#hash tag :blush: | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

zepskies · 9 months ago

Text

Ooh I was very ready for this chapter! And considering your tags/note, I knew it was going to be some awkward-filled fun indeed. 😏😂

Motel coffee sucked. It was a well-known, globally accepted fact.

I would take it a step further and say most hotel coffee in general is ass, but you know how I am about coffee. 😂

“So… you and Beau are… dating?” Jenny questioned quite forward. And there it was. The one you’d been waiting for. You sighed internally. “Jenny!” Cassie chided and threw her friend a look over her directness as the blonde mouthed back an innocent “What?”

*chortling* Oh, sweet lord, here we go. 🤣 This whole "get to know you but really grill you for info" conversation was hilarious and appropriately awkward, especially when Beau came into the picture. I love Cassie and Jenny double teaming him for the details on what happened between him and the reader, and really enjoyed how he was so long-suffering and blushing about it all, and yet still wanted their advice without actually giving them what they wanted. 😂

I admire him for being persistent in trying to hash things out properly with the reader, though I understand why she's trying to fend him off. It sounds like he hurt her pretty bad, possibly without meaning to.

“Wow, look at you. You’re all grown. You look like you’re about ready to head off to college.” “Don’t remind me,” Beau mumbled with a sigh next to you. “Yes, please don’t make him cry,” Emily begged you, chuckling, but her look was still pleadingly serious.

LOL I love Emily so much. 😂 I was wondering when you were going to bring her into this! Love the brief father-daughter moment there.

But geezus fuck, Carla came in strong, didn't she? How did I know she was going to be a bitch from the onset. 🙄

Beam me up, Scotty!

Lmfao girl same! I felt her cringeworthy pain on this one:

The unhappy surprise of finding you here was written all over her face. And if it hadn’t been, her words soon made her feelings for you abundantly clear. “What are you doing here? Wrecking more homes? At least you’re wearing clothes this time that don’t belong to my ex-husband.”

Jesus Christ, I cannot. Especially with Beau reminding her what she knows full well -- that the reader and Beau didn't have their thing until after they were divorced already. (But I'm also not surprised Beau was starting to catch feelings before the end of his and Carla's marriage.)

The little hints you dropped in the flashback near the end already gave me the feeling that him and Carla weren't really in love anymore -- maybe just in that stage of "we've been together so long, might as well stay together."

But while we're talking about that flashback, NOT NEWLYWEDS. 😭😭

Beau leaned in to kiss his wife goodbye, but Carla already rushed out of the station before he got a chance. He heaved a small sigh, his eyes drifting to Randy and you as you giggled like two lovesick teenagers.

Oh my God, that tugged at my heartstrings. Seeing how happy the reader was with Randy, how in love they are with one another, Beau simultaneously encouraging of their relationship but secretly jealous of what he doesn't have in his marriage... Especially with the previous chapter's flashback, I can see the threads of where you might be going with this in how she and Beau trauma bonded after Randy's death.

Now I'm even more hooked on where you're going to take this next! 👏🏽💕

Polaris – Chapter 2

Series Summary: When Beau Arlen moved to Montana, he left behind a past he wasn’t proud of. But when a series of murders requires the FBI’s help, Sheriff Arlen‘s ghosts come back to haunt him one by one. With a wrong turn waiting at every crossroads, it’s hard to make the right choices and find his way back home – back to you.

Pairing: Beau Arlen x FBI Agent!Reader

Warnings: 18+, flashbacks to past relationships, awkwardness, mentions of cheating

Word Count: 6.1k

A/N: Jenny and Cassie should come with their own warning 😂 Probably the lightest chapter of this series. Just some getting-to-know fun (& tons of awkwardness on all sides). Enjoy the peace while it lasts 😉

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist || Tag List

Chapter 2: No Signs, No Compasses

Motel coffee sucked. It was a well-known, globally accepted fact.

You had tasted enough of those in your career to know it wasn’t even worth a try at this point. Thus, finding a good source of caffeine became sort of an adventurous challenge on every work trip. Back in Houston, you had your spot and the server knew your order by heart. Here, in Helena, you were new and still had to navigate your way around.

In search of a decent cup, you passed a sign on the highway and entered the Blue Fox Diner. It was a bit on the outskirts of town, but, frankly, you had no idea where the border truly ended. Everything was damn far apart from one another, the only houses which adjoined were the ones on Main Street USA. That was it.

The diner was bright and comfy, giving you an immediate welcoming feeling of home-cooked food and a good roast. Your first sip of black, delicious liquid confirmed it – this was your spot.

“Special Agent Y/L/N?”

Your head snapped up from your cup of joe to a female voice, recognizing the blonde deputy from the Sheriff’s Department yesterday.

“Deputy Jenny Hoyt, right?” You gave her and her friend a smile as the two women sat across from each other in a booth by the big window. You could tell by their curious and mischievous looks that your spectacular entrance wasn’t lost on them.

Great…

“Uh, yeah. You wanna sit with us? Heard you’re staying for that serial killer case,” Jenny said and offered you a seat next to her.

“Sure.” You accepted her invitation without hesitance, knowing you had to get over the awkwardness at some point. After all, you had to work together, and you wanted to get it out of the way rather sooner than later. How did you so gloriously fuck this up in the first place? You usually were professionalism personified – someone J. Edgar Hoover would’ve been proud of.

Right. Beau. There was your answer.

“Cassie Dewell,” the other woman introduced herself and shook your hand as you slid into the leather seat next to Jenny. “I’m a private investigator in town. Special Agent Y/L/N, was it?”

“Oh, yeah, I’ve passed by your agency. Nice to meet you,” you said, smiling. “And Y/N is fine.”

“So, how do you like Helena so far?” Cassie asked curiously, although you caught the underlying question between the polite smiles. ‘How do you like our sheriff so far?’

However, you weren’t going to make this easy for them. “Well, uhm, not seen much aside from my motel, the Sheriff’s Department, and this diner. Coffee’s great, though.”

“Leave it to Donno to brew a decent pot,” Jenny muttered with a bitter huff and rolled her eyes.

You threw her an inquisitive look, partially amused. “You don’t seem to be a fan.”

“Oh, it’s about the owner, Tonya. Jenny doesn’t like her,” Cassie explained.

“Then, why exactly are you here?” You were happy the conversation steered clear of you. For now. You knew this bliss and peace wouldn’t last forever. They were just warming you up for the Spanish Inquisition.

“To keep an eye on her. She used to work for a cartel,” Jenny replied.

“Before she went legit and became a real estate agent,” Cassie added.

“Legit my ass,” the blonde huffed. “Pretty sure she stole those fifteen million…”

“She did help us with Gigi,” Cassie countered, which didn’t seem to convince the blonde too much. “And that whole Avery situation.”

“Well, you know, you could always tip off a rivaling cartel. Might get rid of your problem,” you suggested jokingly. “I have a few contacts.”

Jenny’s lips curved into a delighted grin. “I like that idea.”

Cassie snorted, laughing. “Yeah, nice.”

“So… you and Beau are… dating?” Jenny questioned quite forward.

And there it was. The one you’d been waiting for. You sighed internally.

“Jenny!” Cassie chided and threw her friend a look over her directness as the blonde mouthed back an innocent “What?”

Your cheeks blushed slightly, but you were all about being direct as well. You cleared your throat, tapping your nails on the table. “It’s fine. After my more than embarrassing entrance, I deserve the third degree.”

“Good answer.” Jenny smiled encouragingly, making you feel a little more at ease. They weren’t aiming to claw your eyes out; they were just curious about you. If the roles were reversed, you’d be as well.

“And it wasn’t that embarrassing,” Cassie placated your nerves. “Trust us, me and Jenny had our fair share of drama. You’re good.”

“Well, I’m glad, I guess…” You let out a relieved chuckle, hoping you wouldn’t stay the small town gossip for long. “And, uh, to answer your question: No, we’re not dating. He’s a nice guy, but it’s nothing like that. We just go way back, and I guess old habits die hard.”

And boy, was that true. Beau and you had once been inseparable. It still felt weird to think about that now you weren’t and hadn’t been for a while. Your heart still ached and longed all the same. That stupid, useless feeling of missing him. He was cut out of your soul, but the phantom pain remained.

Jenny nodded and shared a look with Cassie. “Honest. I like it.”

“Me too.” Cassie’s mouth formed a smile of agreement and reassurance. “So, how long have you guys known each other?”

That was when the cop portion of your chat started. You hadn’t expected anything less, but you were determined to keep it professional and, most of all, shallow. Chitchat and oversharing were more Beau’s territory, but it certainly wasn’t yours.

“About ten years.”

Jenny nodded pensively, thinking about her next question. “You worked a cartel case together, right?”

“Oh, a few cases over the years, actually. I’m stationed at the FBI field office in Houston. Used to work Narcotics before switching to Major Crimes,” you said.

“Hence the serial killer here,” Jenny filled in.

“Can’t believe we’ve got another one,” Cassie remarked with a huff, shaking her head into her coffee cup.

“Oh yeah, right! Heard about the Bleeding Hearts Killer at that campsite.”

You remembered a newspaper article about it. Occasionally, you did still check up on your ex like every sane person would. You even followed him on Social Media, although all he ever posted about was fucking trout fishing. But that same news article had also informed you about Beau leaving his early retirement in the rearview mirror, being referenced as the acting sheriff on the case. It almost seemed like a weird coincidence that one of your active cases would lead you right to him not long after. Cosmic jokes and such.

“Yeah, Sunny and Buck Barnes,” Cassie provided.

“Cassie is actually dating their son,” Jenny told you, smirking at her friend.

“Yeah, we’re not that official yet,” Cassie deflected but noticeably blushed. “You guys need any help with your serial killer?”

Jenny looked at you, knowing you were the one who called the shots now.

Nodding, you twitched your shoulders. “Sure. The more the merrier. More female eyes might even help, considering we’re probably dealing with a woman.”

Jenny cocked a brow. “A female serial killer?”

“It’s rare, but our profiler sure thinks so. As do I,” you confirmed.

“Oh, this just got interesting.” Cassie grinned, intrigued. “We sure never had that one before.”

“No, we did not,” Jenny reiterated, chuckling.

“What didn’t we have?”

Beau’s gravelly voice startled you from behind, but you tried not to let it show. Of course, you’d run into him. It was a small town, after all, and this diner was probably the only place to get good coffee. Avoiding him was not only improbable, but it was an impossibility.

Beau was a good man. But the truth was that he was more than the Southern-charming, bad-dad-jokes, never-shutting-up sheriff everyone had grown to love in Montana. There was another side to him. A side that defied authority, broke rules, and caused trouble. A side you knew better than anyone.

“Female serial killer,” Jenny supplied with a grin.

“Really? A woman?” Baffled, the green-eyed sheriff lifted a brow and looked at you.

“Why, you think a woman can’t do it?” Cassie challenged him with a teasing grin. You knew there was a reason why you immediately took a liking to her.

You watched Beau purse his lips as he struggled for an answer. You had a feeling he had to do that a lot with these two. It almost seemed unfair.

“No, women can do murder just fine. Especially you three,” Beau retorted and then circled the booth with his finger, sipping his coffee. “The three of you bonding is my nightmare.”

“Oh, c‘ mon.” Jenny snorted in amusement.

“Yeah, we’re harmless,” Cassie added.

“Right… Who are you tryna fool here, huh?” Beau chuckled and scratched his beard. “Mind if I sit down?”

“Sure, hop in,” Cassie said and offered up the seat next to her.

“Yeah, I was about to head out anyway. Have to call my supervisor with an update,” you excused quickly and stood up before Beau even sat down. “By the way, I have eight boxes of files in my trunk. It’s gonna be a fun afternoon for us.”

“Well, I’m looking forward to it,” Beau said, trying to remain professional, even though you could tell he was bothered by your abrupt exit.

You, however, weren’t ready to face him yet and spend a whole afternoon with him. You needed more time… and space. Which was hard, considering you two had to work a case together.

Hard but not impossible.

“Oh, uh, Beau, that’s not necessary. Cassie offered to help, so we have enough hands on deck for now,” you said innocently and tried to hide your astute smile as best as possible. “I don’t wanna keep you from your sheriff duties. I saw the giant pile of files on your desk. But I’ll let you know when we need you.”

Admittedly, that was a little mean. You knew how much that man hated paperwork.

Defeatedly, Beau pursed his lips and overplayed his loss with a sour smile. “Yup, alright… thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” You grinned and didn’t care he knew exactly what you were doing.

“Hey, Y/N, you know, uh… it’s kind of a tradition to buy a round of tequila when you first arrive in town,” Cassie noted with a smug smile.

You matched it, amused, although you could smell an ambush from a mile away. “Oh, yeah? Well, that’s a tradition I can get behind. Where and when?”

“Tonight? Bar called Boot Heel around eight o’clock?”

“I’ll be there,” you accepted the invitation. “But just a heads-up, pouring tequila into me isn’t going to make me open up more.”

“Really isn’t,” Beau confirmed wryly.

“Dammit,” Cassie sighed in feigned disappointment but grinned nevertheless.

Jenny coolly shrugged it off. “Was worth a shot.”

Beau watched you leave with dread in his heart. As soon as the glass door fell closed behind you, he let out a longing sigh.

“Alright, what did you do?” Jenny’s voice ripped him from his thoughts. The blonde crossed her arms over her chest and arched a brow.

He had almost forgotten they were here, too.

“Yeah, she’s been barely here twenty-four hours. That’s fast, even for you,” Cassie chimed in with a teasing smile.

“Okay, I didn’t do anything, alright?” Beau defended with a creased brow and a bark in his voice, but his curiosity soon got the best of him. He leaned in closer, resting his elbows on the table. “Why? Did she say somethin’?”

“Yeah, he stepped in it,” Cassie commented dryly and looked straight at Jenny, taking his question as a confirmation of their theory.

“Yup.”

Beau rolled his green eyes, his patience already thin after the sleepless night he had. “Alright, did she say something to you guys or not?”

Cassie sighed. “No, she was very… courteous.”

Jenny nodded in agreement and shrugged one shoulder. “Yeah, she kept it professional. Said you were nice.”

Beau felt a surge of relief. “Well, that’s good, right?” he asked but watched both women shake their heads with pursed lips. “It’s not-… it’s not good?”

“Nope.”

“Nuh-uh,” Jenny retorted, “You don’t wanna be called nice. Not in that way, at least.”

“I don’t?” Beau cocked his eyebrow at the two, feeling rather confused at this point. “So, what’s the verdict?”

“Depends on what you did there, cowboy,” Cassie taunted him with a grin, which was mirrored by Jenny.

“Oh, I’m not telling you guys,” Beau huffed, shaking his head. Contrary to popular belief, he knew when to keep his mouth shut.

“You’re not talking for once?” Teasingly, Cassie popped an eyebrow at him.

“Must be bad then,” Jenny finished the thought. “Did you-, you know… cheat with her on Carla?”

Perplexed and slightly offended, Beau furrowed his brow. “What? No! Nothing like that. Carla and I were already separated. As in papers served and signed… I’m a very loyal-commitment kinda guy, alright?”

Beau didn’t want to admit his answer might have been a slight overcompensation on his part. While it’s true that he never cheated and would’ve never even considered it, he wasn’t without faults, either. There had been certain feelings towards you fermenting in his stomach, slowly but surely festering in his heart before he even knew what was happening and could put an end to it.

“That sounds like she was your rebound,” Jenny pointed out.

“Yeah, and casual,” Cassie threw in.

“No, it was nothing casual, alright? And she wasn’t my rebound,” Beau replied with an exhaustive breath. Jesus, did you get the third degree as well? At this rate, he should consider himself lucky if you were still in town by tomorrow. His head was spinning. “I mean, if she was my rebound, I was hers, too.”

Dammit, he said too much. He knew the two women would take that piece of information and run with it over the mountains of Montana, probably even making it over the border to goddamn Canada.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jenny questioned as expected. “Is she married? I saw the ring on her finger.”

“Yeah, looked like a wedding band,” Cassie mused.

“Okay, Sherlock and Watson, enough, alright? She’s not married,” Beau replied, but only to save both your reputations. “It’s a sentimental thing. There’s a lot of history there.”

“What kinda history?” Jenny’s knitted brow practically stared at him.

Beau grew tired of their interrogation and dragged a palm over his face, leaning back in his seat. “It’s complicated.”

The two women then shared an inquiring look that held an entire conversation, knowing their interview had run its course. Beau wouldn’t answer any more of their questions.

“Want our advice?” Cassie offered.

Beau hesitated for a moment, puckering his lips in thought. He was desperate, and they could smell it like coyotes. “Alright, lay it on me. What d’you got?”

“Nothing.” Cassie twitched her shoulders and met his annoyed glare with a pleased smile.

“Yeah, see, you actually have to tell us first what happened before we can help you,” Jenny elaborated.

“Alright, I’m done,” Beau said frustratedly, tapping his knuckles on the table once as he rose from his seat.

“Oh, Beau, c’mon, we’re just messing with you.” Cassie chuckled softly and looked at him apologetically. “Fine, you want our advice? Apologize.”

“For whatever you’ve done,” Jenny added.

Pensively, Beau nodded and clicked his tongue. “What if I’ve done that already?”

“Do it again,” Jenny advised simply. “Until she hears you.”

“Yeah, get down on your knees, you know,” Cassie deadpanned. But as Beau suspiciously eyed her at the particular word choice, she burst into laughter.

“Nice.“ Jenny joined in, tears stinging the corners of her eyes as the two clinked their coffee mugs together for a toast to their cleverness.

Beau chuckled out of sheer uncomfortableness, his cheeks flushing embarrassingly red. “Oh, you two are hilarious… I’m heading to work,” he grumbled. “You know, you might wanna join me if you wanna keep your job, Hoyt.”

With a sigh that resembled a yawn, you stretched your shoulders and spine as you got up from the uncomfortable wooden chair in the Sheriff’s Department. You checked your watch and noticed it was already past 2pm.

“Alright… you guys want something for lunch? I’m buying.”

Technically, the government was buying, but you would take any chance you could get to make yourself a little more popular with your colleagues. Jenny, Cassie, and Deputy Poppernak (who told you to call him Mo and started looking you in the eyes again after you brought him a sandwich and a coffee this morning) then gave you their lunch orders, and most importantly, where to get it. What you didn’t expect, though, was Beau appearing behind you out of nowhere after he had locked himself (pun intended) in his office all day and had given you your requested space.

That courtesy apparently was over.

“I’ll come with you,” Beau announced. And although his facial expression resembled a friendly, soft Golden Retriever, you detected the stern bite in his voice. He wasn’t going to be cast aside again.

Stubborn as you were, you still had to try.

“Oh, you don’t hav–,” you tried to interject, but he swiftly waved you off.

“Nonsense. You can’t carry all that alone. I’ll help. Part of the sheriff duties,” he said in his most neighborly tone and grinned triumphantly at you, beaming with Southern chivalry.

You huffed a sigh. Great…

Ignoring Beau Arlen was like trying to avoid air – it was impossible unless you planned on suffocating. Not even a fast pace could get him out of breath enough to stop pestering you. His voice trickled like slow poison into your mind. One of these days, it would infect your heart and destroy your defenses.

“Y/N, hey, can you slow down a little? I didn’t bring my marathon shoes to work, alright? Don’t make me write you a ticket for speeding!” Beau huffed behind you in a half-joking tone, chuckling at his own wit. “C’mon, I just wanna talk. Lord knows you already had your fun today.”

With a heavy sigh, you stopped in your tracks and turned to face him on the sidewalk, Beau almost crashing into you. He clearly hadn’t expected you to actually listen to him.

With a fierce glare in your eyes, you crossed your arms over your chest. “Look, I’ve got nothing left to say to you, okay? Can we just keep this civil?”

Beau pursed his lips but quickly recovered, offering you a charmingly desperate smile. “Well, lucky for you, you would just have to listen.”

You rolled your eyes and started marching ahead again, feeling Beau hot on your trail.

“Y/N, c’mon!”

“Dad?”

At that, both you and Beau spun around, recognizing the voice in an instant as Emily walked out of a shop.

Beau’s face immediately lit up. He gave her a tight hug, kissing her temple. “Hey, kid.”

“Aunt Y/N?” Emily’s face tilted in surprise, brow knitting as she noticed you and left her father’s arms. She greeted you with a bright sunshine smile.

“Hey, Em,” you said and happily mirrored her smile. You had always loved that girl since she was little. Something she wasn’t anymore. It had been a while since you’d last seen her. “Wow, look at you. You’re all grown. You look like you’re about ready to head off to college.”

“Don’t remind me,” Beau mumbled with a sigh next to you.

“Yes, please don’t make him cry,” Emily begged you, chuckling, but her look was still pleadingly serious. It made you laugh. You remembered how protective Beau was of her. It was endearingly sweet, which made it a little harder to be furious with him. “What are you doing in Montana? Are you visiting Dad?”

“Oh, uh, I’m here for a case, actually,” you replied, swallowing, and shot Beau a quick glance to check how much you were allowed to share.

“What kinda case?” Her brow furrowed as she looked at her dad with concern. It broke your heart a little to know that, whenever you were involved, Emily thought her father was in danger.

“Em,” Beau warned her softly.

You had figured he still refrained from talking about work with his family, not wanting them to worry unnecessarily. After what his daughter had been through this summer, you couldn’t really blame him.

“Right, sorry,” she said meekly and bit the inside of her lip.

“Beau?”

Every molecule in your body shuddered at the sound of that voice. God, you so didn’t want to do this right now. The last time you’d seen Carla, it didn’t end well. If you could, you’d teleport yourself somewhere else – preferably Hawaii.

Beam me up, Scotty!

Beau flashed you a glance over his shoulder that said pretty much the same thing – shit. With a thick swallow, he angled his face toward his ex-wife and forced an awkward smile to his lips.

“Hey,” he rasped, his throat drier than the Death Valley.

“Y/N?” As soon as Carla spied you, her brow arched and her features turned sinister. The unhappy surprise of finding you here was written all over her face. And if it hadn’t been, her words soon made her feelings for you abundantly clear. “What are you doing here? Wrecking more homes? At least you’re wearing clothes this time that don’t belong to my ex-husband.”

Yup. You hadn’t expected a warm welcome, but that even exceeded your expectations. You gaped at her, a bit speechless. Even Beau seemed temporarily at a loss for words and was taken aback. Only Emily looked the most upset and voiced it, too.

“Mom! Really?!”

Carla then looked apologetically at her daughter, aware of her inappropriate comment, her mouth falling open in shame. You knew it was a knee-jerk reaction.

“And that’s my cue to leave,” you retorted. As you spun around, you glanced up at Beau and touched his shoulder comfortingly, letting him know you were still here, even when you were mad as hell at him. “Call me when you’re finished here. Or if you need an alibi…” you muttered into his ear in passing.

“I’m coming with you,” Emily announced with a scowl over her shoulder at her mother. She hopped next to you and looped her arm through yours, following you inside the restaurant.

As soon as you and his daughter were out of sight, Beau glowered at his ex-wife and shook his head. “Really, Carla? Was that necessary? You know nothing ever happened when we were married.”

“I know, I know,” Carla agreed and sighed, clasping her temples. “I’m sorry. I really am… It just came out. I guess it’s just old wounds, you know? I was surprised to see her here.”

“Yeah, I get that.” Beau bobbed his head in understanding, smacking his lips. He hated everything about this and knew he could only blame himself for it. “I mean, c’mon, you two used to be friends once, right? What happened? You’d think after what you went through with Avery, you’d have a little more compassion for what she’s gone through.”

Carla pursed her lips and bit the insides of her cheeks, surely stifling a fiery comment. “You wanna know what happened between us? You did, Beau,” she snapped, but before he could open his mouth to respond, she heaved a sigh and shot him a remorseful look. “But you’re right. I’ll apologize to her later.”

“Thank you,” he said graciously as his shoulders deflated and passed the tension.

“What’s she doing here? Everything okay?” Carla asked, lines of worry etching her brow. It told Beau that she still cared about him, even if it was just a smidge.

“Uh, yeah. Just work. Serial killer,” he replied. Since their eventful summer, Beau tried to be more open and honest, keeping a clear line of communication with his ex. It was a step forward. “Three victims so far.”

“Serial killer? Again?” Carla raised her brow and scoffed. “I guess it’s good I’m bringing Emily back to Houston, then.”

“You still wanna do that?”

A part of him hoped they’d stay because he wanted to stay here. Montana had given him a fresh start. One that was much needed. Houston, on the other hand, was haunted and full of ghosts he didn’t want to face. He had been running from them for a while now, although they were slowly catching up to him.

But he also needed his family, his daughter. He wanted to be a constant in her life, not just a variable.

“Honestly, I don’t know,” Carla sighed and looked a bit torn and helpless, which was rare for her. But Avery’s secrecy and death had done quite a number on her, and Beau supposed she was still working through a lot. “What d’you think?”

Beau thought it was ironic she was suddenly asking for his input, considering she didn’t ask for his advice the first time she took their daughter and moved several states away. But he knew better than to say that out loud, especially since he was partially at fault.

Rubbing his beard, your earlier words reverberated in his head. His daughter wasn’t a little kid anymore and would fly the nest soon, as much as he didn’t want to admit it.

“Maybe we should ask Em what she wants. I mean, she’s almost seventeen. If your work isn’t a factor, then maybe we should let her decide.”

Carla nodded pensively as if she was actually considering it. “Yeah, okay,” she agreed and let out a sentimental sigh. “She’s growing up.”

Beau’s smile carried a drop of sadness. “Yeah, she is.”

Surprisingly, his talk with his ex-wife went better than expected. He just wished things would be as easy with you. All he wanted was just a chance to make it right. He couldn’t screw up another relationship.

“Beau… For the record, I want you to be happy, okay? No matter how, where, or with… who,” Carla told him and gifted him a cordial smile that showed her sincerity.

He appreciated her words. There’d been bad blood between them. Divorce made people bitter, he supposed. But old wounds had to heal eventually, too.

As you stepped outside the restaurant with Emily, you flashed an insecure glance at Carla. You averted your gaze to Beau, holding up a big brown paper bag. “You ready? Got the food.”

Beau checked quickly with his ex-wife, who nodded, letting him know that they were done here.

Carla then turned to you and cleared her throat, and you were sure it took a lot for her to even look at you. “Y/N, I’m sorry about earlier.”

You nodded, accepting her apology. You’d never done anything wrong, but the situation was complicated. It was hard on all of you.

“It’s fine. We’re good,” you assured her and gave her a half smile. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry, too. I heard about your husband.”

“Thank you,” she replied courtly and motioned for Emily to follow her. “C’mon, honey. Let’s go.”

“Bye, Dad.” Emily waved at her father.

Beau quietly watched his family saunter down the street before he glanced at you and offered you a clumsy smile. “Well, this went better than expected, right?”

You didn’t share his humor, however, and threw him a dark glare. You spun on your heel and trudged back to the Sheriff’s Department. “I have to get back to work.”

Beau exhaled heavily. This wasn’t how he had imagined his outing with you, wishing for a sign or at least a damn compass to show him the way.

March 2014

“Maybe it was the courier?” Beau suggested as he caught the pigskin before throwing it back to his partner across the desk. Passing the ball had become a ritual, helping them work through their case theories one by one.

“Nah, I don’t think so.” Randy shook his head when it was his turn. “What about the maid? She certainly had motive.”

A few more exchanges and tosses back and forth happened before you waltzed into the police station. Randy missed his catch, the football almost flying through the Captain’s window, but you gracefully caught it just in time and placed it securely down on the desk.

“Nice catch,” Beau complimented you, impressed.

“Hi, honey,” your husband greeted you and found your lips, kissing you deeply. You giggled and locked your arms around his neck as he pressed you into the edge of his desk.

“Geez, really? Get a room you two,” Beau huffed jokingly, making both of you laugh enough to stop your make-out session but not enough to detangle yourselves from each other.

“We’re newlyweds. We’re supposed to make you sick and scratch your eyes out,” Randy quipped with a grin.

Smiling warmly, Beau shook his head at the two of you. “You got married eight months ago. When’s that honeymoon phase ending, huh?”

“Never,” both of you replied in unison and started kissing again, causing Beau’s eyes to roll back.

“God help me…” He sighed dramatically.

His sigh of exhaustion was soon joined by a second one. “Ugh, again?” Carla asked as she stepped into the station and tilted her head at you and your husband.

“Yeah,” Beau confirmed, amused, and kissed his wife’s cheek. “How did that court case go?”

Carla exhaled a breath of fatigued annoyance. “Y/N’s buying drinks tonight. Thanks to her Oscar-worthy performance on the stand,” she replied as you grinned winningly at her. The two of you had a deal – whoever won a court case was inviting the other for consolation drinks. “You know, I’ve never seen someone so convincingly fake-cry during cross.”

“You’re welcome.” You smirked slyly. “My high school drama teacher taught me that. I think he would’ve been proud of me today. Those were real tears, you know?”

“Oh, the jury certainly thought so.” Carla laughed bitterly.

“So you lost?” Beau glanced at his wife. “I’m sorry, darlin’.”

Carla arched an eyebrow and knowingly crossed her arms over her chest. “Are you, Beau?”

“Nah, not really.” He laughed and said, “You did defend a tweaker who killed three people over a little bag of meth, so…”

“Well, I know better than to argue with two cops and a federal agent over the rights of American citizens,” Carla fired back.

Beau snorted in amusement. “Wow, okay. Y/N really pissed you off, huh?”

“Again, you’re welcome.” You beamed with self-satisfaction.

“Oh, you both are pissing me off,” Carla retorted jokingly and then looked at you, smiling. “I gotta get back to the office. I’ll see you at the bar.” She then turned to her husband, pointing a finger at him. “And I’ll see you at home.”

“I gotta get back to work, too,” you said as you withdrew from your husband’s lips. But then you noticed an opened case folder on Randy’s desk. Curiously, you tiptoed up and spied over his shoulder to get a better look at it. “Unless you two got something fun here…”

“Ay, hands off! That ain’t your jurisdiction,” Beau warned you playfully and stopped short of batting your hand away.

“C’mon, we’re stuck. She might be able to help,” Randy interjected with an innocent shrug and a puppy dog look.

Beau heaved an exasperated sigh and then smiled challengingly at you. “Alright, what d’you think, Special Agent Y/L/N?”

Grabbing the file, you leafed through it for a moment and then mused, “Hmm, couldn’t have been the maid. Her schedule doesn’t match time of death. But maybe it was the courier? There’s a theft ring hitting several states. They use bike couriers.”

Beau’s smile widened to a triumphant grin as he pointed a finger at his partner. “Ha! That’s what I said.”

“Alright.” Your husband groaned defeatedly. “Let’s check it out.”

“Oh, now you suddenly want to, huh? After the wife said it? That hurts, man,” Beau teased.

Randy shrugged smugly. “Yeah, well, she’s a lot smarter than you.”

Beau pursed his lips and nodded, hiding his smirk of amusement. “Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

“Well, you guys have fun with this,” you said and kissed your husband’s lips one last time. “I have to get back to work. The tweaker Carla defended gave up his supplier in Brownsville. The DEA wants me to come down to Matamoros with them tomorrow. They think the guy is Gulf Cartel.”

Randy furrowed his brow, and you could see the concern shimmering in his eyes. “How long will you be gone?”

“Two weeks maybe?” You shrugged, not knowing exactly how long assignments sometimes could last. Worst case, you could even be undercover for a couple of months, and your husband knew that.

“So, we’re gonna have fun tonight?” Randy smirked and wiggled his eyebrows, resting his palms on your hips as he pulled you closer.

You grinned smugly. “You bet we are, baby. Bring the handcuffs home.”

“Guys, c’mon, I’m standing right here,” Beau complained and threw his arms up, making both of you laugh and blush.

“Alright, be careful,” Randy reminded you with a peck on your lips.

You nodded and then turned to Beau. “You’re gonna protect my boy here while I’m gone, Arlen? Have his back?”

“Yes, ma’am. With my life. Promise,” Beau said and smiled at you reassuringly, putting you at ease before you walked out of the station.

Randy let out a worried sigh as he watched you leave. He looked up when Beau patted his shoulder in comfort.

“She’ll be fine. She’s a tough one,” Beau said in an attempt to calm his partner’s nerves.

“Yeah, she is,” Randy agreed quietly before his teasing nature returned. He grinned up at him and quipped, “You couldn’t handle her.”

“Sure, I could! Have you met Carla?” Beau retorted as both of them fell back into a brotherly banter. “Trust me, once your sickening honeymoon phase wears off, you’re gonna be right where I am.”

“What, happily unhappy?” Randy sassed and cocked an eyebrow.

“Exactly,” Beau replied wryly, clicking his tongue.

“Nah, man, that’s not me and Y/N,” Randy stated with a surefire grin.

“Alright, lover boy, let’s put our courier in the hot seat. C’mon,” Beau grunted with a roll of his eyes and brushed off his feelings on the subject, although he began to doubt his own statement. He was admittedly a bit jealous of his partner’s relationship.

Maybe some couples were just happier than him and Carla.

Beau tossed the old football into the air and caught it again. With a thoughtful sigh, he placed it on his desk and sunk back into his chair, his palm still resting on the ball.

“You were right, man. Who would’ve thought…” The sheriff clicked his tongue. A knock on the door ripped him from his trance, his green eyes darting to the visitor.

Jenny carefully peeked her head inside and checked on him, “You okay there?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” he assured her. He didn’t bother to form a smile, though.

She pursed her lips, clearly not believing him, but nodded her acceptance. “You wanna join us at the bar? Might give you a chance to talk?”

“Uh, yeah, but you girls go ahead. Still have a few things to finish up here,” Beau said.

“Alright.” Jenny gave him a small smile, but she didn’t leave yet, her hand resting on the doorknob. “You know, when I first saw you with Carla, I thought I had it right. But this-… this is an entirely new look.”

Beau grimaced. “Shut up.”

Jenny laughed lightly. “If you love her, you should tell her.” Beau only shot her a deadpan glare, to which the blonde raised her hands in capitulation. “Alright, just sayin’…” With that, she closed the door behind her again.

Beau’s eyes then landed back on the football on his desk, smacking his lips in thought. Sometimes the guilt was eating him alive, burning him from the inside out like acid.

“You’d be okay with this, right? I know you’d want her to be happy,” he verbalized his thoughts out loud, hoping it would give him some clarity. He wasn’t sure, however, if he was just saying it to alleviate his own guilty conscience and justify his actions.

“I think I could really make her happy, you know? At least, I’d try,” Beau said. Two fingers rubbed his mouth as he spun on his chair and glanced out the window to the dark sky and the stars above. “C’mon, man, I just need one small sign…”

Chapter 3: Pour The Whiskey – MAY 15

More glimpses into the past and maybe some much needed talking coming next week! Let me know all your thoughts in the comments, loves 🤍

Join the TAG LIST here! 🌌 Wanna sponsor my caffeine addiction?

Everything Jensen: @alwaystiredandconfused @xlynnbbyx @lyarr24 @deans-spinster-witch @blackcherrywhiskey

@deansbbyx @foxyjwls007 @ladysparkles78 @roseblue373 @zepskies

@agalliasi @yvonneeeee @hobby27 @iamsapphine @globetrotter28

@mxltifxnd0m @lacilou @feyresqueen @suckitands33 @onlyangel-444

@syrma-sensei @perpetualabsurdity @deans-baby-momma @yoobusgoobus @jessjad

@hunter-or-the-hunted @k-slla @just-levyy @mrsjenniferwinchester @illicithallways

@muhahaha303 @ultimatecin73 @nancymcl

Everything Beau Arlen: @snowayumi

#polaris #beau arlen #beau arlen x reader #beau arlen x you #beau arlen x female reader #beau arlen series #big sky #big sky season 3 #big sky fanfiction #lovely mutuals #fic rec #zepskies reads

128 notes · View notes

twansgendew · 4 years ago

Note

i'm not just gonna tell you bestie you gotta guessssss

more hints

i like pre much wvery post you make

currently watching supernatural

rat

that should be all you need yhrgvdxhxnvfnhfxxnhfxjygryxrh :)

-🔥

Hmmmmmmmnnyjbfm :0 watching supernatural... rat.... fire emoji ..... hmmmmmmmn Could It Be?!? My bestest friend and mutual?!!?! Tumblr user rat-on-fire?!? :0

#hash tag :blush:#ask response #🔥 anon

10 notes · View notes

dovahkiining · 3 years ago

Text

noo don't unfriend me on steam now how will I see your hundreds of hours (that continue to go up) on blush blush (2019) :(

#vague post!#sorry if this is too controversial jermees i cant stop laughing over it #[redacted] did you priv your inventory so i couldnt see it 🙄... rude as hell #spiff rambles #so sorry didnt mean to get hash tag toxic it will probably happen again #the fact that blush blush release date is now in my search history ill kms #also at least play crush crush bro why the objectively worse game

5 notes · View notes

finniestoncrane · 2 years ago

Note

Hi :) I would like Two-Face with some 🔫 and 🟨 please and thank you!

Beaten

general!two face x gn!reader/fighting to fucking ok but what if i include his hands anyway because they make me 🤤 minors DNI!! 🔞 500 words, cw: injury, blood, aggressive make out requests are closed • kofi link • minors DNI • tag: finnie500

Beaten and bruised you both stood in front of one another. You gently tapped against your cheek, a small, sticky drop of blood transferring to your fingertips. Looking up from them, you could see Harvey across from you, dragging the white sleeve of his suit under his burst nose, blood smearing the fabric. Upon noticing you, he dropped his arms to the side, panting.

“Well?”

“Well…”

“You’re lucky we went easy on you!”

You smirked at the gruff insinuation. You were more than capable of holding your own against him, and he was well aware, both sides of him were.

“Uh huh…well…you feeling tough enough for a round two?”

“Absolutely not.”

Absolutely we are.”

You laughed, cruel and cold, taking a couple of steps forward, watching as he put his guard back up, fists tightening though still by his side, back straightening and preparing himself for you. It was hard to tell who was driving that urge to go into defence mode, or was it attack mode? You were certain it was him though, always wary, always engaged in some vitriol, the tendency, the need, to fight constantly playing at the front of his side of Harvey’s mind.

It was painful to see. You were certain he liked you, or at least he wasn’t happy to be knocking you around. But often, he lost the battle, weak to his other half.

“Are you coming or not?”

“Please don’t rile them up.”

You looked to him, a visible sadness in his eyes, or at least one of them. He definitely didn’t want to fight you. He didn’t want to hurt you. You kept quiet. It was often better to let him try and hash it out with himself than to get involved and further antagonise his worse half.

“Oh what, you’ve gone soft, law boy?”

“I just think…”

“I know what you think, we share a brain idiot. I know exactly what you think of them.”

A light blush spread over his cheek, your heartbeat quickening at the realisation. He raised his left fist, the right one struggling to remain low.

“Don’t make me punish both of you, Harv.”

“Please, we can’t keep doing this.”

It was a hopeful thought, the one that came to you. Maybe a bit optimistic. But if you could only just push through, have the same effect on them both, maybe you could force them to see eye to eye for once, if not stop yourself from having to tend to any more broken bones.

As they argued between themselves, you stepped up quickly, concern in Harvey’s eyes as you grabbed both of his cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss, soft, violent, hard but sweet. His right hand moved to your hip, the left slowly unclenching and reaching for the other. As your lips pressed together harder, the kiss deepening, you felt a balance being reached, the end, or at least a reprieve from, the dichotomy of Harvey Dent.

#finnie500 #finnie writes #two face #harvey dent #two face x reader

55 notes · View notes

andypantsx3 · 4 years ago

Text

subtle | 2 | Shouto Todoroki/Reader

pairing: Todoroki Shouto / Reader

status: complete

length: 2,265 words

summary: Someone leaves chocolates on your desk. You’re determined to track down the sender, certain it’s a mistake, and Shouto Todoroki makes himself as unhelpful as possible.

tags: romance, reader-insert, fluff, valentine’s day

warnings: aged up characters (no smut though!!)

notes: Hi all! Happy Valentine's Day! I'm posting a follow up chapter because so many people asked for it in my inbox. It's completely unedited because I just decided to write it today, and I wanted to get it up before the holiday was over! I promise I will come back and edit at some point in the next few weeks.

No one had come for the box.

You’d made a point to be out of your office as much as possible throughout the day, leaving plenty of opportunity for whoever the sender was to sneak back in and correct their mistake. But every time you reentered the room, there the box was, crowning a pile of your paperwork like a coronet of ineptitude.

You’d checked in with Shouto several times as well, anxious to learn whether or not he’d overheard anything as he changed out of his uniform from patrol, but he proved just as unhelpful as he’d been earlier this morning. He simply leaned towards you, looking almost conspiratorial--spiking both your heart rate and your hopes--only for him to murmur in his low voice, “No one is coming for it.”

Which was so fucking unhelpful.

So you’d set about the office yourself, lingering hopefully on the fringes of people’s conversations, peering about for clues on the agency staffer’s desks, but there was nothing to give the sender away, no whispered snippet of conversation or receipt laying amongst some expense sheets. You might have resorted to sifting through people’s garbage cans, if only Shouto hadn’t taken to suddenly appearing wherever you were investigating, watching you with a wry little smile pulling at the corner of his mouth.

You knew he hadn’t the slightest modicum of romantic interest in you, but that didn’t mean you wanted him to witness you digging through people’s garbage either. That would have to wait until you could get him out of the building.

Which was also proving to be an impossible endeavor. He usually had a habit of lingering after his shift, coming into your office to make queries about one thing or another that almost always devolved into conversations deeply unrelated to work. But today he was especially resistant to leaving, seeming content to lounge around in the chairs you’d set out for clients, draping one distractingly muscled arm across the backs and watching you intently with those heterochromatic eyes.

“Shouto, get out of my office,” you hissed, coming back in at the end of the day to find him still in one of the chairs, his phone clutched in those long fingers.

He glanced up at you, eyes fastening to your features in that attentive way he had. “I work here.”

“Is that what you’re doing?” you asked, trying to suppress a small spike of irritation with him. “Because it looks like you’re scaring off the box sender to me. How are they supposed to sneak in here and take it back if their boss is looming in here like their worst nightmare?”

Shouto looked unconcerned. “I’m not.”

“Not what?” you asked. Maybe he wasn’t their worst nightmare, but being caught by your boss in the middle of correcting a romantic mishap was probably at least a nightmare.

“Not scaring anyone off,” he said, putting his phone away into his pocket. “I know who the box belongs to.”

You stopped short, your attention snapping fully towards him. A thrill of excitement went down your spine, even as regret poured through you. A little part of you had maybe hoped you would end up getting to eat the chocolates, even if they weren’t yours. But this was good news.

“You do? Why didn’t you tell me?” you demanded.

Yor feet guided you to the chair where he sat, and you stood, looking down at him expectantly. He watched you through his long lashes, eyes glinting strangely.

“It’s mine,” he said finally, after a moment that stretched long and slow, like warm taffy.

Your breath caught in your chest, a swell of confusion rising within you. The box was his?

Was he being truthful or was this another attempt to make you take it? Why would he have tried to make you think it was from a secret admirer, then? Why have let you run around all day, attempting to find the sender, if the chocolates had been his all along? Unless...

Unless he was embarrassed. You didn’t know why he might have left them in your office, but you suspected maybe force of habit had drawn him here. Maybe he was operating on autopilot after his distracting shift this morning, since he usually spent so much time in your office, and then you’d come in to find them before he’d had a chance to realize it. And the rest had been history.

But then that begged the question of who he’d really meant them for--your heart sank as the thought occurred to you.

Obviously, you had known since you’d first met him that he wasn’t interested in you. You’d spent years with your thoughts all muddled around him, quelling every blush, never straying into his personal space or staring at him longer than was appropriate. You’d been so, so careful around him, but you’d never had any indication that Shouto was as careful around you. On the contrary, he was always calm and intent--he never looked away from you in a fit of bashfulness the way you had him, and he seemed to have no qualms about getting into your personal space, leaning over you as you looked through reports together, putting a hand on your back to guide you through publicity events.

So yeah, you had known he was basically immune to you. You had known it for a long time. But it still smarted to think of him giving that box to someone else.

God, how embarrassing for you. How mortifying, really, that Shouto had been thinking of someone else all those days that you had been nursing your crush on him.

But you were a professional, you could deal with this.

All you had to do was play it cool, give him back the box and laugh it off like it hardly affected you. And then you could head back to your apartment and binge ice cream and be all wistful and embarrassing for one evening. You could allow yourself that before you had to come back and be doubly professional, smile and congratulate whichever analyst or support staffer or fellow hero had caught his interest.

You could be happy for him. You’d miss the chocolates though.

Drawing yourself together, you looked down at him, pulling out a small but genuine smile. Shouto was your friend, and he was going to nail it with whoever the box was meant for--you could give him your support. But then Shouto was unfolding himself out of the chair, standing up so he could look down into your face, taking a step closer to you.

You tried to ignore the flutter in your stomach at his sudden proximity, the hint of his clean cologne and the lick of warmth coming off of his left side.

“They’re, uh, they’re yours?” you managed, forcing yourself to meet his eyes. “You are in such big trouble for coming in here and peddling conspiracy theories instead of owning up to it. You at least owe me a coffee for being such a brat.”

Shouto watched you quietly, saying nothing.

“But we can hash that out later,” you said, waving what you hoped was a casual hand at him. “You need to move quickly. You should try to catch whoever you meant these for before they leave--daytime shift is over in a couple minutes.”

Shouto’s brows knitted, a small frown pulling at his mouth. “You still think they’re not for you,” he said.

It took a minute for you to register the words he’d spoken. The comment struck you dumb when you did, a thrill of disbelief going through you. Was he trying to be tactful now? Now, of all times?

“Shouto, seriously, you can make it up to me later. This is not the time to fuck around, the day’s almost over,” you said.

His eyes narrowed and he stepped closer to you, close enough that you could feel him exhale. You took a step back in surprise, your hip bumping your desk.

“You promised me,” he said in his deep voice, “that if no one came looking for them by the end of the day, you would take them.”

You stared up at him, your mind churning wildly with all kinds of insane thoughts, wild insinuations that brought heat to your face. He absolutely could not mean what you thought he meant.

There was literally no way.

“I don’t understand what you’re trying to say,” you admitted. “But if you’re telling me I can take them just because you promised them, I don’t want them. I think you should give them to who you meant them for.”

That wry little smile played about his mouth again, and Shouto took another step closer. The back of your thighs dug into your desk and you wobbled, putting a hand down to keep your balance.

“To think I trust you with my career,” Shouto intoned, ducking his head to look into your face. You felt the heat of his left arm at your side as he placed it gently on your desk, caging you in. “Let me be plain, then. I did give them to who they were meant for.”

Your cheeks went hot, both with his proximity and the implied insult. But the rejoinder died on your tongue as the implication of his last few words sank in.

He had meant them for you? Shouto Todoroki, number four hero, your coworker of several years and your most patient, attentive, and mind-numbingly handsome friend, had gone to Grégoire Chardin, for Valentine’s Day chocolate, thinking--of all people--of you?

For a moment, it felt like the earth was sliding out from under your feet, but then you realized it was just you, tipping backwards on your desk. Your elbow banged into the side of the chocolate box, and you accidentally sent a small pile of papers fluttering over the side of your desk. You cringed, embarrassed, but then Shouto was over you, both arms braced on either side of your head.

“You don’t need to accept them if you don’t want,” he said quietly, watching your face. The intensity of his focus made your head swim, and you tried to focus on what he was saying, rather than the shape of his mouth as he spoke, the heat from his skin. “But I wanted you to know. I like you.”

You gaped at him, the words feeling like they were embedding themselves in your brain.

“You...like me?” you echoed in disbelief.

Shouto grinned, the expression so disarmingly charming that even your nose went hot. “Yes. Very much.”

A swell of emotions welled up inside you, like the unstoppable tide of a coastal flood, and you were gripped with the sudden desire to lean up and kiss him, to press your mouth to his and see if he meant it, if any of what he’d just said to you could possibly be real. Suddenly, that was the only thought in your entire brain.

“I’m gonna kiss you,” you heard yourself utter stupidly.

You hesitated for just a second, realizing that maybe you should pinch yourself first to see if this was actually happening, but then Shouto was already there, covering your mouth with his.

His kiss was hot and soft and utterly perfect, and very quickly there were no thoughts in your brain at all, nothing but the feel of him over you, one muscled thigh pressing insistently between yours, his long fingers tangling gently in the hair behind your ear. You clutched him to you tightly, an embarrassing little sound escaping you, and Shouto groaned, pressing more of his weight down on you, licking firmly into your mouth.

You were half-delirious with the feeling of him by the time he let you up for air, and you could feel yourself grinning like an absolute fool.

“I had a secret admirer,” you said. “You were being serious.”

Shouto smirked, leaning in to press a hot kiss to your throat. Your thighs clenched involuntarily. “Yes, I had been secretly admiring you for a while.”

For some reason, the words embarrassed you, and you tucked your face into his broad shoulder. “I...this is so embarrassing. I’ve been...admiring you, too.”

You heard Shouto huff a soft laugh, and then his calloused fingers were gripping your chin, angling your face back towards him so he could seize your mouth again. You went slack and pliant underneath him, enjoying the press of his mouth on yours, your toes curling when he did something particularly talented with his tongue.

“I did tell you,” Shouto said after a while, pulling back, one of his hands gripping your thigh.

“Tell me what?” you asked absently, wondering how you could get his mouth on yours again.

His eyes caught yours, the blue of his left glittering at you conspiratorially. “That I could be subtle.”

You laughed, feeling stupid--but more than that, flushed and completely pleased. You didn’t know if subtle was exactly the right word, but you weren’t going to argue specifics at the moment. “I guess you can be. Though you might have been a little bit more overt before now.”

“Then if you don’t mind,” Shouto said after a while, something like amusement in his voice, “I’d like to take you home and admire you quite overtly now.”

You were answering before he could even finish. “Yes, oh my god, yes.”

Shouto laughed again, smoothing a large palm down your side.

And then he did. And not even chocolates from Grégoire Chardin could compare.

#todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki shouto #bnha #bnha fanfic #bnha x reader #boku no hero academia #shouto todoroki x reader

817 notes · View notes

protecticarus · 4 years ago

Note

I didn't know I needed this until now. Prompt idea: Dirk meets Todd's parents who just assume Dirk is his boyfriend, and for fun Dirk plays along while Todd is clueless

i decided this prompt would work with a christmas setting, so here we are! i’m back!

i tweaked the prompt just slightly by making dirk “play along” unknowingly, so without realizing what todd’s parents are implying. the result however is the same mortifying ordeal for todd, amusement for everyone else and fluffy set up for the next step in dirk and todd’s relationship! i hope that’s alright!

possible tw: alcohol and some swear words.

merry christmas y’all! x

”Are you absolutely certain it’s alright for me to tag along?” Dirk asked, for maybe the 18th time that day.

”For the last time, Dirk, my parents were the ones to invite you themselves. I know you don’t know them yet, but let me tell you, my parents are the kind of people who won’t do something they don’t actually want to. So yes, Dirk, I’m absolutely certain you’re welcome to spend Christmas with me and my family this year. Now please, stop asking.” Todd explained, for what he hoped would be the last time. He kept his eyes on the road as he drove - much to Dirk’s dismay who wanted to be the one behind the wheel himself, which Todd refused to let happen, insisting that he wanted to live to see the new year - but he could practically feel Dirk furrow his brow in deep thought.

”As long as you’re sure.” Dirk finally mumbled his reply.

Todd resisted the urge to roll his eyes. ”I’m sure.” He said instead.

Dirk was uncharacteristically quiet on the drive over to Todd’s parents’ house, a fact which would normally demand all of Todd’s attention, but he was currently too nervous himself to be of much comfort to his friend. The last time Todd had seen his parents was when he told them everything. The faked pararibulitis, the real reason for him dropping out of college, the screwing his band over, the money… They had, of course, been very upset and hurt, but ultimately willing to forgive Todd. They just asked for some time, which Todd happily gave them.

That had been four months ago. Todd had talked to his parents in the meantime, on the phone and via email, but he had yet to actually spend time with them, face to face. His mother had assured him that she and Todd’s father had moved on and forgiven him. And Todd believed them. But he also knew they would like to talk about it. As soon as his parents had expressed their need for some time to think, Todd had taken the opportunity to escape the uncomfortable situation. Four months ago.

It was one thing to hash things out over email or even on the phone, but another to do so face to face. While his parents’ gesture to invite Todd’s eccentric colleague/best friend along had been made to assure Dirk didn’t have to spend Christmas alone, Todd’s relief of being able to take Dirk with him had been partly selfish. Dirk was his buffer. Any time he felt too uncomfortable, he could just use Dirk as a distraction. That, and Dirk provided Todd with comfort and support he desperately needed, a fact he was a little less willing to admit, even to himself.

Too soon for both of the men, they had arrived at Todd’s parents’ house. Todd took a deep breath after putting the car safely in park. ”Ready?” He asked the man next to him.

”No.” Came Dirk’s reply.

”Yeah, me neither.” Todd sighed. ”Let’s go.”

They both made their way to the door which was immediately flown open before either of them had the chance to even entertain the idea of ringing the doorbell.

Amanda threw her hands around her brother’s neck in a quick hug. ”Thank fuck you’re here, I’ve been alone with them for like an hour.” She said and then moved onto wrap Dirk in a quick hug of his own.

”Sorry, we left late. Dirk couldn’t decide on a tie.” Todd said.

Dirk rolled his eyes. ”Right, that and Todd pretended to have a headache and contemplated calling in sick. From Christmas.” He replied.

Amanda gave Todd a dirty look. ”Wimp.” She said.

”Shut up. Both of you.” Said Todd and finally stepped into the house with Amanda and Dirk on his heels.

As soon as they entered the house, they were met with the sharp ringing of the smoke detector.

”Guys, Todd and Dirk are here!” Amanda yelled over the alarm.

”Come in, come in!” Came the reply from the direction of the kitchen.

The trio made their way toward the voice and the alarm.

”Mom, is something on fire?” Todd asked as they entered the kitchen to see Todd’s mother surrounded by grey smoke.

”Of course not, Todd, you know that alarm is too sensitive.” Todd’s mother replied nonchalantly and took a sip of her white wine.

”Smoke detectors tend to react to smoke.” Amanda said.

”Yeah, well, a little smoke never hurt anybody.” Came the reply.

”I wouldn’t put money on that.” Amanda remarked.

Suddenly the alarm quieted down. ”Got it!” Yelled Todd’s father from somewhere in the house.

”Thanks babe!” His wife replied. Then her eyes finally landed on Dirk. ”Oh you must be Dirk! So nice to meet you honey, sorry for the smell.” She said and put down her wine glass.

”Hello Mrs. Brotzman. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.” Dirk replied in a nervous voice. ”I hope it’s alright that I-” He was cut off by Todd’s mother wrapping him in a surprisingly strong hug.

”The moment Todd mentioned you had no family in the States I knew we had to have you over for Christmas! Lucky us you’re not from here, huh? Gosh that accent is adorable by the way, I totally see the appeal.” She said and patted Dirk’s cheek after pulling away from the hug.

”Jesus, mom.” Todd groaned.

”T-Thank you, Mrs. Brotzman.” Dirk replied, quite taken aback by the friendly welcome.

Todd’s mother made a face like she’d smelled something bad - other than whatever had just set off the smoke detector. ”Ugh, no, Mrs. Brotzman is my mother-in-law. Please call me Jo, Joanna if I’m in trouble.” She said.

Dirk smiled and let his shoulders drop a little in relief. ”Alright. Jo, then.” He said.

Jo smiled back and patted Dirk on the shoulder. ”Good kid.”

”Who’s being a good kid? Surely not any of ours?” Said Todd’s father as he stepped into the kitchen.

”Dad…” Groaned Todd and Amanda.

Jo laughed. ”Of course not. This is Dirk.” She told her husband.

”Ah yes, how’s it going, Dirk? I’m Thomas.” He said and extended his hand to Dirk.

”It’s… Good. Going good. Thank you for having me, Mr. Brotzman.” Replied Dirk as he shook Thomas’ hand.

”Told you, it’s Thomas.” Insisted Thomas.

Dirk gave an awkward smile. ”Ah, yes, Thomas. Of course.” He said.

”Good to have you here with us, Dirk. Jo and I were just saying how it’s about damn time.” Said Thomas.

Dirk blushed. ”Why thank you, Thomas. I’m very happy to have been invited.” He said.

Todd furrowed his brow in confusion. Had he even talked about Dirk that much to his parents? In fact, he’d made the conscious effort not to, as much of Dirk was impossible to explain without explaining… Well, Dirk. So why were they so eager to meet the guy?

”Wine anyone? We can have a drink in the living room while the ham calms down.” Said Jo.

”You should know that in this house we have to hope for mom’s cooking to ’calm down’ before we attempt to eat it.” Amanda fake-whispered to Dirk.

”Oh hush you.” Said Jo. ”So we’re not a family of chefs! We have other strengths.” She added.

”I’ll drink to that.” Said Thomas while he poured himself a glass of red wine. ”Dirk, are you a red or white kind of guy?” He asked.

Dirk froze. ”Uh, I… I suppose-”

”Red, right? Cause it’s richer, more… Fruity.” Todd jumped in.

Dirk looked grateful for the interruption. ”Yes. Red, that’s right.”

”Great, I won’t be the only one emptying the bottles of red tonight! These three won’t give up the white.” Thomas said.

”That’s because it’s better.” Said Amanda.

”Here, here!” Said Jo and raised her glass in a toast.

Thomas nudged Dirk. ”They just don’t get it.” He said.

Dirk didn’t even care that he’d never actually tasted a drop of red wine, he just enjoyed the feeling of camaraderie with Todd’s father. Dirk smirked at Todd, as if to say ’look, look how well it’s going.’ Todd rolled his eyes fondly at Dirk. As he turned away, he caught his mother’s eye, who gave him a look he couldn’t quite read. It was a warm look though, similar to the teasing ones she’d given him before he revealed what an asshole he was. Todd felt his throat tighten at the warmth of the look, and quickly poured some wine down it.

”Let’s move to the living room to chat, I want to know all there is to know about you, Dirk!” Said Jo and began leading the way to the living room.

”And by all she means-” Todd began.

”All that has nothing to do with time traveling, soul swapping or alternate dimensions, I know.” Said Dirk.

Once seated around the living room - Dirk, Todd and Amanda on the couch, Jo and Thomas snuggly on an old armchair facing the couch - Jo leaned forward and gripped her glass tight. ”So, Dirk. Tell me.” She said.

Dirk blinked a few times in silence. ”Tell you…?” He questioned.

”Everything!” Jo clarified.

”How about we start with: where are you from? England?” Asked Thomas.

”Yes, England.” Dirk replied. ”Not much to say about it though, I came here when I was quite young.”

”Your parents wanted a change of scenery?” Asked Jo.

Dirk smiled awkwardly. ”Something like that.”

Todd tensed next to him, knowing the topic was nearing dangerously emotional territory for Dirk.

”Where are they now? Back in England?” Jo asked.

”Oh. Well…” Dirk began.

”Mom, this isn’t an interrogation.” Interrupted Todd.

”Of course not!” Jo exclaimed.

”I don’t think your mom meant it that way, Todd.” Thomas said and gave Todd a disapproving look.

”I know, just-” Todd sighed.

”It’s alright, Todd.” Said Dirk. ”Truth is, Jo, I haven’t seen my parents in a long time. I was told they died a while ago though. I haven’t been able to confirm it, but I don’t have a reason not to believe it to be true.” He explained vaguely.

Jo and Thomas stared at him in silence for a moment. Amanda took a rather large sip of her wine. Todd placed his hand on Dirk’s in his lap and gave it a supportive squeeze. Dirk gave him a soft smile in return.

”I’m sorry, Dirk, I didn’t know. Todd never said…” Jo finally said and gave Todd a stern look. Todd wasn’t sure why, but clearly his mother thought it should have been obvious to Todd to inform her of Dirk’s parents’ status.

”It’s quite alright, Jo. Like I said, I haven’t seen them in a long time. Since I was a boy, really. I’m quite used to being on my own.” Dirk reassured her.

”You’re not though.” Said Todd quickly. ”On your own, I mean.”

Dirk gave him a watery smile. ”No, I suppose I’m not.” He said quietly.

”Aww…” Said Jo. ”You two are so precious.” She added.

”What?” Asked Todd.

”Thank you.” Replied Dirk.

”How did you meet again? Todd’s recount was pretty vague.” Jo asked.

Todd was still trying to decipher what his mother had meant by her last comment when Dirk already went to answer the new question.

”Oh it’s quite the story, actually!” He said, his mood immediately back to chipper.

”Uh, yeah, maybe the, uh… Abridged version of the story, Dirk?” Said Todd.

Dirk turned to look at him. ”Ah.” He said at the expression on Todd’s face. ”Of course.”

Todd’s parents exchanged a look that made Todd’s ears burn for some reason.

”Well, you see, I broke into his apartment through the window.” Dirk explained.

Todd squeezed the bridge of his nose. ”Right, cause he… He got the wrong apartment.” He said.

”I did?” Asked Dirk. Todd gave him a look. ”Yes, of course I did. Stupid Dirk, always climbing through other people’s windows by accident.” He added.

”Right, so… Dirk had just moved in and he forgot his keys. And so he tried to get into his apartment through the window, only he climbed into mine, cause it’s right below his.” Todd explained.

”Yes.” Agreed Dirk. ”Precisely.”

”Wow.” Jo commented. ”What a… What do the kids say? A sweet-meet?” She asked.

Amanda snorted into her wine glass. ”A meet-cute.” She corrected her mother.

”Right!” Said Jo. ”A meet-cute!”

Todd flipped Amanda off while their mother explained the concept of ’meet-cute’ to their father.

”We had a meet-cute too, didn’t we Thomas?” Jo said after a moment.

”I suppose we did.” Replied Thomas.

As Dirk insisted on hearing the story, Todd couldn’t help but stare at his parents in stunned silence. His mother had just compared his and Dirk’s first meeting to hers and her husband’s. Todd was no holistic detective, the universe didn’t give him hunches, but he was beginning to get the creeping feeling that there was a misunderstanding between him and his parents. Dirk however didn’t seem to notice.

”How did you two meet?” Dirk asked Jo and Thomas. ”I’d love to hear the story!”

”Oh man.” Amanda laughed. ”Here we go.”

”It’s a great story!” Said Jo. ”I was in a band.”

”Like Todd!” Exclaimed Dirk.

Jo smiled knowingly. ”Yes, where do you think he got his musical talents from?” She said.

”Me, of course.” Said Thomas.

”Please, our guitar skills go way beyond your cute little bass.” Jo challenged.

”And I can drum you all under the table.” Said Amanda. ”Get on with the story, mom.”

”Right.” Jo said. ”So, I was in a band and we wanted to participate in this battle of the bands type thing at a local pub. Problem was, we were all 17, juniors in high school, and one of the requirements for signing up was to be 18 or above. So we needed someone older.” Jo explained.

”So imagine this,” Thomas jumped in, ”I’m at my locker at school and this girl, dressed in all black with crazy spiky pink hair, walks up to me and says ’you play bass or something, right?’ No introduction or nothing.” He said.

”I’m nothing if not efficient.” Remarked Jo.

”That you are, babe.” Thomas agreed. ”So I said yes. She confirmed that I was indeed 18 and before I knew it, I was in a band. A previously all girl band too, mind you.”

”Compromises had to be made.” Said Jo. ”So we had an 18-year-old to sign the form. And we rocked, hard.”

”Did you win?” Dirk asked.

”No.” Replied Thomas.

”It was rigged to high heavens!” Said Jo. ”We should have won.”

”I feel like I did win that day.” Thomas said.

”Aww,” Said Jo, ”You’re such a sap. That was the day we got together.” She added for Dirk’s benefit.

”And by ’got together’ she really means hooked up.” Amanda remarked.

”Yeah, well, it worked out.” Said Jo.

”That’s an amazing story!” Dirk agreed.

”Told ya.” Said Jo.

”Well, it’s not quite as dramatic as breaking into the other’s apartment by accident.” Thomas said.

”Yes, well, at least she didn’t throw a shoe at you.” Said Dirk and gave Todd a pointed look.

”Todd!” Exclaimed Jo.

”I thought he was a burglar, what was I supposed to do!” Todd in turn exclaimed.

”First thing I said to you was ’hi!’ What kind of burglar greets his victim!” Dirk argued.

”A bad one?” Todd remarked.

”Yet somehow you ended up working together, is that right?” Asked Thomas.

”Yeah, we work together now.” Todd confirmed.

”And what is it that you do, exactly?” Thomas asked.

”I’m a holistic detective. Todd is my assistant.” Explained Dirk.

”A holistic detective? What’s that?” Thomas asked.

Dirk was right about to leap into his ’the interconnectedness of all things’ speech as Todd jumped in. ”It’s a type of private detective. More of an… Open-minded approach than the police.” Todd explained. He could hear Amanda holding in laughter next to Dirk.

”I see. Cool.” Thomas said.

Todd took a sip of his wine, hoping his father was done with the topic of their job. There’s not much he could actually tell him about it without sounding like a crazy person.

”So, how long have you two been together exactly?” Jo asked.

Todd spit some wine back into his glass in his surprise. There it was.

On second thought, maybe they should be talking about time traveling and purple people-eaters instead. Or maybe even Todd’s fake pararibulitis.

”Almost 7 months!” Dirk told Jo.

Todd shot him an alarmed look, trying to will him to shut up, but Dirk either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

”Wow,” Said Jo, ”That’s pretty serious.”

”Oh definitely.” Dirk replied.

Todd wanted to sink into the couch, never to be found.

”How serious would you say it is, Dirk?” Asked Amanda, clearly loving the turn of events.

”Shut the fuck up, Amanda.” Todd hissed.

”Mom, Todd said ’fuck.’” Said Amanda.

”I did not raise a snitch, Amanda.” Said Jo.

”7 months, huh?” Thomas repeated, changing the subject. ”How come we haven’t met Dirk before now?”

Todd thought his skin might melt off his face based on how badly it felt like it was burning.

”Uh… I- It never came up.” He explained lamely.

”Well, I for one am so glad to meet him now. You better come back here with Todd from now on!” Jo said.

Dirk’s eyes lit up. ”Oh I would love to, Jo, thank you!” He said.

”Of course!” Jo replied. ”I don’t remember the last time Todd brought someone home.”

”Oh my god…” Todd mumbled. He couldn’t believe this was happening.

”Well, I’m very glad he brought me!” Said Dirk. ”I should have known you two would be equally as lovely as your children!” He praised.

Jo lifted her hand to rest on her heart. ”Aren’t you the sweetest! Isn’t he the sweetest, Thomas?” She said.

”Indeed.” Agreed Thomas.

Todd couldn’t tell whether Dirk was deliberately indulging his parents’ idea of them as a couple, or if he really didn’t realize that’s what he was doing. Either way, Todd felt completely ganged up on.

”As soon as Amanda said she really liked you, I knew you must be special. She’s never liked anyone Todd’s been with.” Jo said.

”Yeah, cause they were all losers.” Said Amanda. ”Which you, Dirk Gently, are not.”

”Why thank you, Amanda.” Dirk said, seemingly genuinely touched.

Todd tried to figure out where exactly this train had gone so far off the rails into Let’s All Embarrass Todd Town. He had to put an end to this.

”Dirk, join me in the kitchen, will you?” He said abruptly.

”Why?” Asked Dirk.

Todd bit his teeth together in frustration. ”I need more wine.” He said.

Dirk glanced at his own glass. ”I’ve barely touched mine though.” He said.

”Just come with me!” Todd hissed.

Dirk furrowed his brow in confusion, but nonetheless stood up and followed Todd out of the room.

”Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” Jo yelled after them.

”That’s not saying much.” Thomas said, smirking.

”You wouldn’t have me any other way.” Jo countered and placed a sloppy kiss on her husband’s cheek.

”Fuck me.” Amanda huffed and finished off her wine.

As soon as Todd stepped into the kitchen, he turned around to face Dirk, who almost ran into him.

”What are you doing?” Todd asked.

”I was just going to ask you the same thing.” Said Dirk.

”I’m serious, Dirk.” Todd added.

Dirk furrowed his brow. ”I don’t know what you’re talking about, Todd.” He said.

”I’m talking about you, out there, with my parents.” Todd tried to get Dirk to understand.

”Did I do something wrong?” Dirk asked, now worried.

Todd blinked a few times. ”You really don’t know what I’m talking about, do you?” He finally asked.

”No?” Dirk replied.

”My parents think we’re a couple.” Todd explained.

”A couple…?”

”Dating, in a relationship, romantically involved!” Todd huffed in frustration.

Dirk looked genuinely surprised. ”They do?”

”Yes!” Todd exclaimed. ”And you’re confirming it for them!”

”I am?” Dirk asked.

”Yes! Obviously!” Said Todd.

”Are you certain, Todd?” Dirk asked.

Todd sighed. ”Jesus, Dirk, my mom basically compared us to her and my dad! And you went along with it! And Amanda, fucking Amanda… How did you not pick up on the comment about people I’ve dated in the past?” He said.

Dirk thought for a moment. ”Why doesn’t anyone use the word ’dating’, it’s all so vague.” He finally said.

”Only to you.” Todd huffed. Dirk looked annoyed and Todd felt bad. ”Sorry, I just… I wasn’t sure if you didn’t realize what was happening or if you deliberately went along with it.” He explained.

”Well, I did not. Realize or intentionally go along with it. I thought I was just making conversation.” Dirk said. ”I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He added.

Todd sighed. Now he felt like an asshole. Again. ”You didn’t.” He assured. ”I just… Sorry, I’ve just been on edge about seeing them all day and this, this misunderstanding threw me for a loop I guess. I didn’t mean to take it out on you. Sorry.”

Dirk gave him a soft smile. ”It’s alright.” He said. ”I’ll pay closer attention to others’ choices of words from now on.”

”Okay.” Todd said. ”I guess I’ll just… Have to correct them. God, that’s not gonna be awkward at all.”

”Sorry.” Dirk said again.

”Stop apologizing.” Todd said and grabbed a bottle of white wine. ”Let’s just go back. I’m guessing Amanda’s in desperate need of more wine.”

They made their way back to the living room, where Jo and Amanda were engaged in a seemingly heated discussion.

”Yeah, but who in their right mind doesn’t list Bikini Kill when talking about iconic punk bands with female vocalists!” Exclaimed Amanda.

”I simply didn’t get that far-” Began Jo, only to be caught off by her husband.

”Look, the boys are back! Let’s put a pin in this discussion for now.” Said Thomas.

”Kathleen Hanna would be so disappointed, mom.” Amanda said.

”Don’t you tell me what Kathleen Hanna of Bikini Kill would be at me, young lady.” Countered Jo.

”Uh, anyway,” Said Todd as he and Dirk took their seats next to Amanda on the couch, who immediately grabbed the wine bottle from Todd. ”Mom, dad, I should, uh, say something.” Todd added.

”Go ahead, honey.” Jo replied encouragingly.

Todd looked briefly at Dirk for reassurance and Dirk gave him a genuine smile and an encouraging nod.

Todd took a deep breath. ”Right, so… I don’t know where our wires got crossed but, uh… Dirk- Dirk and I are not dating.” He finally said.

Jo and Thomas didn’t say anything for a moment, only stared at Todd. They briefly shifted their

gazes at Dirk, after which they settled back on looking at Todd in confusion.

”What do you mean, Todd?” Thomas asked finally.

Todd blinked a few times in silence. ”I mean… That we’re not… A couple.” He repeated.

”Since when?” Asked Jo.

”Since always?” Replied Todd.

”I’m so confused.” Said Jo.

Todd sighed. ”Look, I don’t know what the hell happened, all I know is that you got the wrong idea. We’re just friends. And, you know, colleagues.” He explained.

”Are you sure?” Asked Thomas in turn.

”Am I- Yeah, I’m sure, dad.” Assured Todd.

”Dirk?” Asked Jo.

Dirk swallowed and shifted awkwardly on the couch. ”Yes, that’s right. I’m sorry if I implied otherwise before, I didn’t… I didn’t realize we were talking about two different things.” He said.

Jo nodded, thinking. Thomas took a sip of his wine. Amanda topped off Todd’s glass.

Finally after a minute or two of silence, Jo spoke again. ”Why?”

Todd turned to look at Dirk who simply shrugged. ”Why what?” Todd asked his mother.

”Why are you not a couple?” Jo clarified. Thomas hummed approvingly at her question.

”Oh shit.” Whispered Amanda into her wine glass.

”I- What?” Asked Todd. He didn’t dare to risk looking at Dirk right now, who was blushing rather violently next to Todd.

”Well, considering everything you’ve said tonight and us misunderstanding in the first place… Why is it that we got it wrong? Why aren’t you together?” Jo explained.

”Jesus christ, mom…” Todd sighed.

”What? Why is that such a strange question?” Jo asked.

”It isn’t.” Said Thomas. ”Since we thought-”

”I know what you thought!” Huffed Todd.

”I’m really sorry to have confused you-” Dirk tried to cut in softly.

”It’s not your fault, Dirk, stop apologizing.” Todd sighed.

”Yes, but why did you?” Pressed Jo. ”Look, all I’m saying is, to me it sounds like maybe it’s not such an impossible scenario for us to have conjured up.”

Todd could practically feel Dirk freeze up next to him. Todd himself felt like running out the door and never looking back. What, had his parents not forgiven him after all and this was their revenge?

”Mom, you can’t just say stuff like that.” Todd said quietly.

”Why?” She asked.

”Because- Because you just can’t.” Todd replied.

”Because it’s not what you want?” Jo asked. ”That’s okay, you’re allowed to say that.”

”No, obviously that’s not why, I-” Todd began, before immediately cutting himself off. He couldn’t believe he’d been that stupid. His mother played him like a fiddle. He’d eaten right out of her hand.

Jo was smiling now. ”I see.” She said. Yeah, I bet you do, thought Todd. He’d reacted exactly like she’d expected him to.

”Dude…” Said Amanda.

”Shut up.” Said Todd.

”What?” Asked Dirk.

Todd sighed and covered his face with his hands. Amanda lifted Todd’s wine glass from the coffee table and removed one of his hands from his face, wrapping it around the glass. Todd lifted the glass to his lips and took a generous gulp. Amanda patted his back encouragingly.

”Todd…” Dirk said softly. ”What-”

”Dirk, can we not…” Todd mumbled into his glass.

”Why not?” Dirk asked.

”What?” Todd asked in turn, now looking at Dirk for the first time in several minutes.

”What?” Dirk repeated.

”Oh my god,” Amanda groaned, ”You’re both into each other, have been since day one, which, shocker: mom and dad figured out before they even met Dirk! So please, for the love of all that’s holy, just finally make your peace with that so that we can go eat mom’s scorched ham and get on with Christmas.” She said.

As Amanda mumbled something along the lines of this is why I don’t do relationships and sipped her wine, everyone else digested what she’d just served them.

”Well said, daughter.” Said Jo finally.

”Thank you, mother.” Replied Amanda.

”Todd,” Said Dirk, ”Is that true?”

Todd swallowed awkwardly. ”I don’t know. Is it?”

”Jesus, do I need to do everything for you?” Asked Amanda.

”No, you shut up now. And maybe have a glass of water.” Said Todd quickly. Amanda flipped him the bird.

Jo stood up. ”I’ll go see if the ham’s calmed down. Amanda, come get a glass of water.” She said.

”I’m 24 goddamn years old…” Amanda mumbled as she followed her mother out of the room, her father on her heels.

Thomas shot a quick thumbs up at Todd and Dirk before disappearing into the kitchen behind his wife and daughter. Todd rolled his eyes.

”So.” Said Dirk.

”So.” Repeated Todd.

”Is this going to be one of those things we just don’t talk about, or…?” Asked Dirk carefully.

Todd sighed. ”As much as I want to say yes,” He said, ”It probably shouldn’t be, right?”

”Right.” Agreed Dirk.

Neither of them said anything more.

Finally Todd groaned. ”I suck at this.”

Dirk chuckled. ”Well, I’ve never done this before, so, I can only assume that so do I.”

Todd laughed too and turned to look at Dirk. ”Did… Did Amanda have a point? And- And my parents for that matter.” He said, his voice much softer now, insecure.

”Yes.” Dirk replied immediately. ”Well, I mean… I hope so.” He added.

”Yeah?” Todd asked.

”Yes.” Dirk assured him.

”Okay. I mean… Yeah, me too.” Todd said.

”Really?” Dirk asked.

”Yeah, really.” Todd said.

Todd could’ve sworn he’d never seen Dirk smile brighter. It sort of made his stomach hurt.

”Maybe…” Todd said. ”Maybe we could talk about that more, you know, when we’re not in my parents’ house?”

Dirk nodded eagerly. ”I’d like that.” He said.

Todd smiled. ”Cool.” He said.

Dirk took a deep breath and let it out in a sort of relieved laugh. ”I just- I thought perhaps it was just me and that it would be horribly inappropriate if I-” He tried to explain.

Todd was hit with a strange mix of relief and guilt. He was relieved that Dirk seemed to be on the same page with him, despite Todd having never had the balls to even entertain the idea that he might be. Todd also felt guilty, because apparently Dirk had been convinced he couldn’t talk to Todd about this. Todd had made such strict rules for himself when it came to Dirk and any acknowledgement of any possible feelings regarding Dirk, that it had come across as totally unapproachable.

As if Dirk could read Todd’s mind, he added: ”That’s not your fault though.”

Todd sighed. ”I sort of have a history of not communicating what I’m really thinking.” He said.

Dirk smiled. ”Touché.”

”I’ll try harder from now on. Promise.” Todd said.

Dirk nodded. ”Okay.” He said. After a moment he continued. ”In the spirit of saying what we’re really thinking… I feel the need to say that this is perhaps the best Christmas I’ve ever had.”

Todd smiled. ”Yeah? I’m sort of a fan myself.” He said and took Dirk’s hand in his, intertwining their fingers.

Dirk looked down at their joined hands in wonder. Then he looked up at Todd with an expression that made Todd simultaneously want to look away and personally thank both his parents and Amanda for provoking this moment.

”Good news and bad news boys!” Amanda’s voice broke the moment. ”Good news: dinner is ready! Bad news: the ham didn’t totally burn so we still have to eat it!”

”You’ll eat it and you’ll like it or I’m cutting you off from wine!” Jo’s reply could be heard.

”Scratch that! Mom’s ham is the eighth wonder of the world!” Amanda backtracked.

”Damn right it is!” Said Jo.

Todd rolled his eyes as Dirk laughed.

”Wanna go pretend my mom can cook and answer more uncomfortable questions?” Todd asked.

Dirk grinned. ”Lead the way.”

They entered the kitchen, still hand in hand. ”I hear the ham’s somewhat edible after all?” Todd asked.

His mother turned to them. ”Of course it is! Everything’s going exactly to plan.” She said. Her eyes fell to their joined hands and she gave Todd the warmest of smiles.

”Smells great, babe.” Said Thomas. ”Sit down, everyone.” He added.

Once seated, Jo turned to Todd and Dirk again. ”So,” She said, ”Dirk, any plans for Easter?” She asked.

Dirk laughed, blushing. ”Not that I know of.” He said.

”We do an egg hunt, Brotzman style.” Said Todd. ”You’ll love it.”

Dirk smiled at him. ”Yeah?”

Todd smiled back. ”Yeah.”

Jo clapped. ”Welcome to the family, Dirk!” She exclaimed.

”Mom…” Todd warned, but his warning lacked conviction.

Thomas raised his glass in a toast. ”To Todd and Dirk!”

Jo raised hers in turn. ”To my match-making!”

Todd raised his glass. ”Fuck you all.” He said.

Amanda raised her already half empty glass. ”And to all, a goodnight!” She exclaimed.

Everyone laughed before taking a sip of their respective drinks.

The ham turned out to be surprisingly good, which didn’t stop Amanda from making jokes. Dirk did his best to hide his shock at what red wine actually tasted like and got Todd to finish his glass while he himself moved onto water. After a pleasant meal accompanied by lively conversation, Thomas talked Jo and Todd into playing the guitar while the rest of them sang Christmas songs. Well, Thomas did. Amanda drummed on the table and switched the lyrics to the parody ones from her childhood. Dirk didn’t know the songs to begin with, but that didn’t stop him from trying to sing along. Todd had to stop playing at one point because he was laughing so hard at the lyrics that came out of Dirk’s mouth when he tried to anticipate what Thomas would sing next. Jo and Amanda both agreed that Dirk’s lyrics were much more interesting than the original ones.

When his mother pulled him aside after their impromptu caroling, Todd remembered to be nervous about having to talk about the other elephant in the room. In the end, Jo only wanted to apologize for putting him on the spot earlier. She also said she was so happy to see him again after months, which said all that needed to be said. Todd knew they’d have to talk more in depth about his years of lying, but tonight was not for that. Tonight was for family, strange cooking, bad singing and good company.

If his parents shot him entirely too knowing looks when Todd stole a kiss from Dirk under the mistletoe later in the night, he didn’t notice. All Todd saw was the slow falling of snow outside the window and the blinding smile on Dirk’s face.

if you have ideas for fics, send me prompts! my inbox is always open! x

121 notes · View notes

twansgendew · 4 years ago

Note

pastel green 😳, cyan, orange, arcade carpet, grün

:000 I would share my baja blast with you too<33 (lying I would drink it all and then feel bad and buy yuouanother one)

Friend!!!!!

We are we are hunting each other for sport <3 this is just like famous short story The Most Dangerous Game !!<3

EEBY DEEBY TIME😎

What if, . . .😳 aha jk , .. . Unless🥺

#ask response #rat-on-fire #hash tag :blush:

3 notes · View notes

commander-diomika · 3 years ago

Text

(Click to Read From the Beginning) Part 5 - Fandom: Rusty Quill Gaming Pairing: Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde, literal background Barnes/Carter Rating: Explicit Word Count: ~2500 Additional Tags: Slow Burn, 18-Month Time Gap (Rusty Quill Gaming), Opposites Attract, Masturbation, Accidental Voyeurism, Pining, oh there's yearning in this one lads,

Summary: With the quarantine cell still under construction, it's not quite as soundproof as it ought to be.

It was remarkably easy to keep busy in the business of saving the world. Wilde made it his mission to get to know every face in town, and in turn have them know him, and like him. He made friends easily, the locals charmed by this tall man with his fluent Japanese and endless supply of entertaining stories. For the sake of the job - not just his own lingering fear - he was meeting every person on the island and building a solid network of people who would let him know the moment a new face appeared. The wider his web, the less he found himself reaching for the scar on his face.

Zolf won people over not by charming them, but by helping them. The gruff dwarf at the inn became known as someone the locals could go to when someone fell and broke something, or to use magic to help Stone Shape the stumps of houses that were slipping into sodden earth.

He also worked on supply lines. Trade was still relatively lively, but he and Wilde were in the market for more esoteric items than bread and booze. They needed adamantine for the cell, they needed anti magic equipment, and it was certain Barnes and Carter were going to return having depleted the stock of healing potions they’d taken. Strangely enough there wasn't a steady supply of any of those items on the island.

As much as Zolf wouldn’t admit it, Wilde smoothed the way when it came to trading. He charmed the locals and when Zolf appeared with increasingly obscure demands, he was seen as a friend by association. Zolf knew he wouldn’t have achieved that so quickly.

They both oversaw changes to the inn. Many rooms were separated with nothing but thin paper walls on slides, making the whole space quite modular. Wilde sequestered one of the few solid, seemingly defensible rooms on the ground floor and turned it into an office-cum-sitting room. Before their gentle takeover it had probably been a private dining room for special, or at least rich, guests. Zolf took the time to install a proper bed frame in his room, since his legs made climbing down to the floor-level futon bedding difficult.

On another continent, sentient creatures went wrong, turned on their loved ones, fought, died. Cities were turned and abandoned, and storms ravaged places that had never seen more than a light drizzle. But even knowing that elsewhere things were coming apart at the seams, there was a touch of peace in their little corner of it. For a few weeks they slipped into a routine.

Zolf rose in the mornings before Wilde, wordlessly depositing a coffee in front of the bleary man when he appeared. In the evenings that Wilde wasn’t out liaising they took to Wilde’s sitting room and read, or drank, or talked. Frequently about the mission of course, but there was only so much hashing and rehashing they could do. When things got too heavy, or nothing had changed, topics wandered. Zolf’s stories from the navy. How Wilde became a journalist. Small things. Easy things when they both just needed to put it down for a while.

Wilde would never do something so gauche as ask for forgiveness, or understanding, but some days when he reported another success, it sounded like I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you.

Some days when Zolf poured coffee into Wilde’s mug it looked like you don’t have to apologise.

And on the rare mornings when some watery sunshine peeked through the clouds, as Zolf practiced in the yard with his glaive, Wilde followed to idly spectate over the paper and his breakfast, and the action felt like I don’t know why but it’s easier to be around you than not.

Barnes and Carter returned in good enough spirits and got started on their isolation in the mostly-complete cell. As soon as they returned, Zolf felt himself get itchy for action and movement again. He couldn’t even scratch the itch by properly debriefing the returnees yet; the newest information from Curie posited a hive-mind connection between those infected by the blue veins. Still, this was just the way it had to be. Zolf tried to soothe his agitation. Things were just going to move slow for now. He only had to look at Wilde’s scar to help quiet any feelings of angst. A little bit of frustration was something he could cope with if it meant what befell Wilde never, ever happened again.

Four nights after Barnes and Carter returned, Zolf sat in front of the fire attempting to read the Dwarvish tome Wilde had picked up in Damascus. It wasn’t exactly riveting stuff, and his Dwarvish was rusty, but he promised he’d at least make a dent in it. Wilde came in fresh from the bath, his hair wet and wearing the yukata he’d been gifted by one of the locals. As he passed the back of Zolf’s chair, Wilde placed a hand on one of Zolf’s shoulders and leant over to inspect the page.

This close, Zolf could smell him. There was a soft, flowery note that Zolf couldn’t identify, probably whatever he washed his hair with. And then there was the warm, familiar smell of the man himself. Zolf kept his eyes on the page in front of him.

Pointing with his other hand, Wilde spoke. “This character here- the translation guide I was using didn’t even have it. Brought the whole lot to a screeching halt. How are you getting on with it?”

Zolf, nose full of Wilde’s scent and nearness, opened his mouth to reply. “I – er, it’s fine. It’s an older script but I can read it- don’ quite understand what they’re gettin’ at, but, er.” He looked over to Wilde’s face again, profile lined in firelight. His face was so close that Zolf could lean and place a kiss on the man’s unscarred cheek, if he chose.

Wilde glanced up from the book. Their eyes met for the briefest moment before Wilde straightened, letting go of Zolf’s shoulder with a small squeeze.

“Wonderful. Let me know if anything useful comes up, will you?”

Zolf simply grunted in reply, still feeling off-kilter. This wasn’t the first time Wilde had touched him like that. As Wilde started to settle into life at the inn, started to feel a little safer, some of that old comfort was returning. Zolf didn’t mind the touching. He got the feeling Wilde was lonely. He was probably used to a lot more physical contact than he was getting now. For all he had been ingratiating himself with the locals, it was clear as day Wilde couldn’t trust them. If Zolf was the only person Wilde could reach out to…

Zolf shook his head a little and tried to focus back on the text. Wilde collected his own evening reading material, some piece of Japanese fiction, and settled in the other chair. The silence, but for the ever-present sound of rain, was comfortable enough. Their new lot in life involved a lot of waiting, and they were both doing their best to try and make peace with that.

Time passed and Zolf, already struggling to focus on the dull history book, realised he’d read the same sentence three times over. Some essential part of his mind had shifted, noting a change in the soundscape. Previously, there had been nothing but the rain and slight crackle of fire, but now there was a new element in the mix.

Zolf stared blankly at the page, listening hard. It was… conversation? Perhaps, but the innkeeper and his wife had rooms all the way on the other side of the building, and Zolf couldn’t usually hear them. It was… the wind? No, for all it was raining, it was the usual dreary patter, no strong winds to explain the slow rhythm or hint of a moan in those sounds.

Zolf’s heart beat slowly. One, two, three… and suddenly he knew what he was hearing.

Zolf looked up from his book to see if Wilde had noticed. Obviously, whatever he was reading was much more riveting than Zolf’s dry historical facts, because he was still engrossed in his book. Despite his close attention to the pages, Wilde could sense Zolf’s regard. Without Zolf even clearing his throat, he looked up.

“What?” he asked mildly to Zolf’s raised eyebrows.

“You hear tha’?” Either it had gotten louder, or Zolf’s ears had adjusted to picking out rhythmic moans and whimpers.

Wilde slipped a finger in his book to mark his place, cocking his head. With his attention drawn, he contextualised the new sound quickly (much faster than Zolf) and his eyebrows started climbing. When the brows couldn’t get any higher, he straightened in his seat and placed a hand delicately on his chest in feigned shock. “Well, we didsay that Barnes would look out for him, but that’s not quite what I had in mind.”

Zolf tried not to roll his eyes.

“And we knew that Howard would struggle with the isolation period,” Wilde continued, voice artificially prim. “I’m glad they’ve found a way to pass the time.”

Zolf’s efforts to not roll his eyes failed, then he glanced around, puzzled. “How is the sound even…?”

Wilde’s eyes were bright; his expression screaming this was the most fun he’d had in weeks. “The trapdoor. The one in the Teal Sitting Room. It’s still under construction, so…”

“So, sound is travellin’ through it.” Zolf finished the thought, voice level despite the blush he could feel rising in his cheeks.

Barnes and Carter were slowly increasing in volume. Zolf could finally make out the timbre of Carter’s voice specifically, though he’d never heard him make those noises before.

“I didn’t know that Barnes had it in him,” Wilde murmured. “Or, had it in Carter, specifically.” With that puerile comment, Wilde moved. He folded the corner of a page to mark his place and stood, checking the ties on his yukata as he did.

“Where are you going?” Zolf hissed.

Wilde smiled wickedly. “Why, to the Teal Room, of course.”

“Wilde!” Zolf said, flushing angrily. He was trying to formulate a scolding regarding privacy and eavesdropping, but the scoundrel had already stridden off. Zolf’s thighs tensed and relaxed as he went to stand then aborted the movement, debating with himself. Carter voiced a particularly sharp cry and Zolf decided that anything was better than sitting here by himself.

I’m just gonna stop Wilde from doin’ anything inappropriate, he told himself as he stood and followed.

Inside the room, Wilde leant against the doorframe, body languid as if he attended a mere dinner party. There was a tarp covering a half-constructed hole in the centre of the room. When Zolf came to hover beside him in the doorway, any lingering mystery about what was happening downstairs was dispelled.

“Fuck, James, please,”Carter sounded utterly desperate. This close, Zolf could even hear the slow rasp of movement, skin-on-skin. Barnes’ voice was harder to make out, as he responded with something quiet and urgent. There was a breath, then the sound of flesh hitting flesh, and Carter making a choked noise that pulsed straight from Zolf’s ear to his crotch.

Wilde was delighted. He looked sidelong at Zolf and mouthed the word “James?” wrapping his lips around it in impish joy, as though first names were the controversial thing about this situation.

There was a grunt from downstairs that was undoubtedly Barnes

Wilde spoke sotto voce, keeping his voice under the sound of the rain. “I knew he’d be the strong and silent type.”

Zolf didn’t reply. He didn’t know where to even start. He would hate to be overheard like this, but there was something thrilling about it. Fuck, Wilde’s a bad influence on me. He knew he should leave, just walk away, but…

The pace downstairs changed. What had previously sounded like a languorous tease picked up energy. Carter literally wailed as the thump of a cot knocking against a wall started up, one, twice, three times, continuing, not rushed but steady. Carter’s whine cut off in a muffled ermf and Zolf could see in his mind’s eye, agonisingly clear, the way that Barnes had just put his hand over Carter’s mouth.

Zolf’s eyes had been locked, unseeing, on the rough tarp, but at Carter’s stifled moan, he looked up at Wilde. He was gazing back, and Zolf was shocked to see something hungry in those eyes. Mere moments ago, the energy from Wilde had been lewd and juvenile. Something had shifted.

Wilde’s scent was still in Zolf’s nose and suddenly the image in his mind changed.

His hand, hooked behind one of Wilde’s knees, pushing it up toward his chest… fucking him open fluidly, pace keeping time with the rhythmic thudding from below. Wilde’s face flushed cheek to cheek, eyes half lidded, awash with the pleasure of it.

Zolf shut his eyes, hard, hot with shame. When he opened them, Wilde was still staring him down, a touch of that imagined flush now true in his cheeks. There was something knowing in his expression as well, as though he could see straight into Zolf’s mind and the images that lay within.

They had been so in tune with each other lately, after all.

Wilde’s mouth worked as if he was seeking words, but he was interrupted. “Heavens above, James, faster please, I’m going to-”

Wilde sucked his breath in hard as Carter came. The words died on his lips and he half-shoved past Zolf to leave the room, taking long strides and disappearing down the corridor.

Zolf stumbled. If the two men downstairs were in any state to be paying attention to their surroundings, they would have heard Zolf’s clumsy footsteps, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He went to follow, but by the time he’d caught up to Wilde, the bedroom door was shut.

There was no lock. It was only a barrier in that it was one that Wilde chose to put up. Zolf wasn’t about to go barging in where he wasn’t wanted. He lifted a hand to knock. Paused. What exactly was he here to say? To tell Wilde off? To apologise? To say, Look at me like that again, I’ll be ready this time? He lowered his hand.

Later that night in bed, for the first time in months, Zolf found himself firming a spit-slick hand around his cock, breath unsteady. He kept his mind cautiously blank. Every time he was tempted to dwell on the sound of Carter’s whimper, or Barnes’ low rasp, or that ravenouslook in Wilde’s eyes, he drew himself back to sensation alone, pleasure coiling in his gut. He certainly wasn’t thinking of Wilde’s hand on his shoulder, the relaxed set of his body as he listened to Barnes and Carter fuck downstairs, the salacious delight in his eyes.

Zolf pumped his fist faster, definitely not thinking of the thud of the cot against the cell wall downstairs as his hips rolled and breath hitched. Hanging on to awareness by a thread, he remembered the thin walls, and bit his lip to stifle his groan as he came.

His eyes closed, he listened to his hammering heart, breathing slowly. It had been a very strange night. From the buzzing post-orgasm haze, a thought emerged, unbidden.

Lavender. Lavender was what Wilde’s soap had smelled of.

#hank writes #rusty quill gaming #rqg #zoscar #zolfwilde #zolf smith #rqg oscar wilde #rqg fan fic #i don't even know if these are appearing in tags but old habits

9 notes · View notes

everybodyscupoftea · 5 years ago

Text

the hangover

frat jj x reader

words: 1225

warnings: alcohol, swearing, excessive softness

synopsis: jj takes care of his very hungover girlfriend

a/n: please drink responsibly, unlike depicted here

i also got asked to tag @girlsru1eboysdroo1 and if anyone else wants to be tagged in frat jj stuff let me know, i wasn’t sure if that was a thing people wanted or not.

You woke up with a loud groan, almost immediately not wanting to be awake anymore. Vision still swimming, you quickly came to the conclusion that you were still a little drunk. The bed started to move and you realized that you were in fact laying fully on top of JJ.

He ran a hand through your tangled hair, careful not to tug, and pressed a soft kiss to your temple before whispering, “Morning sweetheart, how you feeling?”

“I’m definitely still drunk,” you slurred before burying your face back into his neck.

You felt his throat vibrate with his laughs as he ran a hand up and down your back soothingly. He scratched the exposed skin of the back of neck gently with his other hand and said, “Well you did black out last night. What’s the last thing you remember?”

Your brain was moving extra slow, so it took a few extra seconds to process his words, and then even longer to sort your thoughts out. After a minute or so, you finally answered, “Shots with John B.”

JJ laughed loudly and you winced, clutching your tender head. He quieted quickly, “Sorry, love, it’s just, you drank so much more after that.”

“Fuck, was I embarrassing?”

“Depends on if you count ranting drunkenly on the floor about the flaws in the current education system embarrassing.”

Clearing your throat as a blush rose to your face, you asked, “Was I at least making good points?”

“I thought you fucking killed it. Your next argument was a little more incoherent and flawed.”

“Oh god,” you groaned, almost not wanting to ask.

JJ brushed his thumb across your cheekbone until you met his gaze. He chuckled when he caught your eye, “That one was about how Klay Thompson is the best shooter in NBA history.”

“I see no flaws in that,” you countered, putting on hand on his chest to push yourself into a more upright position.

“Of course you don’t,” he said placatingly, not wanting to start a fight.

Before you could reopen that argument, he pressed a kiss to your cheek and the fight quickly drained out of your brain. You pushed further into his embrace and mumbled, “Will you take me to Waffle House?”

He nodded and you smiled, pushing yourself up fully and climbed out of bed. Almost sending you immediately to the floor. JJ jumped up to catch you as you stumbled, “Woah there, drunky. You’re not recovered yet.”

“Tequila can choke,” you muttered, feet finally back under you.

With a laugh, JJ helped you to the bathroom and sat you on the toilet seat. You pouted up at him as he fixed your toothbrush and handed it to you to brush your teeth. When you just stared at him, he pushed it toward your mouth, “Come on, babe, you gotta get ready.”

Glaring at him the entire time, you lazily brushed your teeth. He finished before you and pulled your hair back to start helping you get the rest of the makeup around your eyes with a makeup wipe. You stopped moving, toothbrush hanging out the side of your mouth, and relaxed under his gentle touch, almost falling back asleep.

JJ nudged you awake and guided you to the sink to spit and to rinse your face. You motioned toward the hairbrush and he rolled his eyes, smile playing on his lips, as he undid your hair and brushed it out as softly as he could manage.

“Sweatshirt?” he asked you when the two of you were finished in the bathroom and you nodded. JJ tossed you one of his and you pulled it over your head. It got stuck and you made a helpless noise, body going limp instead of trying to fight it. He straightened it out and pulled it the rest of the way on for you, ruffling your hair affectionately when you got your head through.

“Waffle House now?” you asked, one track mind in full force.

He grabbed his keys from the bedside table and a pair of slides for you from the closet. You followed him, hand clasped in his, out the door and to his truck, where he helped you in and buckled you. The alcohol was finally wearing off, and you could feel a headache starting up. It was bound to be hell in less than 30 minutes.

But of course, JJ being the best boyfriend that he was, pulled into a gas station and hopped out, “Be right back, okay?”

You nodded and sure enough he was gone three minutes tops. He came back with a bottle of blue Powerade in his hand and a small bottle of Tylenol. You untwisted the cap and knocked back two pills before telling him earnestly, “Powerade is better than Gatorade.”

JJ laughed and pulled out of the parking lot, “I know, love. Let’s go get some food.”

The nearest Waffle House was just down the street from the gas station, so the two of you were there in no time. It was always pretty popular on Sunday mornings with the hungover college crowd, and you had to wait a few minutes before a table opened up.

JJ slid in across from you and ordered for the two of you immediately, already knowing your go-to hangover brunch. By the time the food came out, your stomach was growling and you tucked into the hash browns immediately.

He watched, amused, as you devoured the hash browns and waffle in front of you while he slowly ate his eggs. You were sure it was an amusing sight, but you didn’t care. Wordlessly, he slid two of his four bacon strips across the table to you and you devoured those too.

There was a line out the door, so you didn’t linger at the table. Both of you slid out the booth and you stepped close, grabbing his hand and hanging onto his arm as he led you to the register to pay. You weren’t drunk anymore, but you could tell it was going to be a goofy hangover day where your brain wasn’t functioning up to its full speed.

The rest of your Powerade was still in the car and you chugged the rest as soon as you buckled up. JJ laughed, watching you out of the corner of his eye as he pulled into the Dunkin drive-thru line. As if he could sense you about to lean forward and unbuckle, he put one of his hands on your thigh, “Relax, I know your order.”

Leaning back with a pout, you pinched the skin on the back of his hand and he pinched your thigh back in retaliation. He nailed your order, and soon the two of you were back on the road, you happily sipping an iced coffee with almond milk and two shots of French vanilla.

When he parked in front of the house, you grabbed his hand before he could get out, “Thanks, J.”

He smiled at you, “Anytime. I mean it’s the least I can do when you put up with my shit all the time. Plus, I love you too much not to.”

And you couldn’t not kiss him. He kept it short, pulling away pretty quickly before pressing gentle kisses along your cheekbone and forehead.

“I love you too,” you told him, earnestly.

#jj maybank #jj maybank x reader #jj maybank x you #jj maybank fic #jj maybank headcanon #jj maybank fluff #frat!jj #outer banks fic #outer banks #obx #sigma chi!jj

269 notes · View notes

keelywolfe · 4 years ago

Text

FIC: A Waffle Lot of Trouble (baon)

Summary: Edge has learned many things since he began his relationship with Stretch, gone to a variety of places, done so many things. Surely he can endure this travesty. Surely he can survive...the Waffle House.

Tags: Spicyhoney, Established Relationships, Domestic Fluff

Part of the ‘by any other name’ series.

~~*~~

Read it on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

“Explain to me why we are doing this?”

Edge followed Stretch through the door beneath the glowing sign and the reluctant drag of his boots did not stop his husband’s determined march.

“three reasons,” Stretch said. He did not loosen his hold on Edge’s hand, as if suspicious he might flee if given a chance and Edge couldn’t say he was wrong. “one, because i’m craving horrible unhealthy eats and your cooking, while delicious, doesn’t qualify. two, you’ve never been to a waffle house and it is an experience that everyone should enjoy—”

“Endure.”

“—enjoy,” Stretch insisted stubbornly. “which brings us to the third and most important reason. you love me.”

“I do,” Edge sighed. This wouldn’t be the first occasion that his adoration would take him to strange and sometimes fascinating places for unique meals. They used to do it quite often while they were still dating and Stretch was doing his weekly restaurant reviews for his twitter. Somehow the banquet had dwindled off as he slowly ran out of places in Ebott to review. It was a shame, really, and perhaps he should speak to Stretch about starting up again. There was no reason they couldn’t travel a bit further out of the city so long as proper security measures were taken. It would be enjoyable to find another small hole-in-the-wall or old family business eager to share their signature meal.

From the looks of this place, the food would be better left unsigned.

The booths looked as if they’d been torn straight from an old sitcom, padded red vinyl with the occasional patch attempting, and occasionally failing, to hold the stuffing in. It was a match to the stools lining the long counter, separated by little islands of napkins, condiments, and straws nestled together. The overhead lights were glaringly intense with one in the corner flickering with seizure inducing intensity and in the other corner was a jukebox to complete the scene in searing neon.

If horribly unhealthy food was what Stretch was craving, then he’d found its haven.

“c’mon,” Stretch tugged at his hand to pull him along and Edge’s dragging stride had nothing to do with the cane he was leaning on. His husband led the way to one of the booths, still chattering, “i used to come here all the time before we got together. sometimes when i couldn’t sleep, i’d sneak out and take the late bus out and sit here for half the night, taking up space.”

There were so many horrible things wrong with that statement that Edge couldn’t pick one to start with; the very idea of Stretch alone on the bus after midnight, or him here and equally alone, hanging out with the sort of Human patrons who were eager for cheap, greasy food in the wee hours, or the last indignity, that he’d hidden his excursions from his brother. Anything could have happened and the fact that it didn’t only barely kept Edge’s mouth shut.

Then his teeth ground together for another reason as they halted in front of one of the booths.

The table was the sort of sticky usually reserved for movie theater floors and while Edge tolerated it beneath his shoes, having it beneath his elbows, or worse, beneath Stretch’s bare hands, was entirely unacceptable.

Before he could give voice to one of his many protests, Stretch was already rummaging through his bag, this one with the chemical formula for caffeine boldly on the side. "don't worry, babe, got you covered."

He pulled out a package of disinfecting wipes and busied himself cleaning not only the tabletop, but also the plastic bench seats and even the salt and pepper shakers. Everything on the table got a thorough wipe down and as soon as the seat dried, Edge grudgingly sat. Much as he was relieved that Stretch came prepared, the fact that he knew to be prepared did not instill much faith.

He tried very hard not to think about the state of the kitchen.

Edge picked up one of the freshly wiped down menus to frown at. “You still haven’t explained to me why we needed to come at 3am. We could have come at noon for the lunch special.”

“nah, that’s for soccer moms and octogenarians,” Stretch scoffed. “you come at 3am ‘cause that's when you go to a waffle house, babe! it's a liminal space, a place of transition, where you cross over from one space to the next and—"

“If I’d known we’d be traveling so much I would have worn better shoes.”

“always got jokes, babe,” Stretch snickered. He lowered his voice, leaning in. “but seriously, look around.”

Edge was well familiar with the subtleties involved in a careful awareness of one’s surroundings. Without lifting his head, he looked around the diner. There were only four other customers, all of them with plates already in front of them. One a group of college-age Humans who might have been fashionably dressed up for the club a few hours earlier but now their makeup was running from sweat, their hair fallen and straggly, and simply by looking at them, he had a fair assessment of their current smell. The other person, who looked as if they might have been in prison as recently as last night, was forcefully shoveling what might have been hash browns into his mouth. It was difficult to tell; whatever it was had enough ketchup poured on top to give even Sans a pause and a moment to reconsider. He could very well have been eating shredded napkins beneath that thick layer of red.

None of the Humans paid him and Stretch any mind, so Edge silently wished the man good fortune on his recent parole and returned to looking at the menu while touching it as little as possible.

The door that presumable led to the kitchen swung abruptly open and a harried waitress came through it, coffeepot in hand. She didn’t so much as give them a second glance, only thunked down a pair of heavy white coffee mugs and poured them full to the brim.

“Be back to take your order in a minute,” she said distractedly.

“take your time.” Stretch was already tearing open sugar packets to add to his cup. He took a sip, grimaced, and added several more.

Edge reached for his own cup, already braced for whatever burnt dregs ended up as the primary flavor, when the ancient jukebox suddenly came to life, blaring out a jaunty 50’s style tune about raisins in toast. Edge jerked, cursing softly as he spilled hot coffee over his hand. He hastily stripped off his glove and turned to glare at the jukebox…except there was no one by it. No one else was even looking at the blasted thing.

A light touch on his hand sent him jerking back the other way, to find Stretch holding out a fresh pair of gloves for him with one hand as he continued to peruse the menu with the other.

“Thank you,” Edge sighed out. He dried his stinging hand with a napkin before sliding on the gloves.

"no prob. that happens sometimes," Stretch said absently. "the old waitress here swore the jukebox was haunted. whatcha getting?"

The sudden u-turn from the supernatural to the mundane was nearly enough to add to his whiplash. Edge picked up the menu again with his fingertips, still trying to touch it as little as possible. He doubted if Stretch’s supply of gloves was endless. "If I had blood and flesh, a tetanus shot. Since that isn't an option, I'll settle for the ubiquitous waffles.”

Not that he had any intention of eating anything. He only hoped that pushing it around his plate and perhaps mashing pieces with his fork would suffice. He added a silent prayer that he might be able resist the urge to slap Stretch’s plate away like a poisoned entrée before he carried his husband back out to the safety of their car. It would be a enduring struggle, he was certain.

Sudden shouts rose and Edge jerked again, turning to see that a set of the college-ish humans were engaged in a combination of shrieking and hairpulling, while their companions shouted at them, in encouragement or deterrence, it was difficult to tell.

As quick as it began, it ended, and they all returned to the table, eating their fries and cheese sticks while one held a napkin to their bleeding nose and the other, a glass of ice water against her swelling eye.

“Stretch—” Edge began, low. The best waffles in the world weren’t worth putting his husband anywhere near this sort of danger and certainly not the greasy globs of fried dough that were on offer here.

“hmm?” He turned back to see his husband hadn’t even seemed to notice the brief outbreak of brawling three booths away. Stretch only flipped the menu over and frowned, “dunno, maybe i’ll get the hash brown bowl this time, what do you th—"

He broke off at the sound of shouting from the kitchen, the entire restaurant turning to watch a burly man in an apron storm out, the waitress at his heels. Whatever his complaint, it was difficult to parse around the vigorous swearing, words that might even manage to bring a hint of a blush to his brother’s face.

Might.

What couldn’t be mistaken was his last shout, two clear, concise words. “I quit!”

The gathered assembly watched as the man ripped off his apron and tossed it on the counter, stalking out the front doors and out of their lives.

A long moment of silence, then Stretch grumbled out, “aw, man, not again. why do they always quit in the middle of the night, this is the third time!”

The waitress only stood there, a helpless expression on her weary face. She turned to them, “Sorry, guys, the next cook isn’t in until six.”

“nah, it’s cool,” Stretch sighed and started to get to his feet. “we’ll have to try again another time, babe.”

The waitress began gathering their unused silverware and Edge could hear her miserable sniffle as he followed Stretch towards the door. She was very young, and as terrible as Edge was at guessing Human ages, he suspected if she’d been a Monster, she would have been barely out of stripes. “Don’t suppose either of you cook?”

Edge paused.

In front of him, Stretch also stopped when he realized Edge was no longer following him, the reluctant leash of his hand becoming a stubborn brake. “what are you…” His expression changed, his sockets narrowing. “babe. no.”

Edge said nothing, only looked back at Stretch and watched his growing outrage, “no! you wouldn’t let me work at the haunted house that time! that guy would’ve paid us at the end of the night, we could’ve been their best workers! bet you could’ve gotten a ton of macho men to wet their pants without breaking a sweat!”

“She needs help,” Edge said, quietly. He did not bring up the ending debacle of their haunted house trip that landed them in the parking lot after an unintentional shortcut, a prudent choice when persuading Stretch.

Stretch faltered, looking around him at the waitress. Who was near tears, fruitlessly trying to call someone on her cell phone who wasn’t picking up. He blew out a sharp breath, rolling his pale eye lights, but his faint smile was unmistakable.

“always got to be the hero, don’t you,” Stretch sighed. He jerked a thumb back into the diner. “go ahead, superman, have at it.”

Edge nodded and turned back, walking over to the young waitress determinedly. “Excuse me, miss.”

It was only five o’clock in the morning when the other cook arrived, still bleary-eyed and his hair sticking up in the back. He didn’t ask about the newly shiny cleanliness of the grill, nor the fryers. And the counters. The floor. Even the mysterious dark smudge that forever haunted the smoke hood was gone, but he had no questions. He merely grunted a greeting and took possession of the equally shiny spatula, already reaching for the eggs that were sizzling on the griddle.

Edge removed his spotless apron and hung it on the peg by the door. He gave the kitchen a last satisfied look, then went out the door.

Out in the dining area in a corner booth, his husband was curled up, asleep. His skull sagged back against the worn vinyl padding, his mouth open, and a faint snore escaping on each exhale. An oversized leather jacket was spread over him that was not Edge’s and certainly wasn’t his own, Edge reached for it with a frown, lifting it off him in a jangle of chains and zippers.

“I’ll take that off ya hands.” He turned to see last night’s possible parolee holding out a hand. Wordlessly, Edge handed over the jacket and the Man shrugged into it. “He was shiverin’, didn’t want to bother ya while you was giving Anna a hand. So I kept an eye on ‘im.”

“Thank you,” Edge told him softly. The man gave him a gap-toothed smile.

“Nah, thank you for helpin’ her out,” the man said gruffly, “She’s a good kid, couldn’t afford to the lose the paycheck for the night.”

“Ready to go, daddy?” They turned as the Anna in question, the waitress, came out of the kitchen, coat in hand. Another waitress was already speaking to the other early morning customers, coffee in hand and waffles on order.

“Ready when you are, kid.” The man turned and shuffled to the door, but Anna paused by Edge.

“Thank you,” she said. Tears were brimming in her eyes, unshed. “Thank you so much.”

“It was my pleasure,” he told her, honestly. A few hours of cooking and deep cleaning was soothing to him in its own way, body and soul, and while his leg was beginning to complain, the rest of him felt nothing but deep, almost luxurious peace.

She gave him a happy smile and went after her father.

Edge watched her go, then turned back to Stretch, who was already stirring without the protection of the jacket. “hummzat?” he mumbled out, and when Edge reached out to gently cup his cheekbone in one hand, he learned with drowsy contentment into the touch.

“We can go home now,” Edge told him softly. He did not expect that sleepy look to turn to one of dismay, his sockets going wide.

“but we didn’t get any waffles!” Stretch said, with deep layers of disappointment. It was true; he’d fallen asleep before Edge even figured out the industrial waffle iron.

Edge only shook his head and took a seat on the other side of the booth, “All right then, waffles it is. You were right, you know.”

“hm?” Stretch yawned, “’bout what?”

“I did cross over from one space to the next,” Edge said, solemnly. He kept his expression as straight as a ruler, concealing even the hint of a smile. “A transition, if you will, into a liminal space—”

“i didn’t mean from the dining room to the kitchen,” Stretch grumbled. But he reached out to give Edge’s hand a brief squeeze, his thumb brushing over the ring on his third finger.

“Nevertheless,” Edge picked up a menu, though by now he knew it by heart. “Now. What are you having?”

-finis-

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #by any other name

49 notes · View notes

notveryglittery · 5 years ago

Text

far (1.2)

summary: everything’s just right. until it isn’t. wc: 2k / ships: romantic royality, platonic anxceit warnings: injuries, fighting, zombies, typical minecraft danger author‘s note: i really can’t be stopped, huh? thank you so much to @blinksinbewilderment for beta’ing this for me! this ends the first part of the au but i have so many more ideas :) enjoy!

mice on venus (1.1) | far (1.2) (you are here) title inspo: (spotify link) (youtube link) ao3 line (to edit later)

— — —

Roman wakes up late and is devastated to find out that Janus and Virgil left just before sunrise. No one will tell him why they left or what they were going out looking for and it just makes his mood even worse. It doesn’t help that he’s put on official bed rest; Logan is actually posted outside of his door to make sure he doesn’t go anywhere. Roman picks slowly at the breakfast Patton had brought up to him: it’s eggs, bacon, hash browns, and apple juice which are a lot of his favorite foods but they just don’t taste right. The whole day feels off and he’s not even halfway into it.

Eventually, the scrape of a chair breaks through the monotony of his morning and he looks up, curious. Patton bursts through the door, barely carrying a jukebox.

“Dearest, you’re going to hurt yourself!” Roman exclaims, trying to get up and help.

“Nuh uh,” Patton tuts, “stay put.”

Roman begrudgingly settles back into bed as Patton manages to set the jukebox down on Roman’s desk by the window. Roman would recognize that disc anywhere and his face lights up as the first notes of Far begin to play. Patton beams back at him before hurrying out of the room again. Roman closes his eyes and leans back, letting the whimsical sounds wash over him.

When Patton returns, it’s again by carrying something heavy up the stairs by himself, and Roman’s worry spikes. This time, Patton drops the load unceremoniously on the floor and it clangs noisily. The sunlight glints off of it and Roman realizes it’s his shield, in obvious need of redecorating.

“Who fixed it?” He asks, wondering how in the world it got done so quickly.

“Janus found a bunch of iron ore in that ravine and Virgil made sure to put it in the blast furnace to smelt overnight!” Patton explains, dripping a tiny bit of what looks like Slow Falling onto it. It is just as heavy to lift but once he has, he gives it a careful toss towards Roman, who catches it as it floats gently down to him. “I asked the armorer how long it would take to repair. He said no time at all as long as I brought back some berry shortbread when I came to pick it up!”

“Patton,” Roman says very seriously. “Did you make berry shortbread?”

Patton giggles. “Yes, honey, and don’t worry, I made enough for dessert tonight.”

“Come here!” Roman shouts which just makes Patton laugh harder.

As soon as Patton is in arm’s reach, Roman pulls him in and down for a kiss. It’s sweet and brief because Patton can’t stop smiling.

“I love you,” he mumbles, brushing his lips across Roman’s cheek as he stands back up.

“I love you!” Roman declares. “It’s been so long since I repainted this!” He tilts the shield in his lap so he can get a better look at it. “I’m making sure there’s a spot dedicated to you this time!”

Patton blushes and busies himself with retrieving Roman’s art supplies from his storage. “You don’t have to do that…”

“Don’t have to,” Roman agrees, “I want to!”

Patton sighs fondly as he helps to get Roman set up with a sturdy place to work. He’s meant to keep his leg elevated which makes this all very awkward but they do eventually sort it out. As soon as he’s comfortable, Roman is mixing colors to get just the right shade. He starts with broad strokes to get a base down; at least, that’s what Patton assumes. Far still plays happily from the jukebox and everything is just right.

— — —

Everything is not just right and Virgil is pretty fucking sure they are going to die.

“What did you do!” He screeches over the sound of what must be at least twenty zombies bearing down on them.

“Might’ve lingered too long ‘round a spawner,” Janus grunts as he swings his axe into a zombie’s chest.

Virgil answers with a wordless, frustrated scream, plunging his daggers into a zombie’s face probably more times than is necessary. He loses track of how many mobs they kill (because of course a handful of skeletons and creepers join the fray). Eventually though, they do get enough distance between them and the monsters that they can block the path and take some time to breathe.

“Was there even any good loot?” Virgil asks.

Janus tosses his pack onto the ground between them. Virgil goes through it and finds cocoa beans (which is the main reason they’re exploring, so that’s nice), two golden apples (holy shit), and a name tag (as if they don’t have enough of those already). He runs a hand through his hair which is a huge mistake, actually, because they are still grimy with blood. He takes a few moments to clean himself off as best he can. In the time it takes him to do so, Janus has leant against the wall and fallen half-asleep.

“Let’s stay awhile,” Virgil suggests, because if he makes it sound like he’s the one that wants to rest, Janus is less likely to take offense. “That fight took a lot out of me.”

Janus blinks at him, slowly. “Whenever you’re ready, then.”

He dozes off so quickly, Virgil would dare to think that Janus actually trusts him with his safety. They’ve come a long way, he supposes; from Janus nearly stranding them in the Nether to Virgil being the one he usually invites along for scouting.

Virgil has long since accepted that they’re cut from the same cloth: homes in dangerous places and suspicious of new faces; the type to stab first, ask questions second; someone who will defend the things and people they love until their dying breath. Virgil remembers how terrified he had been when he and Roman leapt into the portal after Janus. He remembers watching it shatter behind them, remembers praying for Logan and Patton’s safety, remembers begging Roman to be careful, please, I can’t lose you again—

Virgil shakes his head. He wipes stubbornly at the tears gathering in his eyes and curses his brain for reminding him of these stupid memories in such sharp detail. He focuses instead on his breathing and keeping watch while Janus naps. They’re at least a day’s journey from home now; they’d gone caving at sunset to avoid the monsters above ground. The plan is to try and find new land but with only three days to do so, Virgil doubts they’ll be so lucky. He doesn’t want to go too far and risk missing Roman’s first day back on his feet. He’s absolutely going to go too hard and Virgil really wants to be there to see it. He stifles a laugh at the image but the muffled noise still wakes Janus up. He stretches, groaning as a few bones click in the process.

“Feeling better?”

Virgil just barely resists rolling his eyes. It’s strangely endearing that Janus thinks Virgil doesn’t see right through him. “Yeah, I’m good to go. Should be sunrise by the time we get back to the surface.”

They follow their torch path out and sure enough, sunlight shines through the cave entrance as they approach. They pick up where they left off, Janus marking his map along the way. The day is hot, regardless of their travel through a birch forest and taking advantage of all the shade. For Janus, it’s nothing compared to the heat of the Nether, but Virgil has to shed his layers which leaves him feeling vulnerable.

The only interesting thing to happen during this part of their trek is finding a new village. They gain favor with the inhabitants when they patch up the cracking iron golem. They make some trades, replenishing their food supply in exchange for ore and coal; it helps lighten their loads which should keep their energy from waning too quickly later on. The villagers have extra beds so Janus and Virgil stay there for the night.

Day three begins bright and early with Virgil insisting they start heading home. Janus agrees more readily than he expects but maybe he, too, doesn’t expect them to find much in what little time they have left. It’s easy going on the way back, since they’re familiar now with the land. Virgil wishes he could explain why they make the dangerous choice to continue traveling through the night. He wishes he could figure out how they both make such a stupid decision.

Janus is hot on his heels, breaths coming in ragged gasps. Virgil is barely pushing through the pain in his calves. They had been holding their own, quickly taking care of any mobs that came too close. It had been fine until, of course, Virgil accidentally looked at an enderman. The screeching had filled the night air, scaring Virgil right out of his skin.

“Sorry!” He had shouted, as if apologizing to the creature would do any good.

Janus grabbed his wrist, pulling him deeper into the woods. “Too many monsters,” he had explained.

They’d been running ever since. Virgil’s lost track of how long but he can’t hear the enderman anymore so he can only hope they’re in the clear. Thankfully, they’re officially close enough to home that he begins to recognize various landmarks: one tree with blue ribbon tied around the trunk, a pitfall trap just outside their torch grid, and finally —

Virgil slows enough that Janus darts around him and nearly breaks the gate from how quickly he slams into it.

“I hate nighttime,” he snarls, “at least I could trust the Nether to always be dangerous!”

Virgil wants to laugh but he can barely breathe. He follows, closing the gate behind him.

“Hey,” he says, trailing Janus to the house. “Hey, we kind of got what we were looking for.”

“I’m so glad we almost died for some cocoa beans.”

“We would’ve been fine!”

Janus levels him with a glare that would shut anyone else up. Virgil, because he is insufferable, keeps going. “Besides, you’re gonna see Patton smile and it’ll all be worth it.”

Janus almost trips, over absolutely nothing. “Shut up!” He hisses, turning away so that Virgil can’t see his face. His absolutely-no-doubt-about-it blushing face.

Virgil does so this time but only because they’re at the front door now. They enter quietly, well aware that it’s the middle of the night, and not wanting to wake their companions. Someone comes thundering down the stairs anyway. Virgil moves away from Janus because he knows exactly who would make that much noise and—

Sure enough, Patton appears and throws himself at Janus. The latter’s face goes bright red and Virgil smirks at him.

“You’re home!” Patton exclaims, pulling back and hugging Virgil next. Janus busies himself with his pack. “We were so worried!”

“Aren’t you always?” Virgil asks.

“‘S night,” grumbles Logan from the stairs. Virgil’s heart skips when he looks to find his partner rubbing at his eyes, hair messy from sleep. “Why’re you travelin’ at night?”

Virgil drops his stuff and scoops Logan into his arms. “Didn’t wanna be away from you anymore.”

“Shhhh,” Logan pats Virgil’s cheeks, “shh, too tired for that.”

“To bed, then,” Virgil proposes. He waves at Patton and Janus before helping Logan back upstairs and to their room.

Patton hovers a bit as Janus puts away everything he and Virgil had not only taken with them but the things they had found too.

“Did everything go okay?” Patton asks eventually.

“As okay as usual.”

“Find anything neat?”

Janus hesitates before he turns and presents the pouch of cocoa beans. Virgil’s voice rings I told you so in his head but he can’t even be mad because, without a doubt, Patton’s smile has in fact made every trouble well worth it.

#sanders sides fan fiction #royality #anxceit #ts deceit #minecraft au #dani writes

182 notes · View notes

elizabeethan · 4 years ago

Text

The Days We Defend (Will Turn To Gold)- Chapter 5

Everything is perfect, until it isn’t. Killian and Emma have spent months building a life together after finally defeating Neal and Gold, but when the Dark One dies and his power becomes untethered, everyone in Storybrooke is at risk, and some decisions may have lasting consequences.

Sequel to Walk With Me (I Think We’ll Find A Way)

Prologue, 1, 2, 3, 4

Read on Ao3

Thank you to my good pal @the-darkdragonfly for beta-ing for me!!!!!! You’ve been such a great help bringing this story to where it needs to be 🥲💗

Tagging: @courtorderedcake @kmomof4 @stahlop @klynn-stormz @laschatzi @emelizabeth88 @lfh1226-linda @kday426 @elisethewritingbeast @timeless-love-story @captain-emmajones @gingerpolyglot @ebcaver @ilovemesomekillianjones @teamhook @superchocovian @itsfabianadocarmo @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @jrob64 @onceratheart18 @xhookswenchx @winterbaby89 @swampmedusa @ultraluckycatnd @dancingnancyy @love-with-you-i-have-everything @shireness-says @snowbellewells @hollyethecurious @ouatpost @daxx04 @the-darkdragonfly @donteattheappleshook

If you want me to add or remove you from my tag list please let me know!!

Killian didn’t plan on staying here long. He’d hoped to find the book, find Emma, and break the curse.

It hasn’t worked out that way.

Each day he does the same mundane things: he wakes with a start alone in one of Granny’s rooms, realizes where the hell he is, has some form of tantrum that could likely rival his toddler’s, then goes about his cursed life. He eats breakfast at Granny’s, sometimes alone, and sometimes with Henry in secret, hashing out their plans. He works second shift at the docks, rolling his eyes inwardly each time Mr. Smee shouts an order at him. He visits with his daughter, but is never allowed to take her away from the dreadful place. He’s forced to call her Talia in front of the women who care for her.

It’s been three weeks of torture. Henry continues to insist that they need a plan to break the curse, and Killian insists that he already has one. He knows that during the first curse, Emma needed to believe in magic before True Love’s Kiss could break it, so that’s what he’ll ensure. He just isn’t sure how.

As it turns out, his non-plan hasn’t gotten them anywhere, so Henry has initiated Operation Rattlesnake. “I know who we have to find,” Henry says from across the booth, barely paying any mind to his breakfast.

“Aye?” Killian asks, stabbing his fork into his eggs. “Who's that?”

“The Sorcerer. There’s a few pages in here about Snow White and Prince Charming finding the Sorcerer’s Apprentice, and he removed any chance of darkness from their unborn child. If the Apprentice can do that, then the Sorcerer should be able to get rid of the Dark One, right?”

Killian drops his fork, cocking his head as he looks up at Henry and considers his words. He looks back down at the pages and sees an illustration Snow and Charming talking with a bearded old man. “Where did these pages come from?”

“What do you mean?”

He raises a brow and scratches behind his ear. “Were these pages in the book all along?”

Henry shrugs nonchalantly and says, “I don’t know. I’ve learned not to question when weird things happen to this book.”

“Meaning…?”

“Meaning, there are missing pages, too. Here,” he says, turning a few pages and then rotating the book to face Killian. He points at the seam at the center and says, “see? These were torn out. The story after my grandpa died. What happened there?”

Killian nods, noting the very real depiction of the death of the Dark One in the room behind his shop, followed conveniently by absolutely nothing. “And what of this story about Snow and Charming?”

“You mean my grandparents?” he asks with a smirk. “Seriously, who are they here?”

“Seriously, not telling,” Killian mumbles, stabbing into his sausage link. “Show me that one.”

He flips through the book some more until he turns back to the story of the King and Queen, then explains its premise. It had been prophesied that their child had the potential for great darkness, so they used the Apprentice’s powers to remove the darkness altogether, thus likely making Emma the great proprietor of light magic, as Regina calls her. “Interesting.”

“Maybe that’s why my mom is the Savior,” he suggests.

The lad may have a point; eradicating any chance of darkness from Emma would certainly bode well for her becoming the Savior. “Perhaps,” he agrees.

“You’re weird,” Henry says suddenly, and Killian looks at him in shock.

“You’re weird,” he argues childishly.

“I’m serious! Some things you’ll tell me about before the curse, but other things are off limits? How come?” He shrugs. “Who are my grandparents? Who’s the Dark One?”

“I’m not telling you who the Dark One is, Henry. You don’t need to know right now.”

“What about my grandparents?”

“They’re lovely,” he says, looking up and smirking at him.

“So you do know them!” he says too loudly. “Can I tell you who I think my grandma is?”

He sighs, turning his head back down and taking another bite of his breakfast before saying, “you can tell me, but I’m not going to confirm or deny it.”

“My teacher, Miss Blanchard.”

He chuckles at Henry’s determination and wit, having to do his best to not give away that he’s completely right. He wonders if he knew during the first curse. He thinks he must’ve. “Can I ask you something, lad?”

“Sure,” he strugs, taking another gargantuan bite of french toast.

“Why is it so important to you that you know these things? What would it change if you knew?”

He purses his lips and narrows his eyes, the same way Emma does when she’s thinking, then shrugs again. “I don't know. I guess I’ve just always been thinking about it and now that you’re telling me it’s real…” another shrug. “And plus, maybe if I knew, I could help more.”

‘You’ve been plenty help, Henry. Truly. I would likely be in much lower spirits if not for your being here.”

He snorts and looks down, refusing to make eye contact as any almost-14-year-old would. “I thought you were supposed to be fearsome. Are you this gross and sappy without curses?”

“Worse.”

They continue eating in silence, Henry clearly over the sappy moments with the man he doesn’t know is his step-father, until he decides to speak again, bringing the conversation back to his original goal to gain more information.

“Did Regina cast the curse?”

Killian sighs, telling him, “I don't know,” instead of answering clearly. It’s not entirely a lie— it could have realistically been Bae who cast this curse, although he doubts it. He does wonder how they would have managed to cast it, what with the need to sacrifice the heart of the thing they love most, but he’s sure he’ll get that answer once it’s broken.

“Is it the Dark Curse? Like the one in the book?”

“I suppose so.”

“What about my mom? I know you know her somehow. It’s pretty obvious that you’re obsessed with her.” He blushes fiercely, shrugging. “And then there’s Tal- I mean, Corrine. You said she’s your daughter, but who the hell is having babies with Captain Hook?”

He snorts slightly, looking up at the lad through his lashes and then reaching for his mug of coffee. “I can assure you, her conception was not planned,” he mumbles.

“Ew.”

“Once the curse is broken, lad, things will make sense. I’ve no desire to destroy your concept of reality any further.”

“What does that mean?” Killian shrugs. “Is it about my mom?” He shrugs again. He’s never felt so childish around an actual child. “Oh my god,” he starts. “Is she… no way. You didn’t… with my mom, did you? Is Corrine my… my sister?”

He’s silent for a moment, unwilling to make eye contact with the lad as the pieces begin to fall into place in his mind. “Henry…”

“You kissed my mom?!”

He clears his throat, scratching behind his ear, desperately trying to stop himself from informing the boy that he’d done far more than kiss his mom. He considers how much it would destroy Henry to learn that they actually happily live together. “It’s not exactly what you think, lad.”

“I think I have a secret, cursed sister and my mom kissed Captain Hook!” he says a bit too loudly. Killian’s eyes bug out of his head and he holds up his hand, waving it in front of Henry’s face.

“You sound like a madman, Henry!” Killian hisses. He can understand the lad being outraged by the idea of his mother being with anyone, but he’s going to get them thrown into the asylum if he keeps up his shouting.

“You had a baby with my mom!”

“Aye, I did. And we need to break this bloody curse so that I can bring my child and her mother home. Now focus and tell me what we need to do to get a hold of this Sorcerer.”

Henry looks nauseated. “You live together!?”

He sighs, rolling his eyes and shaking his head as he leans forward to get Henry’s attention. “You live with us, most of the time. Now focus.” He hopes that giving him a task, a responsibility in solving their troubles, will help him to remain in high spirits. “You need to figure out how we find the Sorcerer. That’s how you can help me break the curse.”

“Ugh,” he says, shaking himself out. “I’ll check out some stuff from the library. I live with you?”

“This is why I didn’t want to tell you,” Killian grunts out, taking another swig from his mug and wishing desperately it was rum instead of coffee. “It only serves to distract you from Operation Rattlesnake.”

“Yeah, I don't think I want to know anymore,” he says with his face still screwed up in disgust. “I’ll meet you after school, usual spot.” Killian nods, placing some money on the table as Henry stands and walks out of the diner.

Despite his odd and confounding morning, Killian’s happy to finally have some semblance of a plan. Perhaps now, with Henry’s hunch that some Sorcerer can remove the darkness from Regina, breaking the curse will be easier. At least they’ll have an idea of what steps to take once it’s broken.

He anticipates having a somewhat good day, what with his plans to bring Emma to see Corrine once again. He’s found that the only source of joy over the last few weeks have been spending time with Henry, who allows him to speak freely about the curse (mostly), and seeing his daughter and her mother playing together as if they aren’t strangers to one another.

Each day that he spends time with Emma, he gets more information about her cursed life. She’s opened up to him quite easily and he continues to insist that she’s easy to read. It’s true that he has a lot of background knowledge on her already, but it’s also true that she’s always been an open book. He hopes that the more he talks to her, the more likely she is to remember her old life and perhaps long for it. Maybe that would be enough to make her believe Henry’s hunch.

Emma specified several times that, on the days that they go together to see Corrine, she’s only available during the afternoon, and she must always be home prior to dinner. Killian likes to see Corrine for lunch time so he can eat with her, then enjoy some playtime, so the schedule she insists upon works well. Several times a week, she meets him outside of Granny’s and they walk to the convent together, talking casually along the way.

In the days before this curse struck, Emma was distant. She struggled to open up to Killian unless they were in bed together, she was constantly on edge, anxious and angry, and she started to build her walls higher and higher each day. Walking along the streets with her now, it’s as if she’s a different person, and a part of him hates it. She's still closed off, but it’s in a different way. She trusts him, as she often tells him, but her made up experiences have vexed her. She’s not allowed to see her son without permission from Regina and Neal, the two people who should absolutely not have a say in when Emma sees her child.

She told him that she gave up Henry when the lad was born, but the reason she did it was because his father was sent to jail, and she didn’t think she could raise a baby alone. Neal found out about the adoption upon his release and reached out to Regina, then turned his life around and became the sheriff of the small coastal town. According to Baelfire and Regina’s reality, he made the noble choice and didn’t actually make Emma take the fall for his own crimes, then leave her pregnant in prison at seventeen years old. Rather, he found his son while Emma traipsed around Boston irresponsibly until Henry came to get her.

The Mayor is also beloved by all, apparently. Henry lives with her and visits his father frequently, so it would seem that their scheme worked. It also seems that Bae’s ploy to make everyone forget Killian worked based on his need to introduce himself to everyone he already knows, as if he truly is new in town. The only thing that makes no sense to Killian is the fact that Bae and Emma aren't together, at least it doesn't seem it. The entire situation makes him nauseous.

“Hello,” she greets as he walks out of the diner to meet her. She looks as beautiful as ever, in spite of the messiness to her hair and the shallowness in her face. She looks so stressed and tired, even though she seems happy enough, and he isn't sure what to make of that.

“Afternoon, love,” he says in return, stepping in time with her as they make stride towards the convent.

“So, tell me something,” she insists, tucking her hands into the pockets of her jacket and bumping her shoulder into his. “I feel like we’re always talking about my screwed up life.”

He chuckles. “And what would you like to know?”

“Why Talia?”

He rolls his eyes at her foolish made up name and says, “I had no say in naming her.”

She laughs. “No, I mean why her?”

Killian nods. He can't exactly tell her that he’s the child’s father and that Emma is her mother and Killian’s lover, so he thinks fast. “I believe I told you I knew her mother. I feel close to her, to both of them, when I see her.”

“Is that why you came to Storybrooke in the first place?”

“Uh,” he starts, clearing his throat. “I suppose so, yeah.”

“Is… um, is her mother coming back?”

He considers his answer carefully. He doesn't want to lie to her, but he also doesn't want to give her the impression that he’s unavailable or waiting around for someone who isn't her. Not that he suspects her to be anywhere near looking at him in that way, but he’d rather not chance in. “Not in this lifetime,” he settles upon, drawing a thoughtful hum from her.

“Well, I'm sorry she lost her mother,” she consoles, “and that you lost her, too. I’m sure she must've been important to you.”

He clears his throat again, scratching behind his ear as he considers how carefully he has to answer. How carefully he has to talk to her at all times. “Thank you. She is.”

When they arrive, the fairy escorts both him and Emma down to the communal room where Corrine is eating her lunch, and she smiles at him happily and tosses her cup down to the floor to reach for him excitedly. Before he can reach her, she’s starting to climb out of her seat just like she’d do at home, and she’s almost jumping by the time he catches her. It pains him to see her react so happily to him despite her not truly knowing who he is, though he wonders if a part of her remembers, just as it seems that a part of Emma trusts him inherently. He wonders if him being awake through the curse has anything to do with that. “Hello, darling,” he says as he lifts her into his arms and wipes her face with a damp disposable cloth.

“You're so good with her,” Emma points out as she takes a seat at the table, smiling at the lass joyously.

He smiles back, sitting across from Emma with Corrine in his lap. “She makes it easy, I suppose.” He doesn't miss the fact that the fairy hasn't left the room, continuing to watch him distrustfully.

“Hi!” she shouts to Emma, causing her to grin and blush as she leans towards the baby.

“Hello!”

Corrine reaches for her mother, making grabbing motions with her fat little fingers and grinning at her, and the sight squeezes his heart firmly. It took a few times meeting Emma for Corrine to fully warm up to her, confirming his thoughts that she’s under the curse as well, but now she’s comfortable with her. Part of him beams seeing the two of them sitting together once Emma stands to pick the babe up from his hold, but much of him tingles with pain and anger. It shouldn't be like this. Corrine shouldn't be spending any of her formative years not knowing that the woman she’s with is her mother.

They play with her after she’s finished her sandwich, filled with a strange mixture of fruity jam and peanut spread, and she looks so cute happily playing away with Emma. The fairy leaves the room eventually, which settles his nerves. He’s been here under this curse far longer than he thought he would be, so he knows he must stay in her good graces so that he can continue to see his daughter each day.

“Killian,” Emma starts, covering her eyes with her hands and then opening them up to shout boo! at Corrine.

“Boo!” Corrine says back, giggling as Emma tickles her belly.

“Aye?”

“Are you going to adopt her?”

He falters at her question, considering the meaning behind her words. What she means is that Killian isn’t her father here, and he would have to go through a tormenting legal system in order to officially claim a title that is already his.

He’s got to break this bloody curse.

“Dop!” Corrine says, grinning at Killian and pointing commandingly. “You, dop!”

“Yeah!” Emma agrees with a smile.

“I’m not sure,” he answers. “Perhaps I would.”

Blue summons them after two hours, coming to collect Corrine and see them off. Once she’s picked up by the fairy, she begins crying, reaching for Killian and Emma pathetically. He feels his own eyes filling with tears as he says goodbye and assures her that they’ll see her soon, although he knows she can’t fully understand.

He rushes from the area, desperate to remove himself and hopefully not drag out her tortured response to them leaving, and when they step towards the waiting area, they’re greeted by Henry. “Hey,” he says casually.

“Henry, you should be in school for another half hour, what are you doing here?” Emma asks frantically, guiding him out of the building towards the sidewalk and starting in the direction of the school.

“I actually came to see Killian, but I guess I should’ve known you guys would be here together,” he says with a repulsed look on his face.

“Lad, you can’t be here. You need to get back to school.”

“I didn’t—”

“Henry!”

The three of them turn towards the sound of a car door closing and are met with Bae stepping out of a patrol car and hurrying to them.

Emma groans beside her son and glances nervously towards Killian. “Neal,” she starts.

“Emma, what the hell? What are you doing? He has to be in school!”

“I know, I was just—”

“This is exactly the kind of decision that makes me not want to let you see him!”

“Mate,” Killian tries, but he’s cut off.

“Stay out of this, Jones.” He turns towards Emma and continues. “So, now you're spending all your time with the town drunk, is that it?”

“Neal, that isn’t fair.”

“No, what’s not fair is you choosing a guy over your kid’s best interest, again. Come on, Henry.”

“Dad—”

“I said come on.”

“Neal— Henry!”

“I’ll see you at home, Emma, if you even decide to bother.” Neal says with disappointment dripping from his voice. Home.

As she watches Henry walk away, turning back once to stare at her apologetically, he feels her tensing beside him despite the fact that they aren’t even touching. Her bottom lip quivers and she bites down on it hard to prevent it from wobbling too obviously, turning to him and looking into his eyes with her sad and tearful ones.

“Sorry about what he said,” she tells him dejectedly.

He shakes his head. “Do you… do you live with him, love?”

She nods, the face she gives him telling him he should have known. “Yeah, he took me in when I moved to Storybrooke.”

“Ah,” he nods. His anger hasn’t dissipated. The more he learns of her life here, the more he sees how much Bae and Regina have manipulated all of them, especially Henry and Emma. Emma, who has a lucrative career in her non-cursed life, is jobless and forced to live with her ex while he does her job. Emma, who is perhaps Henry's only fit parent, is being told that she needs permission to see her own son. Emma, the strongest person he’s ever known, has been reduced to some pathetic thing who needs saving. It’s cracking his resolve, but he knows he must pull himself back together for her sake. “I hadn’t realized.”

She sniffles, taking a few steps away from him and starting down the sidewalk as he swiftly follows. “After Henry found me, Neal took me in. But he found out about my past… I mean, I have a bit of a record. Not a big deal, but he sees it as an example of me making bad decisions.”

“What happened in your past?”

She shakes her head, rolling her eyes. “There was this guy, and he was just a bad influence. I was having trouble focusing on what’s important.”

“What, so he keeps an eye on you?” he scoffs. “Is that why you can only be out in the afternoon? Is that when he’s at the station?”

“It’s— no, it’s not like that.”

“Sorry. I realize that I’m overstepping, I apologize.” His voice was becoming vapid and he knew he needed to calm down. She shakes her head.

“No, it’s—” she stops herself from continuing, taking a deep breath and wrapping her arms tightly around herself as she walks. He wants to wrap his arms tightly around her. “It’s okay. I don't know why, but you're really easy to talk to. I mean, it’s easy to tell you stuff, even if it sucks.”

“You know you can, aye? Talk to me?”

She hums out a soft laugh and says, “yeah, I’m starting to see that.”

She stops walking to turn to him and smile, and he has a thought. He thinks she could kiss him right now— he would love to kiss her right now. But he wonders what implications that would have on the curse. Is he naive to think that what they have could be True Love? Does her cursed self have enough love for him to break the curse?

He doesn’t get the chance to test his theory. As her eyes start fluttering and she leans towards him, he reaches his prosthetic hand up towards her cheek and leans in but is interrupted by her phone ringing.

“Hello?” Emma asks into the phone, and he groans, wanting to press his forehead to hers but resisting the urge.

“Miss Swan,” Regina says, cluing Killian in to exactly who’s on the other end.

She groans quietly as well, separating herself from him and rolling her eyes in his direction, “madam mayor, hello.”

“What’s going on with Henry?” she asks, completely ignoring the greeting. “His father said he was with you rather than in school?”

“News travels fast,” Killian remarks under his breath.

“Miss Swan,” she says pointedly before Emma could answer her. “Need I remind you that your poor choices reflect poorly on any consideration we have for you seeing my son?”

“No, Regina, it wasn’t—”

“I really must insist that you take Henry into account when you choose who you surround yourself with.”

“I do! I always take Henry into account—”

“I hate to say this, Miss Swan, but you’re not doing a very good job at proving that. I suggest you consider your actions further, or this unsanctioned visit with Henry will be your last.”

She hangs up the phone before Emma even has a chance to argue with her.

Her bottom lip starts to wobble again and her eyes bug out twice their size and glass over in response to Regina’s abusive words. “Love,” he tries, but she pulls away, walls up, and starts walking again.

“Swan!” he calls after her as he runs to catch up.

“I can’t do this!” she shouts. “I can’t keep putting up with this! All I want is to see my son.”

“Swan,” he says again, softly as he takes her hand in his boldly.

“Everyone says I should just give up. Maybe they’re right.”

“No, love, that isn’t true.”

“All I want is for him to have a good life,” she says through her tears. “That obviously isn’t with me. It feels like everything I do is a strike against me, no matter what my intentions are. I think I might have to just go back to Boston.”

He pulls her hand until she stops walking and turns towards him. “You can’t, Emma.”

“Why?”

“Don’t let them dictate what you do. You’re Henry’s mother, no matter what anyone says.”

“Everyone says it. No one gets why I’m even here; Henry already has a mom. He doesn't need two.”

It’s crushing him to hear his Swan talk this way. She’s so defeated and he doesn't think he’s ever seen her so wilted and weak. Part of Regina’s curse must have been to punish Emma for not letting her see Henry, and if that were the case, he would say she’s succeeding. “Emma Swan, we will find a way to beat this,” he promises her.

She sniffles, her breath catching, and she looks up at him with watery eyes and rosy cheeks. “You think so?”

“I’ve yet to see you fail.”

She narrows her eyes again, cocking her head in thought as she considers his words. He wonders if she’s thinking back to three years ago when he said the exact same thing while she was searching for her son in Neverland, but he doubts it.

“I just… ” she sighs.

“Let me get you a hot chocolate.”

She draws her brows together and sighs, clearly downtrodden as she nods weakly and draws herself away from him. If this was really his Emma, he would take her in his arms and hug her close to him, but he doesn't dare do that now. “Okay,” she says softly, turning away and walking towards Granny’s.

When they arrive, she sits herself so heavily on the booth that he thinks she may break it. He orders a hot chocolate for her and a donut for himself, wishing he could rip a few pieces off and share them with Corrine, and hands her the mug as he sits down.

“I just…” she sighs heavily. “Henry keeps telling me something’s wrong, you know? And a part of me believes him.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know, every time I talk to him it’s like he’s trying to convince me that something is… off. He’s always talking about his book and showing me stories in it, but it’s like he’s trying to convince me to believe that the stories are… like…”

“Real?”

She sighs, shrugging. “Can I tell you something?” Her voice is so timid that he can barely hear her in the bustling diner.

“Of course, darling.”

“Sometimes… sometimes when Henry talks about his curse and how we’re all fairytale characters…” she shrugs once again, “I don't know. It just feels like it could be real sometimes. I almost want it to be real.”

His heart starts racing and his palms begin to sweat at her words. “How do you mean?” he asks, hoping to encourage her to say more and perhaps stir up some memories.

“Just that I think life would be a lot easier if… if I was a character in a fairytale.”

“Aye, perhaps it would.”

She nods, not looking up from her mug as she continues. “It just feels like anything I do is the wrong thing. I have the worst luck. And, just… my life sucks,” she laughs. “This can’t be all there is.”

Rather than argue with her, as he so desperately wants to, he tries to lighten the mood just a bit. “You know, if the curse were true, that would mean that you would be the person to break it,” he points out.

She scoffs, rolling her eyes and smiling falsely. “There's no possible reality where I am a Savior. How the hell would I even break it?”

It becomes clear that, while she may not have lost her belief in the possibility of magic, she’s lost her belief in herself. “Why, True Love’s Kiss, of course,” he says triumphantly with a grin shot her way. It doesn’t go over quite as he wanted it to.

She rolls her eyes once more. “No one loves me, Killian. It doesn't matter who I love or how hard I try; no one can ever love me back.”

“That isn’t true,” he shakes his head, taking her hands in his and pulling them off of her mug until she finally looks up into his eyes. He can’t tell her that he loves her so he says, “it isn’t true, Emma.”

He’s never seen her like this. She’s completely defeated and overcome with a sense of failure that he thinks he might burst if this damn curse doesn’t get broken soon. He can tell that he’s close, but every second spent is a second too long.

“You’re…” she starts, glancing down but then right back up into his eyes. “You’re something else. Very intense,” she laughs awkwardly.

“Aye, I suppose I am.”

“I’m not really used to,” she waves her fingers around in front of his face, “all that.”

He smiles sadly at her, boldly taking her hand in his a squeezing, and says, “I think you may get used to it, love.”

She nods slowly and doesn’t pull her hand away. “Yeah.”

#the days we defend #walk with me #sequel #days we defend ff #cs ff #captain swan fanfic #once upon a time fanfic #ouat ff #captain swan #killian jones #emma swan

34 notes · View notes