Like a normal person,” she says, walking towards him. And really. All these men here are useless. They’re either Dean-replicates or younger guys chasing some kind of MILF fantasy. And Rio’s just… different, not a caricature or something, he’s something new and fresh, and exciting. And she has a good feeling she might be the same for him as well. “I’m not a normal person,” he says.

From (WT) ‘The Kaleidoscope of Love’ aka the modern arranged marriage AU

“You!” she hears the guy say, pointing at Annie, who immediately throws her hands up in defense, totally forgetting she was holding the candy bowl which immediately tumbles onto the ground, scattering it’s contents over the floor.

“Hey, I’m just here for my sister, don’t come at me bro!” she tries to laugh it away. He doesn’t think it’s funny. But his gaze lingers on Beth a longer time than might be appropriate before turning his attention back to the woman beside him. “Good, we’re all here,” they hear from the hallway entrance, as Amber steps into the waiting room, wearing her white coat. Beth doesn’t really know what emotion surging through her is going to win out, but it’s a funny combination of anger, nervousness and utter confusion. “What are you doing here?’ she asks.

SLIGHT

From ‘Wild at Heart’ Chapter 5

As they came close to the back, Beth could see a variety of offices lining up next to each other. Most of them pretty plain, see-through glass, ordinary office furniture. And odd bunch of people, not unlike the collection of people Beth had seen at Rio’s warehouse when they had delivered the wrapping paper, were working on laptops. The corner office on the far right had tinted glasses, like Rio’s Cadillac. Unsurprisingly, Rio diverted their walk towards exactly that office. The door was slightly ajar, and Rio reached out to push the door open. “Wait,” a woman’s hissed from a few feet away. “S’alright. He’s expecting me,” Rio replied.

TIGHT

From ‘Wild at Heart’ Chapter 5

Rio hummed low in his throat and put the tea down again. “See, I’m glad you asked. Talked some things over with Alaska, hypothetically, and she in. And you know she run a tight business,” he said, mimicking Salazar’s pose, throwing an arm around Beth in the process. Salazar seemed impressed, even though he wasn’t letting on too much. He cocked his head at Beth. “So how she play into this.”

From ‘The Kaleidoscope of Love’

“Christopher Mendoza?” she [Annie] asks. He’s standing with his back towards her, but there’s another tattooed guy sitting in front of him in a pretty tight jacket, next to a more proper lady who’s wearing pristine tennis clothes (that fit, one must add). He turns around and she holds out the document. “You’ve been served.” He snatches the documents from her and folds it open. “What the hell is this?” “I dunno, man. I just deliver this shit,” she answers, before realizing that wasn’t anything else than a rhetorical question. “Well, good day to all of you,” she beams, and makes what she can only now recall as some medieval knee bend. She quickly turns around and leaves, not looking back again.

WHITE

From ‘Wild at Heart’ Chapter 5

“It’s Noah,” Beth hisses to Rio. He doesn’t move a muscle, just clenching his jaw at her statement. Beth takes it for being in the dark. “The other guy involved with wrapping us up before? The one that seduced my sister?” she provides. “FBI. Nerdy white guy that posed as a Fine & Frugal manager?” Mick, in the meantime, guides everyone into the other room. But he clocked the name, she can tell. “He’s taking over for Turner,” she tells Rio under her voice, even though there’s no one to hear this anyway. Rio leans into her. “I know. He been trying to get to my guys while I was laying low,” he says. “no chance though. They know who runs the game.”

From Untitled Beth’s a Reaper AU

Her face is almost doll-like. White like porcelain, and big blue eyes, blond hair cascading in lazy waves to her shoulders. Her lips flushed a darker shade of pink. But she doesn’t look breakable, it’s like she steadies something inside him. Her lips curl into a sweet smile. “You killed those bad guys.” If any, this is not the time that he’s not that good too. He’s not sure if he hums in confirmation, but he tries to with the grunt he lets out. “It’s not your time,” she says, and leans forward to kiss him on the lips.

6 notes · View notes

bittykimmy13 · 5 years ago

Text

Best Wishes (GT) ~ 1

This is G/t fanfiction of the Netflix movie The Half of It. Watch the movie if you haven't seen it. Enjoy.

I certainly enjoyed it so much that I immediately needed a G/t version of it :') This will probably be a shorter story, with short chapters. Just something cute and light after the slew of angst the past couple years haha (but yes of course there will be angst, who do you think I am?) Anyway, this takes place in a potential future of the print universe. YEP, a print story where the characters aren't under immediate threat of physical pain/death 24/7 <333

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Mid-afternoon sun beat down on the lonely stretch of road. Autumn pedaled her bike on a separate print-sized path beside the tree line, bracing herself whenever human cars roared by. Luckily, those were few and far between at this time of day. Unless humans were headed for the southern exit of the town where their kind of homes were sparse, they didn’t have much reason to be there. Mostly, all that remained at this end was a tight cluster of print neighborhoods and woodland.

It would be easier if she paid for human transportation to and from her summer job, but she told herself every morning that she needed to save money and that it wasn’t her pride holding her back. If she wanted to sustain herself through the next school year, she’d need to tough out the commute on her own.

The rumble of an engine approached in the distance. She tensed, but didn’t stop pedaling. This engine in particular was familiar—one she had been dreading.

Sure enough, as the pick-up truck slowed beside her, the human boys inside shouted at her through the open windows.

“Think you’ll make it home by morning?”

“Aww, why’re you ignoring us, mouse? Think you’re too good?”

“Why don’t you come in here and sit on my lap? I’ll get you where you need to go!”

Autumn kept her eyes trained on the path in front of her. It wasn’t worth snapping back at them. One, they wouldn’t hear her over the sound of that old-world relic of a pick-up. Two, they were all easily over six feet tall. She didn’t even reach mid-calf for them. Let them have their fun from the road, as long as they didn’t get out to stop her on the path and tower over her.

Keep it together. You’ll be free of them again in a couple months.

Their laughter faded as the truck roared ahead, and she could finally breathe again. She swore they took the long way these days just to mess with her. Now that they were gone, her tense anticipation of their approach could be laid to rest until tomorrow. However, her moment of relaxation lasted roughly five minutes.

A rhythmic pounding came from behind her—the footsteps of a jogging human. She clenched her jaw and kept her eyes forward. Why couldn’t some humans get it through their thick skulls that this path wasn’t meant for their exercise? It was meant for prints like her to get home somewhat safely if they didn’t have a ride. Besides, who the hell wanted to be running in this heat? As the footsteps became more pronounced, she groaned and started to swerved her bike off the path to let the human pass her without potential murder.

“Hey!” The human’s steps slowed as his voice boomed after her. “Autumn Yang!”

She braked so hard she nearly fell off her bike. Glancing over her shoulder, she saw a human with wavy dark-blond hair coming after her on the path. She blanched in recognition. He’d gone to high school with her, like the other boys in the pick-up. Tucker West. Had they really deployed one of the guys to come after her on foot? Her hand tensed on the phone in her pocket as she wondered if she should call for help.

There was no time. She pedaled hard.

“Wait up!” His pounding footsteps kicked up to a jog again.

It was laughable how easily he caught up. In no time at all, his shadow had fallen over her, but she didn’t stop. She didn’t dare look back, knowing she’d lose her balance if she dared to peer up at his dizzying height. From the brief look she’d gotten, he was somehow taller now since graduation.

“Autumn, hey! I said wait up!”

The shadow darkened, and her bike came to an abrupt stop. The momentum launched her over the handles, making her come to a hard fall on the asphalt. She winced at the scrape on her forearm and sat up, scrambling to face Tucker West.

He was crouched low with one hand braced to the ground, while his other fingers still pinched the back tire of her bike. His dark eyes were wide, and his lips were parted dumbly as he assessed what he had done.

“Wow, I-I’m sorry,” he stammered, giving a laugh of disbelief. “Shit, I didn’t know you were gonna fall like that.”

“You expected me to fall a different way?” She picked herself up and dusted her shorts off. “What’s wrong with you? Besides not knowing how physics work.”

“No, really, I’m sorry. But you weren’t stopping, and I…” He shrugged lamely.

Praying that he couldn’t see how badly she trembled under his shadow, she stormed over to her bike and grabbed the handles. “Give it back, Tucker. Leave me alone. We’re not in fucking high school anymore—I dunno why you and your friends couldn’t mature past your glory days, but leave me out of it.”

He cocked his head. “My friends?”

“Oh, don’t play dumb. The assholes who’ve been screeching past me every day since I came home for the summer.”

“You mean Jason and them? They’re not my friends.” He kept his grip on the bike, seemingly unaware that she was trying to wrench it out of his fingers. “Look, I saw you were back in town, and I have a favor to ask. See, there’s this girl—”

“No, I will not help you seduce some girl by pretending to be your quirky print friend to prove you have a softer side. Beat it, or I’ll tell her you stalked me on my way home.”

Cheeks flushing, he shook his head. “That’s not it! Remember how you used to write people’s assignments for them?”

Of course she remembered. How could she not? The money she’d made from that had ensured she could eat comfortably while she was away for her freshman year of college. She stopped pulling on the bike and narrowed her eyes at him. She’d written a few papers for him back then, but that was the long and short of their interaction.

“Somehow, I doubt you need a philosophy analysis written for you in the middle of summer, two years out of high school,” she said.

Despite her flat tone, he looked at her excitedly, like she was a co-conspirator in a scheme she knew nothing about. “Well, you’re right about me needing your help with the girl. I mean, not the seducing her part, but uh… yeah, okay, kinda.”

“Either give me the point, or give me my bike.”

“You’re good at writing, okay? And I need help with that.” He pursed his lips and shrugged.

“Look, I’m not good with words, so I want to write her a letter. I tried already by myself, but it never sounds good, you know?”

She gave the bike another test tug, disappointed to find that his fingers’ grip hadn’t slackened in tandem with that wistful look on his face. She scoffed. “Write a letter? Like on paper? Who does that?”

He pouted. “I thought it would be romantic.”

“I mean, I guess. If she’s into that kind of stuff. Who is she, anyway?”

“Lacey. Lacey Ramirez.”

Autumn let go of the bike and staggered back a few steps, arms limp at her sides.

“You know her, don’t you?” Tucker said. “Didn’t you used to be friends with her?” He paused, taking in her slack-jawed expression and tense stance. “Oh. Do you guys have bad blood? Shit, I figured it would be easier for you to help since you know her.”

She shook her head. “N-no, we don’t have bad blood. But I’m not doing this. I’m not helping you write a stupid love letter to Lacey Ramirez. Just go talk to her. It’s not that hard.”

“You don’t get it! It’s hard. It’s, like, super hard.”

For all his insistence, he finally let go of the bike when Autumn lunged forward and jerked at the handles again. She gave one last look at his knelt form towering over her, feeling a spike of bitterness. Of course it wouldn’t be hard for him to win Lacey over. He was tall, handsome, and built. But most importantly, human. A perfect match for Lacey. She turned around and started walking her bike away.

“I’ll pay you,” he said. She walked a little faster, worried he’d give chase again. She was still within reach of his stupid long arms, but he didn’t make a grab. “However much you need. Set your price.”

Autumn hesitated, and his voice jumped.

“I’m in love with her,” he insisted. “Please. You have to help me. I’m sure you could use the money.”

She glared over her shoulder. “What makes you say that?”

He leaned back a little and planted his hands on his lap, perhaps to make it seem like he wasn’t trying to crowd her. “I dunno. You’re working, aren’t you? That means you need money.”

She did.

Hissing out a sigh, she pinched the bridge of her nose. “One letter.” He started to grin and straighten up in excitement, prompting her to hold up a finger. “One letter! And I name my price after I finish it. I’ll type up a draft and send it so you can write it out. What’s your number?”

“What? No, hey, I want to be there with you while you come up with it. We could help each other, can’t we?”

She rolled her eyes. “Where?”

“Library, tomorrow at noon?”

She frowned, shocked that he was so casually okay with being seen in public with a print. It wasn’t exactly outlandish these days, she just didn’t figure someone like him would be alright with it.

Maybe it was the surprise that made her nod. “Fine. But I work tomorrow, so let’s make it two.”

“So we have a deal!” His hand shot toward her, and she might have fallen on her ass if he hadn’t stopped a few safe inches away. He held his finger and thumb slightly parted—an invitation to a handshake that she would much rather not attend.

But, figuring it would get him out of her hair faster, she stiffly walked closer and placed her hand on his fingertip. She braced for pressure, but he was actually quite gentle when he pinched her hand and moved it down once. After getting tossed off her bike, she never would have expected that from him.

“See ya tomorrow.” He let go and gave a small wave. His grin was wide and blinding as he stood up.

She couldn’t help but flinch, seeing him at his full height again. He didn’t linger, though. The pound of footsteps resumed, but this time they headed away from her. It wasn’t until he was a good distance away that she, for the second time, could breathe again.

As she mounted her bike and started pedaling, her mind swam in disbelief of what had just happened. Tucker West, former football star and high school has-been, had sought out her help with a handwritten love letter. And for Lacey Ramirez, of all people.

It wouldn’t be hard finding the words—just hard to share them. She hadn’t spoken much to Lacey since sophomore year of high school. It wasn’t that they had a falling out or bad blood. It was just that Autumn had quietly pulled away from that friendship when she came to the terrifying realization that she had fallen in love with Lacey.

#gt #gt writing #mywriting #giant #tiny #best wishes #autumn #tucker #size difference #romance #print universe

18 notes · View notes