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sisterspooky1013 · 3 years ago

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Only One Choice, Part 2, Chapter 6

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

“I still think you should wear the blue one,” Missy says from her spot lying on Dana’s bed, having long ago tired of the lengthy debate over what she should wear for her date with Mulder.

It’s now 5:30 and while her hair and makeup have been meticulously complete for over an hour, she’s found herself unable to decide on a dress.

“I was wearing that when Ethan proposed to me, Missy. It’s tainted,” she replies with a glare, alternately holding up a red dress that hits just above the knee and has spaghetti straps, and a black one that is ankle length and has a halter top.

Missy rolls onto her side with an exasperated sigh. “It’s just a dress, Dana. And the man is already in love with you, I doubt he cares that much about what you’re wearing. You’re overthinking it, Sis. Though I think I do have some sage in my bag if you want me to smudge it,” she adds helpfully.

Dana gives her sister a pleading look.

“Fine. Wear the red one,” she acquiesces, moving to sit up. “I better get out of here before he shows up,” she says, and the second the words leave her mouth they hear a soft rapping on the door. They look at each other, Dana still in her bra panties, and then Missy stands. “I’ll let him in, you get dressed.”

Missy pulls the bedroom door closed behind her and answers just as Mulder knocks for a second time. He gives her a quizzical look and turns to check the number on the apartment.

“You’ve got the right one, I’m Dana’s sister, Melissa. We met once,” Missy says as she extends her hand.

Mulder takes it, nodding with recognition. “Right, I remember. Uh, is Scully, I mean Dana, here?”

Missy gives him a sympathetic frown. “No, I’m sorry. She changed her mind.”

Mulder’s expression falls until he hears Scully call out from behind her “Missy, don’t be a jerk!”

She crosses the living room, pausing by the couch to pull a shoe the rest of the way over her heel, and then arrives in the doorway. Mulder is dressed in a black suit and crisp white shirt, his dark grey tie patterned with little triangles. His hair looks freshly cut, barely long enough to run your fingers through, and he’s holding a small bouquet of flowers. He looks delicious.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” Missy says with a mischievous smile, grabbing her satchel from the dining room table and slipping past Mulder out the open door. “You two kids have fun,” she calls over her shoulder.

Dana rolls her eyes at her sister's remark, then turns to see Mulder staring at her with an oddly intense expression, his lips slightly parted.

“What?” she asks with genuine concern, looking down at her dress to make sure nothing is out of place.

He shakes his head gently as if pulling himself from a reverie. “You look...you look incredible. I mean you always look incredible but now that I’m allowed to tell you that you look incredible…” he drags his eyes down to her shoes and back up to her face where he finds a soft smile on her lips. “You’re so beautiful,” he completes.

She looks away sheepishly, pressing her lips together to hide the grin that it would feel too conceited to let show. “Thank you,” she says quietly, then meets his eye. “You look very handsome yourself.”

They look at each other for a beat, and she can tell he wants to kiss her. She wonders if he will, and if she should let him. They’ve already done much more than kiss, but everything still feels so new. Starting over indeed.

“Oh, these are for you,” he blurts out, breaking the tension as he offers her the flowers.

“Thank you, they’re beautiful,” she replies, taking them and going to the kitchen for a vase. She can sense his eyes on her back as she fills it with water then sets it on the table. She feels a little tingle in response, one she hasn’t felt in a very, very long time. “Shall we?” she asks as she grabs a sweater from the closet, avoiding his eye lest she throw him down on her sofa and never make it to dinner at all.

He steps just outside the door into the hall, so close as she locks it behind them that she can smell his aftershave. When they turn to leave, his hand drifts to rest on her lower back and it sends a little shockwave through her, and a flush of warmth between her thighs. Knowing that they can actually do all the things she’s imagined is exciting and scary, and she wonders how long she can wait. Wonders how long she wants to.

———

He steals glances at every stoplight or stretch of straight road, basically any chance he gets to look away without causing an accident, to take in the stunning beauty in the passenger seat beside him. That little red dress hugs her curves in all the right places, the pale swell of her breasts peeking out and rising gently with each breath. He shifts in his seat, willing his dick to behave and not make him look like a sex crazed lunatic. Though he is pretty sex starved, so it wouldn’t be an entirely untrue assessment. Every bit of self control he’d mustered when they spent time together last year has worn thin, and though he knows that she is no longer off-limits, that doesn’t mean she’s ready to get physical. He would have waited forever for her, so what’s a few more days, or weeks. Months? He really hopes it’s not months.

They pull up in front of the restaurant and he jogs around to the passenger side to open the door for her before the valet can get there. She gives him a shy little smile when he offers his hand to help her out of the car, pulling her to stand in the small space between himself and the doorframe so that the front of their bodies are nearly flush. She tilts her face up towards him, her tall shoes still only bringing her to his shoulder. He lets his eyes fall to her mouth, which is bare of any lipstick but naturally pink and pouty. He could kiss her now and not smudge anything at all.

“Sir?” the valet interrupts, holding out his hand in request of the keys.

The spell broken, he gives over the keys and takes Scully’s hand, her slim fingers threading between his own as her thumb brushes against his palm, a secret acknowledgement of the moment they shared. He smiles to himself as he leads her to the front doors of Marcel’s, looking over to see her curious appraisal of the venue. She clearly hasn’t been here before, which makes him happy. They are led by the host to a small table near the window draped in white linens and she gives him a skeptical glance as he pulls out her chair.

“Are you always this chivalrous? Don’t set expectations you can’t live up to, Mulder.”

He chuffs a laugh. “I actually am, it’s not an act. I was raised in a very upscale, old money environment. I can also tell you which fork to use for each course, if you’re interested.”

She lifts her eyebrows in surprise, watching him curiously as he takes the seat beside her, not across. He doesn’t want an entire table between them.

“Really? Where was that?”

“Martha’s Vineyard,” he answers plainly, not ever wanting that to sound like something he’s bragging about. “What about you, where are you from?” He changes the subject as quickly as possible.

She makes a face. “Nowhere in particular. I was born in Annapolis but my father was in the Navy so we moved a lot. The place he was stationed the longest was San Diego so that area feels just a little bit like home, but we’ve also spent quite a bit of time on the East Coast. We lived in Japan for a bit when I was a baby, but I don’t remember it.”

The waiter comes by to take their drink orders and Mulder orders a bottle of red he assumes they’ll have without looking at the menu. He watches out of the corner of his eye as Scully opens her menu and her eyes expand in shock. She closes it quietly and waits for the waiter to leave before leaning towards him.

“Mulder,” she says very seriously, as though she’s about to deliver devastating news, “that bottle of wine is three hundred dollars.”

He leans further towards her so their foreheads nearly touch. “Scully,” he says in an equally serious tone, “I warned you I was going to go overboard.”

He watches her try to suppress a surprised smile as she leans back, eyeing him appraisingly. “You’re quite the enigma, Mulder. With your fancy country club upbringing and expensive taste in wine in contrast to aliens and worn down bachelor pads.”

“Worn down?” he says in mock offense, “Priscilla will be horrified to hear that you said that.” The full-toothed smile he gets in response makes his heart swell, even if he suspects it has more to do with the mention of Priscilla than his winning sense of humor.

Wine and water are delivered, and Scully tries to order the cheapest thing on the menu before he insists that she wants the surf and turf and she acquiesces with a pained look.

“I think you’ve mischaracterized who among us is the enigma, Scully,” he picks up after their menus are collected. “I’m not sure I’ve ever encountered another Navy brat brainiac babe who cuts up dead people for a living.”

“Really?” she asks, eyebrows furrowed as though this is surprising to hear. “I’ll have to invite you to our next chapter meeting.”

“You’re also funny, add that to your list of enigmatic qualities,” he retorts, and she shrugs demurely. “Speaking of enigmas, there was a case I did a little poking around on, about some suspicious deaths in a community of carnies. There was a sideshow act where a man who was tattooed head to toe in jigsaw puzzle pieces ate live animals. He was sometimes called The Conundrum, and other times he went by The Enigma.”

Her eyes light up at the mention of his old work. “Was this an x file?” she asks excitedly.

“Not technically, no. This was just a couple years ago so the files were closed, but every now and then I get a lead and take some time off work to run it down.”

Scully looks a little disappointed. “Have you ever tried to have the X files reopened?” she asks, taking a sip of her wine and making a little expression that he takes as her being impressed.

“Sure, especially at first. The people at the heart of these government-run conspiracies don’t want the files open again, but the main reason bureau leadership gives for now is that I don’t have a partner, and they won’t let me work on them alone.”

“Couldn't they just assign you a partner? I’m not a field agent, but I was under the impression they somewhat randomly pair people off.”

He smiles sheepishly. “In theory, yes. But I haven’t had much success with the partners I’ve been assigned in the past. One might say that I don’t play well with others.”

“I find that hard to believe,” she says with a skeptical look, “you strike me as fairly easy to get along with.”

“Maybe so, Scully, but there’s a significant difference you’re omitting,” he leans forward and lets the tips of his fingers brush her bare knee. “I like you.”

There’s that million dollar grin again. This night is going so much better than he possibly could have hoped.

———

She could not have possibly imagined how good it would feel to be with him and truly be with him. No boundaries, no barriers, no lines to walk between what’s acceptable for ‘just friends.’ They openly flirt and smile at each other all through dinner, casually touching an arm or a leg, holding hands briefly a few times. She feels like a giddy schoolgirl and can’t recall the last time she felt this happy. So when the waiter collects their dessert plates and drops off the bill, she feels a little wave of sadness that the night is coming to an end.

She knows that if she invites him to come up to her apartment, he will say yes. And she knows that if she does that, they will end up having sex. She would very, very much like to have sex with him. But she’s also worried that she’s rushing things and potentially ignoring possible red flags or other signs that they might not be compatible because she wants this to work so badly. She decides she’s not going to invite him up.

They stand on the curb outside Marcel’s, waiting for the valet to bring the car around, and she crosses her arms and shivers against the cool evening air. Mulder notices and slides his arm around her shoulders, rubbing his palm briskly over her upper arm. Not satisfied that he’s done enough, he then moves to stand behind her and opens his suit jacket, pressing his chest to her back as he wraps the jacket around her, folding them both up inside it. He’s warm and firm and she lets her weight rest against him, the back of her head tucked into the crook of his neck. She sighs contentedly, feeling safe and cared for. It’s a feeling she’s really missed, being single.

On the short drive back to her apartment, he slips his hand over the console to rest on the seat next to her, an invitation, and she presses her palm against his, feeling the ache of missing him before he’s even gone. He pulls up to the curb in front of her building and they don’t let go, looking at each other in the dim glow of the street lights.

“Can I walk you to your door?” he asks, and she feels a mischievous smile creep over her lips. She nods.

They walk slowly, hand in hand, through the front doors and up the elevator. When they arrive at her door, she unlocks but doesn’t open it, leaning her back against the frame instead.

“I had a really nice time, Mulder. Thank you,” she says, her gaze lingering on his hooded green eyes and that full bottom lip.

“Me too,” he replies with a shy smile, stepping forward and placing his fingertips cautiously on her hips.

Her pelvis tips toward him unconsciously, seeking out the contact she has every intention of denying herself for now.

“Can I...would it be okay if I kissed you?” he asks, his eyes on her mouth. She opens it reflexively, tilting her chin up further.

He seems to take that as his answer, dipping his head to meet her at her level, and the pillowy press of his mouth against hers feels like such a relief she sighs audibly. His fingers on her hips press more firmly in response, pulling her gently towards him, closer still. She puts her hands on his forearms and slides them up until her fingers are gently scraping through the hair at the nape of his neck, and she feels his tongue slip out to taste hers. One of his hands leaves her hip and she feels it flutter over the side of her neck, cupping her jaw gently as they kiss slowly, languidly, like they have all the time in the world. His thumb brushes over the front of her throat and it somehow feels more intimate than if he were touching her in a more private place. To touch her in a vulnerable spot, one that can hurt and even kill someone, but to do it so tenderly feels erotic and exciting, and she takes his lip between her teeth and bites down gently to encourage him. He emits a little groan and arches his pelvis towards her, the stiff ridge of his erection grazing her belly.

“Mulder,” she says between kisses.

“Mmmmm,” he says in response, brushing his lips over the corner of her mouth.

“I don’t...I think….we should probably say goodnight.”

He makes a little sound somewhere between a whine and a sigh, but pulls away from her.

“I just...I don’t want to rush this,” she says earnestly, holding both his hands in hers. “I want to do things right this time.”

He nods, pulling her into an embrace. She has that feeling again, like she could crawl inside his chest cavity and make a home there, though this time it’s accessorized with an erection pressed against her.

“Sorry about that,” he says without embarrassment, and she laughs.

“I’ll take it as a compliment,” she replies, pulling away and reaching for the doorknob.

“You really, really, should,” he retorts, and she opens the door, backing in slowly. Once she is fully inside and looking at him through the slim crack she’s wedged herself into as though she were trying to keep him out, he leans forward so his face is inches from hers. “One for the road?” he asks hopefully, and she nods.

He presses his mouth against hers, chastely, no tongue, and holds it there for a very long time. Long enough that she starts to feel her resolve cracking. She pulls away.

“Goodnight, Mulder,” she says in a sing-song voice, and he backs away from the door with a dopey smile.

“Night, Scully,” he replies, not leaving until after she closes the door. She knows because she watches him through the peephole as he stands there smiling like a fool before looking up and possibly thanking the gods. Finally, he leaves.

Goodnight indeed. It was such a good night.

#the x files #txf #dana scully #fox mulder #gillovny #msr #sculder #x files fanfic #alternate universe

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juniorgman187 · 4 years ago

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Serendipity (Reid Fic) Part 1

A/N: If you’re wondering if this is at all based on Rosie and Marco’s storyline in “What to Expect When You’re Expecting,” then you should know - it totally is.

Summary: An FBI gathering brings Reader and Spencer together after years of distance. This one night changes not only their future, but their perspective on the past. Category: Angst, Smut, *NSFW content Pairing: Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid Content Warning: Mentions of traumatic childhood, child neglect, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, menstruation, pregnancy Word Count: 10.2k

I originally thought I would be able to fit everything into 1 part, but after further reconsideration, this will be a two part series.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Serendipity: (n). Finding something good without looking for it.

A word I would only come to truly understand many months from now on a warm Thursday morning in May at St. Mary’s Hospital.

But whenever my thoughts drifted back towards the past, I would always remember that this was how it all began - on a chilly Saturday night in the heart of D.C.

Not more than four hours ago, Emilia and I drove down here for an F.B.I function that hired us. Under normal circumstances, we wouldn’t have agreed to be the caterers for an event so far away, but we eventually signed on after learning that there were at least 600 people attending. That meant a considerable amount of customers and an exorbitant amount of money. Saying yes was clearly a no brainer.

Just to put it into perspective of how big this event would be, Emilia and I got lucky if we could park somewhere with 80 customers. 80. So this event would be colossal for us.

But who would have guessed that in a crowd of 600, I would run into the one and only - Spencer Reid.

To preface, this wasn’t just any old birthday party, parade, or festival. It was a celebration and a grand one at that. Considering it was a private event at the Washington Monument, we were given special instructions to abide by the black-tie formal dress code that guests had to follow, too. I guess the caterers can’t look like slobs in the United States’ Capitol, now can they?

I definitely spent more time than I should have deciding on what outfit to wear, but my conscientiousness, or rather indecisiveness, did pay off in the end. For I would run into someone worth the trouble of impressing.

My hair, unlike Emilia’s, was down and curled in big waves, and on one side, some of my hair was tucked behind my ear and designed to stay that way thanks to copious amounts of hairspray and an ungodly total of bobby pins. Emilia lent me a black, floor-length dress that had a plunging v-neck that didn’t fit her anymore, but luckily, fit perfectly on me. Although I would have to remember not to lean over too far tonight, otherwise, the customers might get a show they didn’t pay for. I, however, didn’t look half so good as my business partner.

Emilia was clad in a navy blue silk dress with puffy sleeves and a high collar; the dress clung to her every curve, including her newly protruding belly bump. She looked regal and pregnant all at the same time, qualities I hadn’t seen coexist in anyone but the Queens and Duchesses in England.

“Well, don’t you look hot?” Emilia purred, running her fingers through my curls, then letting them fall and sway back into place.

“Are you kidding? You are quite literally a sexy mama.” I gushed to her, receiving a light chuckle in return.

“Yeah, well, when you’re five months pregnant, tell me how sexy you feel in a tight dress.” She remarked, turning her back to me while she arranged all the supplies in the kitchenette behind me. But even as she faced away from me, she still managed to recognize the effect her words had. Maybe it was something in my silence, or our sister-telepathy, but Emilia immediately felt the room depress. In an effort to take back the remark that turned the room cold, she sweetly added while hugging me from behind, “You’re gonna be a mom one day, too. I promise.”

I leaned into her embrace, feeling guilty for ruining the moment while also feeling burdened by the reminder of the terrible reality I had to face every day.

Ever since I could remember, I thought I was destined to be a mother, but that destiny had yet to be fulfilled.

Emilia was born only three years after me, and though that age gap isn’t big enough for me to be mistaken for her mother, I, she, and our younger brother Saul would all agree that in many ways I was their mom. I was the parent our parents never were. I was there for everything - soccer games, dance recitals, winter musicals - never getting the chance to participate in my own, but always attending their’s.

I had to admit sometimes it was a burden, having to grow up so fast and help raise my siblings while still trying to navigate through my own struggles of adolescence, but I saw it as something I was meant to do.

See, I wouldn’t have minded all the responsibilities of being a parent so much when it’d be my own kids that I’d be fulfilling them for - when it would be by my choice to fulfill those responsibilities and not by unfortunate birth order.

However, as the years have gone by, my calling to be a mother has gotten quieter and quieter and quieter until eventually, I don’t think I’ll be able to hear it anymore.

It’s not that I can’t have kids, but the fear of rushing into having one is what’s stopped me from pursuing that dream.

As someone who grew up with divorced parents and practically became my siblings only reliable caregiver, I knew what having a baby too soon could do to a family. So rather than repeating history, I chose to wait to have kids. I didn’t want to make the same mistakes my parents did, and so I lived my life. I traveled all across the globe, I met new people, tried new things, I even started this taco truck business with Emilia.

But still that gaping hole in my chest remained. A hole that nothing could ever fill the way that a child would.

No amount of living could make up for the emptiness of a life with no family.

I could pretend all I wanted that I was happy living out my twenties, but the truth was I didn’t want to spend the rest of my years working in a food truck, amounting to nothing more than a mediocre cook and middling entrepreneur. That was never my dream - as exciting as it was.

My real dream was to have a good life. The kind my parents never had thanks to the unplanned arrival of me. The kind my baby sister was already living out.

“You know what? It’s a really nice night out. I think I might go for a walk. Do you wanna come?” Was this my blatant avoidance of breaching the subject of pregnancy? Yes, but it was also my escape from this food truck that felt like it was getting smaller and smaller and smaller by the second.

“No, I’m okay. I’ll just get everything ready.” Emilia resigned.

She knew why I was really leaving - sister-telepathy, I’m telling you - but she didn’t feel the need to acknowledge it. For that, I was thankful. Maybe we were better at communicating with no words at all.

I carefully stepped off the back of the truck, making sure to hike up my dress high enough so I wouldn’t trip over the mess of fabric when my feet hit the floor. The nippy December air felt like a cool balm on my hot skin. I was burning up in that truck, and maybe it was nerves or something else, but I just had this weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. There was no explanation for it, but I realize now that the pit in my stomach was caused by something my intuition could sense but something my mind couldn’t understand.

Someone important from my past was here tonight.

As I sauntered around the monument, I took in the breathtaking view of the structure’s silhouette against the blazing orange sky that melted into an ocean blue. I regretted not bringing my phone to take a picture of it so I could show Emilia when I got back, but that one regret quickly turned into another when the night sky’s breeze brought a rude awakening. My body shivered at the frigid gust of wind that blew through and I suddenly started to regret not bringing a jacket.

“Are you cold?” A gentle voice asked me from behind.

I slightly recoiled out of shock of someone being there. When I turned around though, I couldn’t quite make out any distinguishable features. All I knew for sure was that this was certainly a man, and a tall one, too.

“Um, just a little.” I bashfully admitted, crossing my arms to hug myself and maintain some warmth. I hadn’t even thought about my dress’s plunging v-neck or the fact that I was practically squeezing my breasts together, accentuating them even further, but by the time, I realized, it was too late. He was already looking. But not at my chest. Somewhere far more invasive.

My eyes.

“Here, take my jacket.”

My small protests did nothing to stop him as he inevitably slipped the coat around my shoulders anyway. He’d come so close that I could finally see him and smell him. And let me tell you, if the sight of him wasn’t enough to break an overflowing dam of memories, then his smell certainly sent a flood that would.

“Oh my god,” I quietly gasped, my hand flying to my mouth to cover its un-ladylike gaping.

“Spencer Reid?”

I squinted my eyes and cocked my head even further to find evidence to support my assumption, and sure enough, I found exactly what I was looking for.

I was frozen in place as I deeply examined his face. My God! I mean, in many ways, he hadn’t changed a bit since the last time I saw him. Same dazzling hazel eyes. Same uniquely adorable nose. Same over-stimulated pink lips. I wonder if he still bit them as much as he did back then?

But at the same time, he was so different. Of course, I could still discern the same features I used to study endlessly back then, but his face had transformed into a man’s. He lost the glasses for one thing, but he also had a softer jawline, longer hair, and for lack of a better term, a beefier build.

He was all grown up now, and yet, I could still identify the same boyishly handsome charm that made me fall in love with him more than a decade ago.

“I knew it was you, (y/n).” He chuckled, sounding half proud of himself. My heart fluttered at the sound of my name on his tongue and the action that followed. With his eyes locked on mine, he tucked strands of my hair back behind my ears; it’s as if he were saying, “Let me get a good look at you.”

“How? It’s almost completely dark outside. You could barely even see me.” Certainly, you can understand why I was skeptical. Sounded too good to be true, if you ask me.

He shook his head lightly with a smile, seemingly questioning how I couldn’t possibly know the answer to that question. “No one else looks like you. Not even in the dark.”

His words spoke to a part of my soul specifically reserved for him. They were so genuine that I almost didn’t want to believe them because how could someone speak such lovely things and truly mean them? The world wasn’t that good a place. Certainly not good enough for Spencer Reid.

In that moment, I flew out of my own body and watched this entire scene unfold from up above. I could see the version of a girl I hadn’t seen in years, not since that last interaction with Spencer. She had these big lovesick eyes as she swooned over a man with just the same lovesick look.

The excessive upward tilt of my head and the way his neck craning down must’ve made it seem like we were about to kiss, but I knew better than to expect such a thing from Spencer Reid. And if anything, what we were doing right now was much more intimate than kissing.

“Wow, you ... you really grew up. You look great.” My own voice sounded unfamiliar to me after the words slipped from my mouth without even registering in my brain first.

“Are you kidding? Look at you! I mean, you are just ...” He paused for a moment to look me up and down, and I nearly shivered at the thought that he was practically undressing me with his eyes. “You’re absolutely beautiful. But you always were.”

I was almost completely in a daze when I heard a hideous squawk of a bird flying overhead. This wouldn’t make sense, but it nearly felt like a sign. Like the bird knew I wasn’t supposed to be there, reminding me of where I belonged - reality - not in this fantasy with Spencer.

“Um,” My head spun as I drew back from him. “I should probably get back. I’ll see you later.” I touched his upper arm gently as I passed by him, and it stunned me how warmth just radiated off of his body.

To my all too quick goodbye, he simply waved and watched me walk past him with a pursed-lip smile. And just before I got too far, I thought I heard him say, “I hope so.”

Though my feet were carrying me away from Spencer, my thoughts were only drifting closer to the memory of him, and we did have so many memories.

11 Years Ago ...

I was at the ripe age of 16 when I got my driver’s license. And to anyone else, this would seem like a given milestone, but to me - it was so much more. With the obtainment of my license, I also gained access to a whole new world. Opportunities poured at the seams. I could drive anyone and anywhere I wanted to and though it wasn’t true, it felt like I could do anything, too. But like all things good in my life, it fell apart in the face of responsibilities.

My newly obtained license was just another way for my parents to exploit me. Now, they didn’t have to drive Emilia and Saul since I could. Looking back, I have to wonder if the only reason they funded my driver’s ed classes were for the exact reason that if I took them, I’d sooner be able to take on yet another helping of duties they were too lazy to fulfill.

There’s one particular moment I can remember from this age and that same moment could also be regarded as the catalyst that would set off a series of events for the next 11 years to come.

It was the end of the school year and summer vacation was right around the corner. I was a sophomore at the time, and the prospect of being a junior the next year excited me.

To kick off the start of summer, Melody Hanes was throwing a pool party at her house. Everyone knew she was filthy rich because of a dead grandpa or some other, not to mention, she was also in student government so she had just as big of a role in school as her grandpa’s death did in making the Hanes family wealthy.

Though I never knew her personally, I did have third period chemistry with her for the entire year, and I sat right in front of her for pretty much the entirety of second semester. She must’ve only addressed me a handful of times, but she still invited me to her party anyway. Proximity, I had to admit, did play a part in that though because if I sat just a seat farther away, then I wouldn’t have been.

I came home that day, thrilled to tell my mother about my invitation. It would’ve been my first party that wasn’t a distant relative’s birthday celebration or a childish sleepover in elementary. It was my first real high school party, and for once, I thought - maybe I’d finally get the quintessential ‘high school experience.’

But of course, I never did.

As soon as I got home, I parked my car in the driveway, got the mail, and came inside the house to see my mother sitting on the couch watching TV, as per usual. While I was telling her about my invitation, she didn’t bother to lower the volume or even look away from the screen to give me her undivided attention, and when she did look away, it was only to take the mail from my hands.

“Your sister’s science fair is on that day, and you have to take her because I’ll be working from 1 to 7.” My mother never once looked up from the mail she was sorting through to address me. And her words, while incredibly monotone, were also spoken with such finality, like what she said was the last she ever wanted to speak on the topic. No room for discussion.

I’m not still losing sleep over it, but at the time, it felt like for once, I could actually just be a teenager and be young and reckless like everyone else, but that it was just taken from me. I never got the chance to be a kid again.

With the exception of Emilia’s science fair.

I knew my father wouldn’t be there, and obviously my mother wouldn’t, so I stayed to watch her presentation and to walk around the rest of the time. She deserved someone in her corner, and that someone was me. Even if no one was in mine.

As I serpentined through the cafeteria, a bittersweet feeling came upon me. From paper mâché volcanoes to potato batteries, I observed a childlike sense of wonder that I hadn’t felt for years.

Here, I was surrounded by children who got to be just children. They got to occupy themselves with trivial matters, like how gardens grow or if video games actually do rot your brain.

Their problems had solutions and their questions had answers, and it almost made me wish that I could revert back to a time where life was that easy, but I couldn’t because it never was … not for me.

So to sum it up, it was precious and heartbreaking all at the same time.

While browsing the fair, I stumbled upon a man that didn’t quite seem to fit in, and maybe it was my own unfitting appearance that made me recognize his. He could’ve very well been the brother of one of these children, but something about the way he was dressed and the way he carried himself made me highly doubt that.

He couldn’t have been a parent either, for he was not too far off from my own age, and if he was a parent of one of these eighth graders, that would have to mean that he had a kid when he was in kindergarten. So for all intents and purposes, he wasn’t someone’s brother or someone’s father. Who he actually was - I didn’t know, but I was determined to find out.

After that first observance, I spotted him a couple more times, but it wasn’t until we were looking at the same project that we actually spoke.

“Fascinating, isn’t it?”

The sudden sound of his voice alarmed me, but only because it seemingly came out of nowhere. Generally, before someone speaks to you, you notice signals that they’re about to, which helps you prepare for conversation. Whether it’s nervous twitches, a look in your direction, maybe even a small acknowledging smile, you’ll recognize they want to or plan to talk to you, but none of those signs were given to me. Even when I turned my head to give him my attention, he was still fixated on the project in front of us.

“Yeah, it really is,” I politely agreed. I awkwardly looked around the room as if I’d find an answer as to what to say next because I did want to keep talking to him, but the longer I stayed silent, the more I fear he’d begin to think I didn’t want to. With nothing else to ask but the question that had been bothering me since I first laid eyes on him, I simply went for it.

“So, who are you here for?”

For the first time, he turned his head to the side to look right at me. With a quizzical expression, he responded. “Oh, no one. I’m just a judge here.”

It was my turn to possess a quizzical expression. His statement wouldn’t have been weird, except for the part where any judge I’d seen or talked to were all well into their forties or fifties.

“Aren’t you kinda young to be a judge? You’re, like, what? Seventeen, eighteen?

“Nineteen actually. But I regularly come to judge the Summer Science Fairs here since I went to this middle school eleven years ago.”

Again, I would’ve taken his word for it, but the math didn’t make sense. “You were in middle school at eight years old?”

“Mhm. I ended up graduating high school at twelve.” He said it so nonchalantly, but for how big of a feat it was, I thought it would’ve deserved a more prideful tone, yet he still maintained such a cavalier one. Did he not think himself to be impressive?

“Jeez, you must be really smart.”

He shoved his hands in his pockets, which made me notice that he wasn’t carrying a clipboard like the other judges, which was probably another reason why I didn’t take him for one. How would he be able to remember the projects that he was considering for awards? He’d have to have some magical memory for that.

Before answering, he began to walk away, but nonetheless he continued addressing me, so I followed him where he went.

“Mmm not necessarily. My IQ isn’t high enough to suggest I’m a provable genius yet, but I do have an eidetic memory and I can currently read 16,000 words per minute, which definitely helps. I hope to be able to read 20,000 words per minute in the future.”

Despite answering my question, he only left me with many more.

“What is your IQ right now?”

“131.”

My eyes widened. Even I, with my limited knowledge on intelligence quotients knew that was high, especially for someone as young as he was.

“So what IQ score do you have to have in order to be considered a genius?”

I couldn’t help but notice how he barely took anytime to think before answering me. It’s like his brain just knew everything, right then and there.

“A score of over 140 is considered a genius or near genius.”

“Wow, so you’re almost a genius then?”

“Almost, but not quite. If I receive diverse stimulation at a consistent rate for the next few years, I predict that I’ll have an IQ of 180 or higher by the time I’m in my early twenties.”

You would think he would leave me speechless, but I still went on to ask him about what an eidetic memory was, and he explained to me that he could remember things exceedingly well, but that it was not the same thing as a photographic memory. He made that distinction very clear to me.

Our conversation droned on for the rest of the fair as we continued to circle the cafeteria. I can’t count how many times we lapped around the same projects, but we never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Once those first few seconds after meeting him, when I didn’t know what to say, passed, I never again felt a sense of not knowing. We could talk for hours and hours, and it wouldn’t matter. I would never get bored.

How could I? When I was with him, it felt like the rest of the world just faded away. Our discourse flowed so easily, no pressure, no awkward silence. It was just me and him, and if you ask me, that’s quite the opposite of boring.

That was the first and final time I ever truly felt like a kid. Just like the ones in the science fair. Not a care in the world except for my morbid curiosity of the marvel that was him.

Alas, all good things must come to an end, and I inevitably found myself being ripped out of my trance when I felt an aggressive tug on my sweater.

“We can go now.” Emilia interrupted.

I hadn’t even noticed that a majority of the poster boards were taken down and that an even larger majority of the people were long gone, too. I got so lost in the conversation that I didn’t realize we were one of the last people still there.

Emilia’s eagerness to leave was apparent as she pulled me away from my interesting conversationalist.

“I had a nice time talking to you!” I called out to him, walking backwards to lengthen the period of time I could keep looking at him.

“Likewise.”

I turned around fully just before I finally realized something. “Hey!” I yelled across the distance. “I never got your name!”

He bashfully smiled and looked down at his feet briefly. “It’s Spencer! Spencer Reid!”

I stood there for a moment, silently processing his name.

“What’s yours?” He yelled back.

I chuckled mischievously. “I guess you’ll have to find out next time.” My ambiguity puzzled him and intrigued him all at the same time.

“Next time?”

With the intentions of leaving him without a true answer, I simply turned on my heels and started walking away.

“Bye, Spencer!”

Even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory, I knew after that first day, he could never forget me.

- Present Time -

By the time I made it back to the truck, people were already lining up to order.

“Get over here!” Emilia squealed excitedly from the window, her hand rapidly waving me over as if it’d suddenly increase my speed. I ran back as fast as I could in a dress and heels and climbed into the truck, mirroring my sister’s zeal.

When I stepped in, Emilia took one glance at me and furrowed her brows. “Where’d you get the jacket?”

Had she not mentioned it, I would not have remembered the foreign fabric that wrapped around my shoulders.

“Oh, shoot!” I palmed my forehead after the realization dawned on me. I should’ve noticed sooner that I still had it on, but honestly, it didn’t feel unusual or out of place. It was comfortable and familiar, like it was meant to be there that entire time.

“I’m so sorry to do this to you, but do you think you can handle this alone for just a second? I have to return this to a friend.” I asked while slipping off the coat to ready myself to leave, even in the event that Emilia said she wouldn’t let me go. Luckily though, she understood it was urgent.

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be fine. Just hurry back.”

I extended my head to look out just past the side of the truck to look for Spencer while still being concealed within the vehicle. Now that there were more people here, I wasn’t exactly sure I should be caught mingling with the attendees, so instead, I decided to search for him from the truck, rather than wandering around the party, giving the impression to the people that hired us that I wasn’t doing my job and was just here to socialize.

Luckily, there was something about my attachment to Spencer that was supernatural. I had this metaphysical ability to spot him even in a crowded place. I could find him anywhere. But whether that was a blessing or a curse was to be determined because right as my paranormal power kicked in, I found him. And there he was - standing next to another girl, a proximity much too close and a smile much too big to be anything less than flirtatious.

I paused to recall the image I had of myself earlier, when I floated up and out of my own body. I looked just like her - an oversized grin combined with lovesick eyes.

But that’s not the worst part.

The worst part was he was returning just the same look of attraction to her.

“Um, actually,” I re-entered the truck completely, tossing the jacket aside haphazardly. “I’ll just return it later.”

“You sure? You can go. I’ve got things covered right now.” She said between multitasking at a rate that even I, a very-much-not-pregnant-woman, could manage.

All I could mutter back without giving away the sharp ache in my heart was, “Yeah, I’m sure.”

_ _ _

After hours and hours of non-stop working, the night, at last, was coming to a close. The large crowd had sized down considerably, until I could no longer hear the sound of a thousand voices meshing. All the decorations were already coming down by the time Emilia and I finished packing up the truck. Without the hectic energy to cause adrenaline to course through my veins, it should’ve been peaceful, yet my heart was not at peace.

I couldn’t shake the gut-wrenching feeling of seeing Spencer with that girl, but that wasn’t really why I was upset. It was more about the fact that I’d actually believed for a second that I had any chance with him. I should’ve known he wasn’t single, and the fact that I let myself swoon over him again angered me all the more. If I ever had a chance with Spencer, the time to act on it was long gone.

Now, I had to live with that.

“You sure you wanna stay here alone? I’ll come with you if you want me to.”

Emilia’s question was referring to my proposal to stay in D.C for the night while she drove home. It was a spur-of-the-moment decision, but I realized I couldn’t handle being in another suffocating car ride with Emilia. It had nothing to do with her - just that I needed alone time to process everything by myself. If I knew my sister as well as I thought I did, I knew she would’ve sensed something was wrong and tried to coax me into talking about it, which I was not in the mood to do. Plus, traveling for so long made me nauseous just thinking about it. Although, I didn’t have a plan, I knew that I just wanted to hail a cab and find a hotel somewhere here for the night.

“Yeah, I’ll be okay. Don’t worry about me. Call me when you get home.” I tapped on the back of the truck twice to let her know she was good to drive away, and I felt the car lurch forward per my request. When the truck finally did move, out from behind it appeared the tall figure of none other than Spencer.

I was surprised, but only for a second, when that surprise turned into pain once more. Playing it cool so my afflictions wouldn’t be suspected, I nonchalantly stated, “Here’s your jacket, by the way. Sorry, I forgot to give it back to you earlier.”

I extended my arm far enough so that we’d still have a great distance between us when he went to grab it, but sure enough, my actions were all for naught when he not only refused to remove his hands from his pockets to take it but also walked two steps closer to me than he needed to be. I looked like an idiot just standing there with my arm so outstretched, only for him to not grab it and to let it simply press against his stomach as a complete avoidance of getting it back.

“You were supposed to keep it. That’s why I didn’t ask for it back.” He curtly replied, finishing his statements with a cheeky grin. However, I wasn’t in the mood to return it. I simply stood there and shook the jacket in my hand to emphasize its presence.

“Take it. Please.” My voice was full of contradictions. I tried to be assertive with my command, and yet my plead only softened the order and showed a defeat I wasn’t even aware of until I heard how sad it sounded. “I don’t want it, Spencer.”

He no doubt saw the shift in my demeanor but still wouldn’t pacify me by taking the jacket. “What’s wrong? What did I do?” His voice got quieter, as if speaking any louder would shatter me in this fragile state of being.

“Nothing, I’m just tired and I want to go home.” This wasn’t a complete lie. I was exhausted from working for hours and hours on my feet with no breaks in between, but it wasn’t exactly the full truth either. He could tell.

“Just tell me what’s wrong.” He persisted. “Please.”

The only way I could describe what I happened next was like the vision of a boiling pot. Gradually, I was heating up until I finally got so overheated that I just boiled over and exploded.

“What don’t you get, Spencer? I don’t want your jacket!” Fury consumed my tone. “And I don’t think your girlfriend would want that either.”

“Girlfriend? What girlfriend? What are you talking about? I don’t have a girlfriend!” His words were flying out of his mouth at 100 mph as he desperately trying to mend what couldn’t be fixed.

“Don’t play dumb. I saw you with that blonde girl. How close you two were standing, the way you were looking at each other.” Just having to recount the interaction made the horrid memory come back vividly into the forefront of my thoughts, and it broke my heart all over again. I shut my eyes painfully as though it would turn off the image of them together, but this only allowed for Spencer to wrap his warm hands around my upper arms and pull me closer to him without my knowing. I flinched unconsciously at the sudden feeling of his touch, to which he instantly let go.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His hands shook with remorse for letting them touch my body in a way that elicited that reaction. They hovered in the space between us, not knowing where to go that would suddenly make things okay. “But she’s no one, okay? She’s just a coworker.”

I wanted to believe him. I quite possibly did believe him, but there was still a sharp pain in my chest. Call it intuition.

“No, she’s not,” I shook my head. “She’s not ‘no one’... you love her.”

Spencer came closer but still didn’t let himself touch me again out of fear that I might draw back even further.

“Listen to me - whatever feelings I used to have for her are long gone. She’s married, (y/n). She has a kid. And none of that even matters because the way that I used to love her is nothing compared to the way that I-”

“Don’t.” I held my hand up in protest. “Don’t say you love me.”

His eyebrows knit together with dismay. “Why? Why not? It’s true. I love you. I always have.”

With one big sigh, I finally resigned to my emotions. “Then why didn’t you ever do something about it?”

Judging by the deflation of his shoulders and the far off look he got in his eyes, he knew exactly the moment I was talking about.

Two days after Emilia’s science fair, I drove to the library to pick up books I needed for my summer homework. I was already on my way out when I just happened to glance to my side, noticing a lone figure sitting at the bus stop. I didn’t think anything of it, but when I looked back, I partially recognized him. I shaded my eyes from the sun and squinted harder to confirm my suspicions.

“Spencer?” I wondered out loud.

The figure’s head turned around, narrowed their eyes, and waved. He stood up from his seat and made his way over to me with a precious little jog-walk. Although we had only met once before, we still embraced each other like lifelong friends.

“Do I finally get to know your name now?” He jokingly inquired after pulling away.

It completely slipped my mind that I’d denied him the knowledge of my name, but for my own satisfaction, I wouldn’t let him get off that easily.

“Do you have any guesses of it could be?”

He pouted childishly. “Are you kidding? In a population of 350 million people, there would be about 4.4 million names. But if every country on Earth had the same nominative diversity we in the US have, that would suggest about 750 million unique names exist.”

I must admit it was fun watching him melt into a flustered mess of facts, but I was growing just as impatient as him. “Come on, just guess. You might be right.”

He rolled his eyes but indulged me willingly anyway. “Okay ... um ... Catherine.”

“Nope.”

“Nicole.”

“Nope.”

“Gertrude.”

“Seriously?” I raised my eyebrows. He shrugged. “Nope.”

“Olive.”

“Pretty,” I smiled, making his face light up, too. “But no.” His smile fell.

“This is nearly impossible.” He sighed.

“Nothing’s impossible.” My delivery wasn’t as cheesy as the line itself, so it touched us both in a way that made that silly phrase feel like it’d never been said before. With a visible passion reignited in him, he continued.

“Francis.”

“Okay, maybe this is impossible.”

My blunt joke brought us closer together, our heads almost knocking into one another’s as we clutched our stomachs and leaned forward to support our all-consuming laughter. When we finally calmed down, I finally confessed.

“Okay, okay - it’s (y/n).”

He stood there completely silent. There was no expression of his face that indicated he planned on speaking, so I elaborated. “It’s not as good as the name Spencer, I know I know -”

“I’ve never known anyone with that name before.” His hushed voice cut into mine so innocently.

My cheeks heated from the slight compliment. “Well, now you do. And don’t you forget it.” I teased. With nothing further to say, I brushed past him to start walking away, when unconsciously, I spun my keys around my index finger and heard the familiar jingle of the metal, reminding me of something.

“Hey, Spencer?” I turned on my heels. “Can I give you a ride home?”

And so began our routine for the entire summer. I would bring my summer homework to the library, and Spencer would help me understand it, or even complete it, and then I’d give him a ride home. We’d go to the park and read, or we’d go to the movies, or we’d hang out at a diner. And each time, I’d drop him off.

The more time we spent together, the more I learned about him and his life. He told me about his mom, his dad - everything. I did just the same. I told him about my mom, my dad, my siblings - everything.

Perhaps we enjoyed spending so much time together because it was a sweet escape from our houses that weren’t homes. But every time we did hang out, we just got closer and closer, and by the end of the summer, I knew my feelings perfectly clear.

I love Spencer.

If missing that pool party at Melody Hanes was what it took to find the absolute love of my life, then what a small price to pay it was. I wouldn’t have traded a million pool parties for that one chance encounter with Spencer at the science fair.

One day, we were pulling into his driveway after having a picnic at the country club, and I’d just let him out of the car, when unconsciously, I said, “Bye, Spence! Love you!”

He caught the words faster than I did. He looked like a deer in headlights, and it took me at least two seconds more to figure out why. That entire day I’d been thinking about saying it, but by the end, I decided it’d be better not to, and yet, it just came out anyway.

“You love me?”

There were two ways I could’ve answered. The first was to deny it and say that I only meant that I loved him like a friend. The second was to be brave and validate my unintentional confession.

In the heat of the moment, I chose the latter.

“Yes.” I nodded, smiling from my own courage. You only live once right?

In a cruel twist of fate, Spencer never tried to speak, and instead, ran to his front door.

“Spencer!” I yelled. “What are you-”

He gave me one last look over his shoulder before he opened the door and closed it right behind him. That was the last I ever saw him.

I learned, that day, that you do only live once.

But you can die over and over again.

From that point on, he’s lived in my mind as the one that never was.

Regret and shame manifested on Spencer’s face. “I never wanted to hurt you.” He dejectedly began. “But I was young and-and dumb and just ... so scared. God, I was so scared.” He finally looked up, if for no other reason than to gauge my reaction. “I liked you so much, but I, I just couldn’t open myself up to the possibility of being hurt by another person I loved.”

Much like my own life, Spencer’s was riddled with traumatic experiences. Except rather than being expected to take care of younger siblings, he had to take care of his mom. And having to be a parent to your own parent? That’s something I would never wish upon anyone else.

“I ... I get it.” It was a sweet surrender, my words. After years of pent-up aggression borne from humiliation, rejection, and deep sadness, I could finally understand. “But as selfish as it sounds, I wish your past hurt hadn’t gotten in the way of our potential happiness.”

He took each of my hands in his, encasing them with palms of warmth. “Then don’t let the same thing happen right now. Don’t let the stupid, broken teenager I was cloud your judgement of the man I am now. Let me prove to you that I’ve changed.”

I stood there silently, an eerie parallel to how Spencer reacted to my confession eleven years ago.

“When I saw you, it felt like a second chance. A second chance to do what I was too afraid to do back then. And I couldn’t let myself make the same mistake twice.” His eyes were piercing through my soul. Every word plucked at my heartstrings, until I could no longer keep up with the symphony they were playing.

There was the slightest hesitation behind it, but I did inch forward. And in no time at all, Spencer saw the movement and made his own.

His hands released mine and shot straight for my cheeks to cup them gently, while kissing me firmly. He wasn’t the same shy boy he was, and this kiss was only proof of that. The way his lips were moving so fervently made me weak at the knees. He was so desperate and needy, like even with our lips touching, he still wasn’t close enough to me. Unleashed upon me was years of yearning wrapped in prominent lust.

“I love you.” He blurted clumsily on my lips. I didn’t return the sentiment, but that wasn’t why he said it. He wanted to say it so I’d know, not so that I’d say it back.

“You should know,” I muttered between kisses. “I’m not leaving D.C. until tomorrow morning.”

The biggest smirk creeped onto his face. Bastard.

Once we’d exhausted all the things we could possibly do in public, we ran to the nearest cab we could find and exhausted all the things we could do in that, too.

It was already past midnight when we arrived at Spencer’s apartment, and though we should’ve been quiet so as not to disturb the neighbors, we were still breaking out into a fit of giggles like a bunch of teenagers sneaking around as we ran up the stairs. We hadn’t even made it past the doormat, before he seized my hips in his hands and spun me back towards him. Forcefully, he pressed me against the door while simultaneously unlocking it. That shut me up real good, lemme tell you.

As soon as we crossed the threshold, he gave me a reprieve when he held me closer so as to stop pinning me against the door. In an effort to do the impossible, we stumbled through his apartment in a frenzy trying to undress each other while maintaining our bodily contact. With one giant tug of the zipper on my back, my dress fell to the ground. To his atonement, he left me in just a thong. Whereas he was much too overdressed in my opinion.

No sooner did I gracelessly unbutton his shirt than we ran into a plant against the wall. Our smiles practically ruined the kiss at the sound of the crash, but it remained nonetheless. I knew I was in for something, when Spencer paused to wait for me to unbuckle his belt. That was the first time we ever really stopped in place, but just as I anticipated, I was in for it.

When I finally freed his waist of the garment, he just as quickly placed his hand on the back of my thigh, and in one swift motion, hoisted me into the air high enough to allow my legs to wrap around his waist. My arms were loose around his neck and the feeling of his warm hands touching my bare skin sent a chill down my spine.

Due to Spencer’s essential hand placement on my body, I had to be the one to fumble with his bedroom’s doorknob until it finally gave way. Once more, we staggered through his room before he let our lips break apart to lightly toss me onto the bed. I giggled at the squeak of the bed, driving him visibly crazy.

He hastily unzipped his own dress pants, while I propped myself up on my elbows. When he met me on the bed, he hovered over me to the point of having to lay back down again just to see him clearly. He felt too far away so I drew him nearer by lacing my hand through his soft curls. I twirled one around my finger, which must’ve been too merciful for him to handle.

He placed his hand on the back of mine and slid it down to his cheek. He held my hand there for a moment, leaning into the skin of my palm prior to placing a chaste kiss on it.

He didn’t need to say it again for me to know what he was thinking.

I love you.

The anticipation was killing me and in the most impatient manner, I pulled him down to my level, mimicking his similar habit of face-grabbing during a kiss. I knew his hands would’ve flown to my face the way they did just minutes ago, but one was too preoccupied keeping himself up and the other was busy toying with the band of my thong. I shivered at the sensation of him slipping one finger under the material and letting it glide over my tender skin right above my heat.

“Spencer,” I mumbled in a kiss to bring his attention back to me. Although I was certainly interested to know the hidden talents of Spencer Reid and his fingers, I was restless. I’d been waiting years for this moment, and unlike most people, I didn’t want to wait another second. “I need you now.”

He pulled his head back so he could get a full view of my face to examine my sincerity. He wanted to know if I was sure, and my eyes told him such. He nodded in acknowledgement with such speed that I was sure he was craving this as much as I was.

Rather than looking at where our bodies were about to meet, I had to close my eyes so I could fully feel everything without any other sense taking that away from me. In a painfully slow manner, he lined himself up at my entrance. At first, he only lightly pushed in, and it was this slacken movement that made me cry out and grip his shoulders for stability.

He pushed further in until he was fully sheathed inside of me. There was a slight moment of regret for not letting him engage in foreplay before, but that quickly went away when the pain turned to pleasure. He gained more confidence in himself with each stroke, and I could feel it. The more powerfully he thrust, the more I felt myself tightening around him. The over simulation was a stark contrast from the stimulation I denied and so the sensation I was feeling was only heightened by the absence of it before. For that very reason, I knew I was already close. And maybe he knew it, too and just as sweet revenge, he decided to send me over the edge by pulling my leg over his shoulder to thrust into me a new angle. As I’m sure he predicted, I threw my head back as tears began to prick the corners of my eyes. He rode the ever exquisite border between pain and pleasure, and my tears were a manifestation of that. Not even a minute passed, before I tried to moan but pathetically failed, not even being able finish the pitiful wail without the both of us finishing together.

Our heavy panting synchronized and reverberated back to us while he slowed down his pace and pulled out.

Perhaps in the heat of the moment, we lost all logic and reason, considering that even up till now, neither of us had realized that he didn’t use a condom.

But what would eventually happen in the future as a result of this action, or inaction, would surely make us remember.

Spencer lowered himself down to kiss me breathlessly; strands of his hair clung to his forehead as sweat glimmered on both of us. Not until we were ready did we make our way to the bathroom so he could help clean me up. Once we returned, I gathered my clothes, but he made sure to grab my panties before I could even notice.

“Have you seen -“ I cut myself off when I saw what was dangling in his hands.

“Looking for this?” He teased.

All my energy had been spent on him that I couldn’t be bothered to fight for them back.

“Keep ‘em.” I smirked, my hand reaching down to pick up his jacket off the floor and hold it up. “Consider it a fair trade.”

No arguments from him.

Needless to say, I did end up finding a place to stay the night. Where and with whom you might ask?

Well, you can probably figure that one out for yourself.

_ _ _

I wish I could tell you I got a good night’s rest, and I could - it just wouldn’t be the truth.

Spencer and I spent the rest of the night just talking. We filled each other in on nearly ever second of the past 11 years, and once again, I found myself reverting back to the teenager I was at the science fair. The entire world revolved around us as we spoke to each other effortlessly, like no time had passed. Even in the periods of silence, I felt comfortable.

Spencer and I were lying on our sides facing one another when I felt compelled to profess that “I can’t talk this way with anyone. It’s just you.”

He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear with a small smile on his lips. He didn’t need to say that he felt the same way because I already knew. His hand never left my face but instead made its descent down my jawline and stopped at my chin. He raised his thumb to reach my lower lip, letting the pad of his finger graze over the soft skin of my lip.

It felt like he was tracing every detail of my body, running his eyes over every inch at least twice so as to fully commit everything to his memory.

At last, the tension broke when he positioned his hand comfortably at the back of my neck, bowing his head forward to kiss me. This one was quite different than our first, for it was gentler and warmer. We weren’t forcing ourselves to make up for lost time. In fact, this kiss was saying, “We’ve got plenty of time.”

Plenty of time indeed. Which we were happy to spend making love again.

And I will be the first to admit that if our first round of unprotected sex didn’t solidify our future predicament, this time certainly did.

Six Weeks Later ...

“Hello?” Clearly frustrated, Emilia waved her hand in front of my face to harness me back to earth. I hadn’t realized I zoned out until she scoffed at me. “Did you hear anything I just said?”

“No, sorry. Could you repeat it one more time?”

She set down the papers in front of her and sighed unhappily. “What’s going on with you? You’ve been so distant lately.”

It hurt to hear, even though it was the truth. I wasn’t intentionally being despondent, but it’s hard to be present when there’s so much occupying your mind, and there was one thing in particular that was keeping me up late at night recently.

My period has always been irregular. For as long as I’ve had it, I’ve always missed a few weeks, then it would become consistent, then it would be sporadic again. In fact, there was one year where I only had four periods total. So it didn’t strike me as odd when I realized three days ago that my last period was about seven weeks ago.

What did strike me as odd was the other symptoms I was experiencing. Menstruation cycles are known to closely mimic the symptoms of pregnancy, but with the knowledge that my period wasn’t coming, it was disconcerting to me that I was suffering the discomforts without the actual period itself.

To me, there was only one clear explanation for this anomaly.

I was pregnant.

Earlier in the day, I bought a pregnancy test and was late to work because of it. If Emilia hadn’t been suspicious of my behavior before, showing up late only made her suspicion greater.

I didn’t know when I’d take it, probably at home after work, but the anticipation was eating away at me. I would pace around the truck until Emilia finally told me to stop because the vehicle wouldn’t stop swaying with my every movement. I was biting my nails and chewing on each little piece that grew back just to bite it back down to the nub. My hands couldn’t stop shaking, my breathing wouldn’t slow down. I was a hysterical mess.

I didn’t tell Spencer any of my concerns, of course, but being as perceptive as he is, he noticed my strange mannerisms despite my best efforts to hide them.

“Your breathing just got faster. Are you feeling okay?” He paused the movie we were watching to check in on me one time. It should be known that the scene that caused my heavier breathing was a scene of a woman finding out she was pregnant and being absolutely devastated. I quickly brushed it off as just being too warm, to which he turned on his air conditioning. Luckily for me, he didn’t make the connection.

And it’s not that I didn’t want to tell Spencer - I really did - but why should I make a fuss about something if there ended up being nothing to worry about? That would just be extra stress, and the last thing a new, blossoming relationship needs is additional strain.

So without Spencer, I had to opt for the next best thing - my sister.

I’d reached my wits end, and I couldn’t keep up the act any longer. I was walking on eggshells with practically everyone I knew, and I’d sooner go crazy if I didn’t tell someone what I was really feeling. So in response to her question, I finally told the truth.

“I think I might be pregnant.”

You can imagine the shock on my sister’s face. Emilia’s jaw became one with the floor as her eyes widened so big I thought they would pop out of her head.

“You’re pregnant?” Already her eyes were welling up with tears of joy.

“I don’t know yet.” I put my arms around her to keep her calm and stable while the emotions began overpowering her. I wanted it to serve as a reminder to not get her hopes up, otherwise she’d get mine up, too.

“Well, have you taken a test?”

I reached for my purse behind her and rummaged through it until I finally retrieved the box. Holding it up, I reluctantly suggested, “I thought maybe you could be there for me when I did?”

She squealed with joyful elation, practically shattering the window pane with the high pitch of her voice. On top of that, she was jumping up and down with elegant grace that I had to wonder how her pregnant body could even manage to do such a thing.

“Of course, I will! Come, come, let’s go.”

We hopped off the truck and to the nearest restroom, which admittedly wasn’t the nicest of places, nor was the place I ever imagined as a child that I’d be finding out I was pregnant in, but it had to do for now.

When I first came out of the stall, I set the test face down on the sink, so that we wouldn’t see it until it was ready. Emilia set a timer for 10 minutes, but in the meantime, all we could do was wait. Neither of us could stay still; Emilia bounced up and down, rubbing her belly while facilitating some sort of breathing exercise. Meanwhile, I kept tapping my foot impatiently.

Ding! Ding! Ding!

Emilia’s alarm scared the shit out of me, and we both were startled by the blaring sound. It was so jarring, but even that wouldn’t compare to the fear I felt when I realized it was finally time.

“Do you wanna look or should I?” She asked.

“You look.” I said at first. But when she lunged forward to take it, I did, too. “No wait, I should.” Then another moment of hesitation. “No, you do it. I can’t.”

I held my hands over my mouth while I watched her carefully lift the test off the sink, maneuvering it in such a way that only she would see the results. I watched her expression closely for any sign of a reaction, but she was stoic as can be. I couldn’t tell if she was disappointed, happy - nothing. Complete and total poker face.

“Come on, Emilia! What does it say?” I blurted anxiously.

“Well, first, what do you want it to say?”

That was a question I hadn’t considered. I was so busy worrying about what I didn’t know, to pause and think about what I wanted to find out. On the one hand, I’d be ecstatic if the test confirmed that I was pregnant. I’d jump for joy because that was what I always wanted, right? But on the other hand, if it said I wasn’t pregnant, then I’d be sort of sad because I got so close to that lifelong dream. But after that, I’d probably just be relieved to have dodged a bullet.

“I don’t know,” I confessed. “I don’t know-”

“Don’t think. Just tell me. What do you want it to say?”

Without missing a beat, I replied, “Positive.” My sister and I alike were stunned by my answer. “Yeah,” I nodded slowly. “Positive. I want it to say positive.” I repeated, to cement my earnest desire.

Emilia’s facade melted away as she began to shake her head. “I’m sorry, (y/n). There’s only one line.”

We both knew what that meant, even if she didn’t explicitly say it. I sighed dejectedly, which was a surprise to even myself. I didn’t expect to be this disappointed, and yet I was. The knot it my stomach worked itself free, and where that pit used to be was just emptiness. My heart sunk and steadied itself, and my breathing resumed its normal pace.

“Well,” I bit my lip. “I guess that’s that.”

Emilia instantly drew nearer to pull me in for a hug, one I was not ready to accept but welcomed anyway. “I’m sorry, (y/n). But I mean, sometimes tests just come out with false negatives.” With her face still buried in the crook of my neck in our hug, she mumbled, “Not this one, though. This one’s positive.”

Immediately, I retreated from our hug and pulled her in front of my view. The sneaky girl had a huge grin that took up 99% of her face.

“You’re pregnant!” She screamed at the top of her lungs, shaking my body violently. We embraced each other in another hug while simultaneously jumping up and down. “I just wanted to trick you so you would know how you really feel. Now you know!”

And I did know. I did know that I wanted this baby and that I was glad it even existed.

Not long after our mini-celebration did I start to come down from the high of my euphoria. A certain realization dawned on me like a cloud of gray hanging above my head to rain on my parade.

What about Spencer?

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

PART 2 HERE!

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damnlance · 3 years ago

Note

21 please

Klance prompt #21

21. “Where did you get all these bruises from?”

Summary: Keith shows Lance his bruises and tells him where and when he got them.

It’s been eight days since the mission with The Blade.

The failed mission.

Keith can’t stop thinking about it. It's deep in his head. Flashes behind his eyes every time he closes them. It’s all over his body. Literally.

Dark purple and black bruises decorate his arms and legs and torso. Cuts and scrapes on his face. He deserves it, though. It’s his fault the mission went so badly. He swore he had everything under control. He said all the right things that he rehearsed over and over before landing on that freezing cold, yet weirdly humid, planet. He was calm and straightforward, but not demanding in any way. Or.. at least he thinks he wasn’t..

He still doesn’t know when everything went wrong. They were there to make peace with this planet, called Nagara, and offer them all the food, water, and supplies they needed to rebuild their planet after all the destruction and damage from the war 3 years ago. It was Keith’s job as the frontman and spokesperson to provide the aliens of the planet with a state of peace and safety since the war was over now.

But.. somewhere along the lines, Keith said the wrong thing. Or he did the wrong thing? Or he.. said and did the wrong thing at the same time and it made the Nagarians angry? He doesn’t know and he won’t know. His ears are blank to his own voice and words when he tries to replay the moments, seconds, before everything went wrong.

It doesn’t matter. He will never forget the way his mother looked at him after everything.

Her face was filled with pure rage. A look Keith has only ever seen if she was fighting the enemy. Never looking at him. And Kolivan? Oh, don’t even get him started on Kolivan.

Because what happened was so bad, Kolivan put Keith on a temporary suspension. Meaning he would sit out of all things ‘providing humanitarian relief to other planets’ and so on. That meant no meetings, debriefings, or socialization of any kind involving their mission to restore peace, and he would have to watch a four hour long video on what and what not to do during peace negotiations on otherworldly planets.

He was on complete lockdown and it was fucking pathetic.

Not only did he not bother to watch that stupid, long video. Instead, he kept himself locked in his room on the giant galra ship, not interacting with a single galran soul. Including his mother and Kolivan. He couldn't handle the scalding glares or the whispering in the hallways whenever he left to try to get some type of food in him. It was too much. And it’s what everyone was expecting of him. But not as Keith himself. As a mixed breed; a half galra, half human.

After six days of being temporarily suspended, Keith couldn’t handle anything anymore. It was too much and he was tired of literally everything, so he packed up all the shit he could gather, grabbed his trusty space wolf, and left in his galra cruiser without notifying anyone.

Now, here he is, a day out. The ride down to earth is.. pretty uncomfortable to say the least. His cruiser isn’t as big as it looks and with Kosmo tagging along and his giant duffle bag, it’s a little cramped. But it doesn’t matter, because he’s almost to his destination, and he can’t wait to land. Because yeah okay, he’s suspended temporarily, but that doesn’t mean he can’t get away for some quality Keith time. A little vacation never hurt anyone. And he knows just who he wants to spend his free time with.

knock knock knock!

Lance jerks awake. The first thing his tired eyes land on is the ceiling. It’s dimly lit and as his pupils unblur from the sleep still in them, he can hear the static of the tv that’s still on from some boring action movie he decided to watch. The once fresh bowl of popcorn on the coffee table has run cold long ago and the pitter patter of water droplets hitting the roof from the outside can be heard as well.

Lance sits up slowly and stretches his arms above his head, a yawn slipping its way out of his mouth as he tries to register reality around him. It takes him a few seconds to wake up and when he does, he remembers that it was a knock that woke him in the first place. He carefully stands, slipping his bare feet into the slippers on the floor just next to the navy blue colored couch, and walks over to the front door, hugging himself.

As soon as he opens the door, the pouring rain is louder. And Keith is standing there. Soaking wet with a big duffel bag in one hand and a leash that’s connected to the collar on Kosmo’s neck in the other hand.

“Keith!?” Lance is ten times more awake now as he quickly moves aside to let Keith and Kosmo in. “Oh, shit man, you’re soaking wet! Let me go grab some towels!”

“Thanks,” is the first word out of Keith’s mouth. It’s shy and embarrassed but Lance doesn’t pay any mind to it as he rummages through the towel closet next to the hallway bathroom. He comes back and wraps a big towel around Keith’s shoulders, taking the duffle bag from his hand and setting it next to the smaller couch by the bay window in the living room. Lance takes the other towel, kneeling down to begin drying off Kosmo. Kosmo licks his face as he does it and it makes Lance smile, tossing and turning his head away from the alien wolf’s freakishly long tongue. Once he’s finished, Lance stands and finds Keith on the couch, discarding his wet clothes. He walks over and sits on the coffee table directly in front of him.

“Keith?” He asks, the tone in his voice full of wonder and confusion, but also worry.

“I’m fine,” Keith answers, a sigh leaving his lips. He looks at Lance through his long, wet bangs and sends him a weak but reassuring smirk. “I decided it was time for a.. a small break.”

Lance doesn’t look convinced, sitting there twiddling his thumbs. “How small?”

Keith shrugs, losing their eye contact. “Couple weeks, tops.”

“Weeks sound like a long time to be away..” Lance bites his lower lip, his bed head, or couch head in this situation, making Keith want to reach over and pat his hair down. “I feel like there’s something else I’m missing here.”

A sigh. “Later, Lance, okay? I’m tired and wet and cold, and I just want to shower and lay down, if that’s alright?” He finally looks back over to those dark blue eyes in the dark living room and then, a small nod and a smile.

“Sure,” Lance says, this time with more confidence, but his eyes scan over the scrapes and scratches on Keith’s face. “Let me help you out with your suit.”

They both stand and Keith turns around for Lance to unzip it from the back. He moves his long wet hair over his right shoulder and puts his head down. The literal second that Lance grabs that zipper, Keith remembers how his body looks. And if Lance thinks his face is bad, just wait til he sees his body. Keith jerks away and it startles Lance as he almost trips over the coffee table.

“Keith!? What the he-!?”

“I-I just remembered!” Keith looks everywhere but Lance’s eyes now. “I smell horrible underneath this suit a-and I really don’t want you to smell me, so I’ll just head to the bathroom now!”

“What??” Lance scoffs. “A-are you sure?? I don’t mind a little stink, Keith, I’ve smelled you right after a fight with the-!”

“I’m sure.” Keith nods. He sends a nervous smile towards Lance and quickly leans forward to plant a quick kiss to his cheek. He grabs his duffel bag and b lines it for the guest room, closing the door behind him. Lance watches his every move, then turns back to look at Kosmo who is looking right at him.

“What was that about??” He asks the wolf. Kosmo tilts his head, ears popping up. Lance sighs and begins his walk towards his kitchen. “Come on, boy. You must be hungry.”

Keith wipes the foggy mirror with his hand, exhaling a breath of relief from the heavenly shower he just took. He takes the smaller towel from around his neck and dries his hair, ruffling it up in the process. His eyes scan his tired face and exhausted body. The bruises that decorate his pale skin are of dark purples and blues and blacks. They’re eight days old, but they still hurt like crazy. Keith eyes the one right below his left pec. It’s purple with yellow blotches and he presses down on it just to see and the pain that zips down his spine is more than enough warning to tell him to stop. A deep sigh leaves his mouth as he pushes his hair back and ties it up in a messy bun.

knock knock! “Keith? You okay?”

Keith nearly jumps at Lance’s voice. “U-uh, yeah! I’ll be out in a second.”

“Okay.” The concern in Lance’s voice eases. “No rush, though.”

Keith sighs again. He has to tell Lance. Has to show him. Sure, he’ll freak out and never want him to leave again but.. if he gets it over with, there won’t be any more surprises if Lance wants to touch him again.

A soft smile graces Keith’s lips as he thinks about the man just on the other side of the door. They’ve been through a lot. Individually. Together. And even though it’s only been three years, they still suffer through the after effects of the war. They all do.

Lance gets nightmares. About a lot of things. He says his nightmares feel so real, and sometimes it’s hard to decipher if his nightmares really happened or not. It scares him and has left him very vulnerable in more situations than he likes to admit. There’s a lot more than just the nightmares; flashbacks in the middle of the day, jumping at loud noises, never leaving his home because he feels like everywhere he turns, some species-less threat is gonna come out and attack him, Allura’s sacrifice. Yeah. It’s a pretty long list. But with therapy, his family and friends’ support, and Keith, he’s come a very long way to recovery.

Keith on the other hand got most of the paranoia. Even though he still works in space with his galran colleagues, he still can’t help but get that itch underneath his skin that someday, someone will turn on him and try to attack him. It could happen at any time. Any day or night. Anywhere. Because of this fear, he doesn’t get much sleep, and is very overprotective of his friends. Of his mother. Even his space wolf. His knife has become like a permanent extension to his hand, he never goes anywhere without it. Keeps it underneath his pillow, in his back pocket, in his boot, anywhere that’s easy enough to reach so he can defend himself if need be. He’s even accidentally pulled it on all of his friends at least once. Even on Lance, who barely even flinched at the time. It’s safe to say that no one can ever sneak up on him.

And somehow, through all their damage, Keith and Lance still found each other. It wasn’t right away. And it wasn’t planned, either. It’s just.. happened. They barely talked after the war ended, and unpurposely drifted apart. Keith busied himself in his work with The Blade, and Lance distanced himself away from everyone.

But one year ago, around Christmas, Keith came back to spend the holiday with Shiro and Curtis. Little did he know, they were gone for the holidays, so Keith, and Krolia, decided to stay with Lance and his huge family. Lance was so happy to see him, he couldn’t dare to say no. ‘The more the merrier,’ his mother Rosa said. So, while Keith and Lance spent the time shopping together and baking cookies and wrapping gifts and getting drunk on eggnog, Krolia learned a lot of the Christmas Earth traditions and Cuban recipes from Rosa and even got a few surprise presents from Lance’s niece and nephew. She cried because she didn’t know what else to do. Happiness always makes Krolia cry. Keith bought Lance a red Paladin mug with his face on it that he saw at some flea market on one of their stops on some random planet, and Lance bought Keith a giant blanket to keep him warm while he was away in space. The emotions were flying, the eggnog was settling and long story short, they ended up sleeping together, with every ounce of consent they could muster. It’s still one of the greatest nights of Keith’s life.

They’ve been together since then, five months, and even though they don’t have a label on what they are, Keith is happy this way. He likes being label-less with Lance. He likes having a home to come back to, with a warm kitchen, a warm bed, and a warm body. He likes the open space and how much Kosmo and Kaltenecker get along. He likes how much Kosmo adores Lance and his homemade space wolf food, just for him. He likes that Lance buys stuff for him to have when he’s away so he has new things to come back to. New slippers. A new comfy robe. New matching pajamas. A new toothbrush. Keith likes Lance. And everything that they are in the moments they’re together. And although he knows Lance is still grieving over Allura and that it could take a couple more years until he’s ready for a real relationship, Keith would take this over anything. Any day.

As he emerges from the bathroom, he doesn’t bother putting on all of his clothes, just his red paladin boxer briefs. He and Lance have seen each other naked plenty of times, and he’s very comfortable in his skin around Lance. Lance has that effect on him. So when he walks out in just his boxer briefs and a white cotton towel around his neck, he’s got absolutely nothing to hide. Except, maybe not giving Lance a heart attack tonight. Keith hides behind the wall just before the entryway to the living room and curses himself for what he’s about to do.

“H-hey.. Lance?”

“Yeah?” Lance says, something like food in his mouth. “Where are you, man?”

“I’m…” Keith sighs. “Can you just.. cl-close your eyes for a sec.. please?”

“Uh,” Lance shrugs, Keith can hear from his clothes rumpling up. “Sure.”

Keith peeks around the corner and sees that Lance’s eyes are sealed shut. Kosmo is on the floor next to him, sound asleep. His tongue is hanging out just the slightest bit as snores leave his mouth. Keith smiles at the sight and looks back to Lance. He’s so beautiful. This guy has done some much for him and more. Before the war, during, and now after. He’s the greatest guy that Keith could’ve asked for.. greater than that. With that in mind, Keith steps out from behind the wall and walks over to Lance before his brain tells him that this is all a bad idea. The living room is still dim, only illuminated by the television and the lamp next to the couch Lance is sitting on, but it’ll be more than enough light to see Keith’s battered body.

Once Keith is in front of Lance, he closes his own eyes, fists clenched down by his sides.

“Okay.. now on the count of three, you can open your eyes.. but don’t freak out. Got it?”

Lance lets out a small snort. “Yes, Keef, I got it.”

Keith rolls closed eyes and sticks his nails into the palms of his sweaty hands. “Alright.. one.. two.. three..”

Lance’s eyes open. The breath that gets caught in his throat is enough to send Keith’s gut dropping out of his ass and into the floor.

“Holy shit!” Lance is up, eyes roaming Keith’s entire body. “W-what the fu-!?”

Keith opens his eyes and is face to face with Lance. They’re almost the same height, Keith’s got him by a few inches easily, and the look on Lance’s face is enough to send Keith into cardiac arrest.

“I-I’m fine, Lance, really-”

“No, you’re not!” Lance cuts him off, wanting to reach out but too afraid to do so. Keith’s tone, muscular body is a canvas of dark colors and spots of different shapes. No wonder he jumped earlier, Lance could have hurt him even more than he already looks. A shaky breath leaves Lance’s mouth as he meets Keith’s dark eyes. “What happened to you, love?”

Love. The pet name actually sends Keith’s into cardiac arrest, he’s sure of it. But as soon as Lance cups his face with both of his big, warm hands, it’s over for Keith. His eyes begin to water and his throat closes up on him so that he can’t talk. Tears fall down his cheeks as he looks down to the floor between him and Lance. His bottom lip quivers and when Lance tilts his head back up to look at him again, a sob slips its way out of Keith’s mouth.

“Oh, Keith,” Lance coos, bringing Keith into a big, gentle hug. Keith hugs him back, sobbing into his shoulder. “Baby..” Lance whispers.

Keith just continues to sob. He didn’t even know he had been holding back for so long. But here, in Lance’s arms, he can feel everything that’s been bottled up coming out of his throat and from his teary eyes. Lance only continues to hold him, rubbing his soft hands up and down Keith’s pale bruised back.

Keith doesn’t know how long this goes on. How long he cries. How long Lance holds him. But somewhere in the middle of it all, they’ve moved to Lance’s room. Keith sits on Lance’s bed, wiping his red, teary eyes and snotty nose with a tissue. Lance rummages through his bathroom drawer for some numbing ointment that he recently bought for his back and feet from working out on the farm five days a week. When he returns, Keith is done crying. He sits up straight and removes the white towel from around his neck. Lance stands in front of him and kneels between his open legs. He stares at them. At the bruises and scratches and scabbed gashes.

“I..” he starts, clearing his throat from what has to be a lump forming. “I got this.. numbing cream. It’ll help a lot.”

Keith stares down at him as he talks, his voice is so quiet and gentle.

“Can I..?” Lance asks, looking up to meet Keith’s red eyes.

“Yeah.” Keith nods.

Lance uncaps the ointment, squirting a good amount into the palm of his hand. He sets the tube down and rubs his hands together. Then, he gently, gently, places them on Keith’s bruised thighs and begins rubbing the ointment around.

Keith clenches his jaw, hands fisting in the comforter on Lance’s bed. He lets out the air from his nostrils and feels the pain slowly turning into relief. He looks down and watches as Lance works his hands in circular motions, gently rubbing the ointment onto Keith’s injuries.

“..keith…?“ Lance whispers, eyes focused on his hands covered with ointment that’s slowly making his hands numb.

“Yeah..?” Keith answers back, looking at the ceiling of Lance’s room. Those glow in the dark stars are still there.

“How…” Lance clears his throat. “W.. Where did you get all these bruises from?”

Keith sighs. “..blade mission.. gone wrong..”

Something in Lance’s eyes darken. “What? W-when?? How?? W-Where!?”

“Um..” Keith can’t even look at Lance anymore. The worry in his eyes is too much. “A.. Week ago.. on some planet called Nagara. It was.. all my f.. my faul..” The tears are back. Keith blinks them away and sniffs quietly, looking down at his hands in his lap. He can feel himself sinking back to that day, to that mission. He remembers it all so clearly.

They landed on Nagara. The planet was really cold. He and The Blade were greeted by a tall figure who looked similar to an earth bear. They were big, round, had dark eyes all around, sharp teeth and a snout. Three rows of antenna grew out of their foreheads as well as horns of all shapes and sizes going down their backs and spines. And giant sharp claws for fingers. They looked vicious. And they made it very clear that they didn’t like the Galra.

Keith made the first move. He spoke in a calm voice and made his intentions clear; he and The Blade were only there to help and provide the planet with anything they needed. They had food, water, clothes, and building supplies ready on their ships and were 100% committed to fixing up this planet and its species from the after effects of the war. But their King, King Arxuan, wouldn’t let them go any further until they explained what they were doing there. So Keith did.

He explained it all. Voltron won. Zarkon dead. Princess Allura saved the universe. Keith is the red and black Paladin. The Blade of Marmora is good. The Blade of Marmora is here to help. But Keith being Keith.. he’s not too good with his words. Everything sounded fine in his head. And when it came out of his mouth? Completely different.

“We are The Blade of Marmora,” Keith started. “We’re here to provide supplies to your helpless planet that has clearly been affected by the war and-”

Record scratch. Yeah, poor choice of words on Keith’s end. But they left his mouth so fast that his brain couldn't keep up. The King and his subjects didn’t like it one bit and before Keith could keep up with his offensive word vomit, the Nagarians drew their weapons and like a firework, everything went up in flames.

Keith didn’t mean to offend anyone.. and he didn’t mean it like that. But the Nagarians didn’t know or care how he meant it. They attacked within seconds of Keith’s poor choice of words and thank god for his team’s fast reflexes, otherwise his head would not be on his shoulders and he wouldn’t be sitting here on Lance’s bed.

Legs criss crossed on Lance’s bed, the strong minty scent of numbing cream filling the room.

His fingers locked with Lance’s as Lance rubs his thumb over Keith’s fingers.

Gently.

Domestically.

Lovingly.

Keith feels warmth bloom in the pit of his stomach as he stares down at Lance who’s sitting on the floor in front of him. Those deep blue eyes staring back so affectionately. Altean markings just barely glowing in Lance's dim room.

Lance swallows and squeezes Keith’s hand. “Are you alright?”

“I am now..” Keith shrugs, looking at the floor. “But these last few days have been hell.. and the guilt I have for almost killing my team has.. been..”

Lance nods, understanding. He comes up off of the floor and sits next to Keith. The second his arm goes up, Keith is there leaning into his side, nuzzling into his neck. His cheeks are wet with tears again and quiet sobs leave his throat.

“It’s okay, Keith,” Lance nods, planting a gentle kiss atop Keith’s head. “We all make mistakes. Some worse than others. but.. what matters now is that you’re here. You’re alive. And safe.”

Keith nods, sniffling as tears and snot run down his face. He’s had everything balled up until this very moment. The guilt. The shame. The way Kolivan and his mother looked at him. The way the other Blade members blamed him. None of that mattered anymore. Because here, in Lance’s heavenly embrace, he was fine. He was gonna be alright.

“You’re safe, love..” Lance reassures him. “I’ve got you.”

And he does. Lance holds Keith tight, holds him close. Lance lets him cry and doesn’t judge him. He’s just.. there for him. And it’s everything Keith needed.

Keith wakes up in Lance’s bed.

Blanket crowding his entire body. His long hair is literally everywhere around his face and neck and shoulders. The golden sun is shining through the blinds of the window, making him squint a tiny bit, and the pain from the bruises on his body are somewhat bearable..

There’s a smell hitting his nostrils that makes his mouth water and stomach grumble in a hunger he didn’t know he had. When he sits up, Kosmo is right there beside him, curled up in a ball, staring at him. Keith smiles at the space wolf and reaches to pet his head.

“Hey there, boy.” He rubs behind Kosmo’s ears, chuckling a little when Kosmo nuzzles into his hand. Suddenly, flashes of last night come flooding back to Keith’s mind and he groans out, covering his face. Sure, crying his eyes out all night long and being comforted by Lance, his friend-boyfriend-whatever-they-are was nice, BUT crying your eyes out all night long and and being comforted by Lance, his friend-boyfriend-whatever-they-are took a lot out of Keith. He’s tired. Mentally. Physically. Emotionally. He just wants to spend the rest of his time away from work relaxing with the only person he wants to be with in the entire universe. And Kosmo.

And as if on cue..

“Keith?” Lance’s voice is soft. “You awake, yet?”

Keith looks over to the door and sees Lance popping his head into his own room. When their eyes meet, Keith can feel the undeniable spark between them and it causes his heart to do something funny beneath his rib cage. He smiles a bit shyly and brings his legs up to a criss-cross position, Lance’s puffy space themed blankets bunching up around Keith’s waist.

“Morning..” Keith answers, tucking his long hair behind his ear.

Lance’s eyes never leave his as the Cuban boy finally enters the room, two plates full of food in each of his hands. Keith eyes the food and his stomach grumbles once again. The noise overthrows the silence in the room and Keith has to put his hands over his stomach to silence the sound. It didn’t work.

“Good morning to you, too,” Lance chuckles, setting Keith’s plate into his lap. “Guess I don’t have to ask if you’re hungry, huh?”

“Shut up..” Keith flushes and looks down at his full plate of food. Organic eggs, two fluffy pancakes, sweet turkey bacon and a buttery biscuit with strawberry jam decorate his plate beautifully. All of his favorite breakfast foods right there in front of him. Made by the man right beside him with a matching plate of food for himself.

“Dig in!” Lance says, his mouth already full of food. Keith doesn’t waste a second and obeys the words from Lance's mouth. They eat in a comfortable silence, Kosmo moving to the ground to collect any scraps they throw his way. After a while, Keith clears his throat and musters up the courage to look at Lance’s beautiful face.

“H-hey, uh.. Lance?” He whispers.

“Yeah?” Lance is staring at him now, blue eyes boring into him again.

Keith can’t breathe and he finds himself having to take a really deep breath before he continues.

“Thank you,” he pushes out of his throat, “for everything. For letting me cry in front of you, and.. for not judging me for it.”

Lance stops chewing and swallows. Keith quickly takes him all in before he gets caught; Lance’s messy brown curls, his gorgeous tan skin all over his bare torso, those cute little freckles all over his body, his Altean marks. Everything about him is so breathtaking and Keith can barely keep his heart at bay.

“You don’t have to thank me,” Lance says, breaking Keith’s thoughts. Their eyes meet again. “I’m here for you no matter what, Keith. You have to know that by now.”

“I-I do,” Keith nods, tucking his lower lip between his teeth. He sets his plate onto the bedside table next to him and scoots closer to Lance. As if completely on autopilot, he grabs Lance’s face and forces their eyes to meet once more. He stares deeply into those ocean blue eyes and fights the awkward urge to look away.

“Lance,” he starts, exhaling a breath that smells like eggs, bacon, and syrup, “I love you, so much. Thank you for always comforting me and being my right hand man.. you.. you are the light in my life, and I..”

Tears fill Keith’s eyes and to his surprise, Lance also sports some in his own eyes.

“I know,” Lance whispers, gaze moving from Keith’s eyes, to his lips, and back. “Like I said, you don’t have to thank me. I would do anything for you. Because.. I love you, too.”

The second Lance’s plate is out of the way, the two boys are kissing so fast, the air in their lungs can’t keep up. Lance pulls Keith close by the oversized t-shirt around his torso and clings to him for dear life. Keith does the same and cups Lance’s cheeks. Their kisses are full of passion, desperation, and love. And when they part, Lance is trailing those same kisses down Keith’s jaw, to his neck and his collarbones, kissing every visible bruise he can reach.

“I’m so happy you’re safe, my love,” He says between kisses on Keith’s neck. As he pulls back, Keith is smiling like Lance is his whole world.

“Me, too, Lance,” Keith answers, kissing the corner of Lance’s syrupy mouth, his cheeks and neck flushing red. “Me, too.”

-END-

(send me a klangst prompt)

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hobidreams · 4 years ago

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march 1858.

a visitor you never expected; a day you will never forget.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: fluff words: 1.3k contains: historical au, child!yoongi, softness historical context: korean tradition dictates that people age up at the start of the new year (Jan 1), not on their actual birthday. traditionally, they also add an extra year as they consider the baby 1 year old at birth, not 0 years old. a/n: this drabble is sponsored by a donation to Black Lives Matter.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble four. start from the beginning?

For the entire week leading up to March 9th, as it has been for the past eight years, the palace lights up with an anticipatory hum, a buzz of excitement. Queen Jeonghui is in especially high spirits as she oversees the thorough cleaning of the grand hall and the preparation of the customary celebratory dishes, made with lavish ingredients especially imported from foreign traders. For the eunuchs, the guards, and all the palace occupants, it’s a relief to see the queen so pleased after what had happened a few months prior. Even as she cradles her left arm, hidden by a swath of silk, the smile never leaves her lips as she thinks of the prince and his impending, official tenth birthday.

You don’t pay much attention to the festivities. Or to be more accurate, you don’t have time to. As much as you’d like to pretend, the decorations aren’t for you. Anyhow, your mother has been overwhelmed with work lately as one of the few uinyeo in the palace, and as the head of them all. You are but a fledging apprentice, still learning how to diagnose and properly treat the illnesses that so easily strike the ladies of the court. If only the male physicians could ease your mother’s burden. But social convention must be followed. Even tonight, on Prince Yoongi’s official birthday, she cannot join the feast even though she has been invited personally by the queen.

“Mom, Da-ri-nim’s cramping has gone down,” you report happily, steps a little lighter as you walk over to where mother is hunched over an assortment of herbs. She’s crushing ingredients together with a mortar and pestle.

“Oh? That’s wonderful.” Mother brushes away a few strands of hair from her face. “She should be stable for the rest of the night, but we should keep an eye on her.”

“To make sure she doesn’t bleed too much?”

She smiles. “That’s exactly right.”

“Is the new medicine done yet?”

“Almost there.”

You lean against the desk, watching how the small pot of water simmers above the fire. “I reeaally hope this one works.”

“Me too. The extra amount of mugwort should be effective. Do you remember its effects?”

“Hmm. Most useful for thinning blood, increasing circulation, and…” You look hopefully at her. “Relieving muscle pain?”

Much to your relief, she nods, pride swelling in her chest. “Smart girl.”

The music outside does a crescendo then, notes floating through the cracks of the doors with sounds of laughter. The drums pound out a practiced beat, seeming to shake the ground itself with revelry. You’ve seen the dancers practicing out in the courtyard a few days earlier, and you can only imagine how lovely they must look now, all dressed up in handcrafted skirts and gauzy scarves. You wish you could see it! You’ve always loved to dance. Used to try on mom’s only fancy pink hanbok even though it was much too big for you, then spin round and round and round in front of the mirror to watch the skirt float. She’d scolded you harshly after: how could you possibly dirty or ruin a present from the king himself?! The first gift she had ever earned for her essential help with delivering the precious crown prince. But there are always more dances and performances. This is more important, and that’s okay too.

“We’ll go next year.” Mother says as if she can read your mind (or maybe you’re just bad at hiding your disappointment). “I promise.”

Before you can respond, the door slides open.

“Su-uinyeo-nim!”

“What’s wrong?”

One of the newer eunuchs stands in the frame, his face pale. “A dancer has collapsed! We didn’t want to move and bring her here, so please come with me!” He bows quickly, fingers twisted in the long folds of his sleeves.

“Understood.” Mother reaches aside for the parcel she keeps for emergencies. “Let it boil. Take care of the patients. We’re still going to celebrate after I get back, okay?” she says to you, then disappears with the eunuch.

You do as you’re told, checking on the women who lie on the beds. You replace the damp cloths on their foreheads that have become lukewarm with sweat, and help those who can up, so they can have some water. Many of them are recovering well from the ruthless winter sickness that swept through a whole group of maids; their fevers are mostly subsiding and coughs calming. Still, anything could happen.

When another noise comes from outside, you turn your head. Standing, you put one hand on the door handle and pull.

“Mom, did you forget—”

Your mouth drops slightly as you meet a dark gaze, one at your eye level and marred with a thin scar.

“W-Wangseja-jeonha!” You immediately drop into a bow, ninety degrees, with your back as straight as you can make it. You hold it for five long seconds. He’s still staring at you when you come up again. “M-May I ask why you are paying a visit here…?”

“I made Eunuch Kim sneak me away.” Despite his age, he sounds composed and mature, befitting a future king. He gestures casually beside him to where an exceedingly tall man stands, holding something covered with cloth. “Tray.”

Eunuch Kim steps forward, his cheek slightly indented from his polite smile as he takes away the covering to reveal a bowl, with silver utensils lying aside it. Steam rises immediately, transparent as it curls into the air alongside a comforting smell.

“This is…”

“Janchi guksu.” Celebratory noodles, which must have been brought directly from the feast. Undoubtedly prepared with the highest quality ingredients, and delicious. “It’s your birthday too, isn’t it?”

That was probably one of the last things you thought he’d say. Your heart squeezes; it’s a sort of weird, nervous glee at being unexpectedly seen. “T-That is—Yes! Oh, yes, it, it is!”

While you always thought it was fascinating coincidence to share the same birth date, you’d also long resigned to be overlooked by most in favor of him. Mother always brings you a new hairpin from town, and makes you savory seaweed soup in your own private celebration, and that’s enough. But now, to have the crown prince himself here! You haven’t seen him since that November night, and never this up close.

While his face remains impassive, it seems to soften at your smile. “Good. Then take this.”

You accept the tray that Eunuch Kim offers with grateful hands. You stare into the bowl with your heart pounding. “Can I ask… how did you know, seja-jeonha?”

“Mama told me.”

Your grin grows wider. Next to your mother, the queen has always been your role model. Kind, beautiful, and endlessly caring. Even that night, she had been willing to sacrifice herself for her son. And it seems the prince has learned compassion from the very best.

“I don’t know how to thank you. You didn’t have to trouble yourself, coming all this way.”

“Seja-jeonha. We only have a minute left,” the eunuch reminds in a soft voice.

The prince nods his acknowledgment. You expect him to walk away immediately, but he stays. “A king must protect and take care of his people. And… it’s a thank you. For that night.” He shifts his weight from one foot to another, almost nervous. “Eat well.” Only then does he stalk off with a swish of his opulent navy robes.

You stand there for a minute longer, watching him with admiration in your heart until your grumbling stomach makes you turn in.

Tonight, as the delicate noodles and light soup warm your body from the inside out, you make a promise to yourself. As you renew your fealty to the royal family, you add a new caveat, a second, private oath: unabridged loyalty to the crown prince, to the future king, to Min Yoongi himself.

#ficswithluv #bts imagines #bts scenarios #yoongi fluff #bts fluff #yoongi x reader #historical au #min yoongi #daechwita #rain writes #moonlit throne #a bit of a break haha :')#also tags aren't working again so #that's lovely :(

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wizkiddx · 4 years ago

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honeymoon morning

Honestly I apologise in advance bcos this is pure sickening, god awful fluff. It’s shit bit fluffy af and warmed my cold heart of stone a little ahah. Kinda imagined that its actress!reader too, but doesn’t acc have to be (oh and for the purposes of the story also married Haz off to the readers best mate). On a real, really didn’t excute the idea the way I wanted but hey-ho. T x

Summary: the morning after the wedding and there are some beans to be spilt in between all the happiness

The best morning of her life. Y/n knew it would be just that. I mean, it already was - she woke up in the arms of the man she loved, that she could now call her husband forever and ever. Tom looked glorious; still asleep as he lay on his back, slightly tilted toward her side and his arm outstretched as if he was waiting for her to come back to bed and join him. Even unconscious, Y/n still wanted to please him in everyday possible so she did just as he wanted. Tiptoeing from the doorway on their ensuite, she pulled the cord of the white silk robe slightly tighter round her stomach. Before she lay down next to her husband, she smiled gently and pulled her still wet hair to one side, smelling like apples of the hotels free sample shampoos. As if rehearsed, as soon as she settled on the white pillows, ontop of Tom’s outstretched arm, he rolled almost ontop of her, throwing his other arm over her side and squeezed. Y/n couldn’t repress that little giggle his actions illicited, making the brunette around her groan and mumble something incoherent meanwhile pressing his head further into her hair.

Which made him pull back and slowly blink awake with a scowl. Her hair was still wet.

“Hi husband” She grinned, loving the way his scowl at being awoken morphed into this shit eating smile.

“My beautiful wife huh?” Tom tucked a clump of damp hair behind her ear before letting his palm rest on her glowing cheek and just staring into her seemingly ever changing eyes. No matter how many times he looked into them, Tom always managed to see something different and exciting in them. Something else to fall deeply and helplessly in love with.

“Yesterday was…”

“Everything.” Tom finished off for her, before pressing his lips to hers as she shifted to lean over him.

“Uh-huh. But now it’s today. Which means… you gotta get up!” She eventually got to the point, sitting up and therefore avoiding his second attempt to meet lips, once again making him pout.

“Is it too much to ask to just spend a day in bed with my wife?” His wife. Boy did that sound like music to her ears.

“Yes because everyone is waiting downstairs for us at breakfast!”

“They can wait there till tomorrow for all I care.” Indignantly, Tom closed his eyes pretending to go back to sleep.

“And… because I got you a marriage present.” That got his attention. Eyes flying open, as he pushed himself up so he was sitting against the headboard of the big four poster bed, Tom looked quizzically at his wife. His wife.

Giggling at his oh-so-predictable reaction, Y/n leaned off the bed to pickup the small gift wrapped box on the floor.

“Y/n you really shouldn’t have I didn’t know we were doing this-“

“Oh shut up and open it would you?”

“Unless this is a toy for… you know, then you really should have.” Even half asleep, Tom still had something on his mind.

“Tom! Just open it before you ruin the moment anymore.” She wasn’t really mad. She was smirking and jokingly rolling her eyes at his idiocy. He was her idiot though. With a confused look, Tom followed her instructions, carefully unwrapping the silvery gift paper to reveal a navy blue velvet box. He looked up momentarily to question Y/n, who just gestured for him to open it. Going at a painfully slow speed, he lifted it up to reveal an old and tattered watch. It had a cracked glass front yet Tom could still see the ‘Rolex’ logo branded onto the face of it.

Not going to lie - he was confused. Y/n knew he already had multiple nice watches he wore regularly. All of those were in better nick than this.

“I umm-“

“It’s an old Rolex. I thought you could do it up like your dad did for you.” She whispered, with this massive smile just because she knew Tom still didn’t understand.

“Oh I er… I mean I could I’m not sure-“ Tom stammered, she seemed so proud of herself, yet he couldn’t really understand why and didn’t want to disappoint her. To be fair him being a bit slow wasn’t an uncommon thing, Tom would hold hid hands up and admit he wasn’t the smartest. Whereas and completely unknown to most people, Y/n was really really clever, I mean she was nearly going to be a doctor. That was one of the things Tom absolutely loved too, the way she would be able to make leaps and figure things out the average person would just stare at confused. So fair to say, she was used to explaining things to him.

“You know your Dad gave it to his first born on their eighteenth, your eighteenth birthday. And I thought you could do with all the 18 years because I dont fancy you as a professional watch-fixer.” Tom was still absolute clueless, waiting for more of an explanation.

“18 years?” The number seeming a bit random but oddly specific to Tom.

“Well you know… 18 years from now when your son or daughter turns into an adult. When they aren’t our little baby anymore.” She whispered, taking his hands in her and pressing it against her ever so slightly bloated stomach.

And then finally it clicked. His eyes grew impossibly wide, pressing lightly on her silk-clad stomach as he sat forwards.

“You’re pregnant?”

“Tommy we are going to be parents!” She smiled whilst nodding, totally enamoured by the look of sheer joy on his face.

“This isn’t a joke right?”

“No I swear to you. 12 weeks yesterday.”

“You’re serious? We’re going to be parents?” Y/n just nodded in response this time, before instantaneously Tom’s lips were on hers, pouring all the passion and love and excitement that he could on her. After a few moments they pulled away, yet keeping their faces impossibly close.

“I love you”

“I love you and… well I love them too.” Y/n was so in love with the man in front of him. He just was going to be the best Dad in the world and there was no-one she would rather start this journey with. In complete honesty, yesterday the first thing she’d wanted to do when she saw Tom standing at the altar was tell him. It had been impossible, the last weeks of keeping ‘shtum’. But she’d only found out when she noticed she was 3 weeks late on her period, by which point Tom was away filming. They’d agreed that so they both had a quality honeymoon, to finish any backlog of work before the wedding, so it was a 8 week holiday with just the two of them. It had also made the reunion that much better, having been apart for almost 2 months before the wedding.

“You want to see them? I had the scan really early yesterday morning?” It was an unnecessary question, as soon as Y/n even mentioned it Tom bolted up like an excited puppy. With a knowing laugh, Y/n then slipped her hand under the pillow to produce the little white card and offering it to him. Tom took the card, while with his other hand pulling her flush with his chest so she was sitting half on his lap. Slowly Tom lifted the front of the card, to reveal the black ultrasound print. For all he knew that could be an ultrasound of elephant dung; but the fact that he had it on good authority it was his wife and baby, Tom swore he’d never seen anything more beautiful. Knowing he was more than hopeless at this, Y/n took him through slightly different blobs on the picture, demonstrating the head, an arm, a foot.

“Why didn’t you tell me though? You had to do this by yourself?”

“By the time I found out myself you were already in new york and… well its not something to say over the phone is it?”

“Y/n as perfect as this is, you could’ve sent me a text for all I care. I wouldn’t have let you do this on your own! Have you been sick or-“

“Not technically on my own… don’t be mad but Y/f/n was there when I took the test, she was the one who said I should.”

“I should’ve guessed that to be fair” Tom rolled his eyes playfully, of course Y/f/n knew they were basically joint at the hip. She probably sensed it with her best friend powers.

“And yeh mornings aren’t very fun but thats supposed to ease now we’re over the first trimester.”

“I-fuck I don’t know what to say… I just love you.”

“And that is all I’ve ever wanted.” She whispered against his lips before they connected once again. It was just so full of gentle, care and love for each other. The moment was just perfect… until her phone rang.

Y/n pulled away, receiving an almost whine from her husband, reaching to answer her phone.

“Hey… yeh yeh I know we are on our way, just had some news to spill… I think he’s happy yeh-“ she giggled, as she watched Tom gently pull back the sides of her robe to reveal her belly. At only 12 weeks, she was barely showing at all but now Tom looked he didn’t understand how he hadn’t noticed last night. “-… I’m not sure let me check hang on” Y/n spoke into the receiver again, Tom already knew the moment it rang it would only be Y/f/n. Only she would have the audacity to interrupt the couple the morning after their wedding.

“Tom so… I kind of made arrangements just incase, because this is a pretty good time just because everyones here. But I figured you might want to keep it a secret for a bit when its just us that know?” He looked toward the window, apparently deep in thought, before turning back to her.

“I’m spoiler king right? Might be safest to tell them before I explode.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeh course, you know I can’t keep a secret, one look at Haz and he’ll know something is up”

“Actually he might already know too-“

“WHAT”

#tomholland #tom holland fluff #tom holland x reader #actress!reader #harrison osterfield

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pepper-up-potion · 4 years ago

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The early hours of the morning (Oliver Wood x Fem!reader)

Summary: Oliver helps reader sneak out so they can spend some time together.

A/n: This was very self indulgent. I wrote it last night when I was thinking about how much I wish I could sneak out and see my boyfriend. Since I can’t because of the lockdown I wrote a fic about it instead. This was initially going to be a blurb and I just went off so I hope you like it.

Warnings: mention of strict parents but other than it’s fluff. Prob writing mistakes. Let me know if you think of any that I missed.

Word count: 2620

(Y/n) paces her room, the letter from Oliver clasped tightly in her hand. She’s so nervous, her stomach is flipping upside down and then rightside up and upside down again. It’s the first week of July. (Y/n) has come back home for the summer to her muggle house in the suburbs. (Y/n)’s parents have always been strict. She was often the first to leave parties when she was little and rarely did her parents let her stay for sleepovers at friends’ houses. When old family friends her age have parties, they are very reluctant to let her go. It was then no surprise when her parents refused her request to go stay at her boyfriend’s over the summer.

(Y/N) can normally accept her fate but some might say Oliver has a bad influence on her. She would argue the opposite. Oliver brings out a side of her she’s never seen before. With him, she’s adventurous, wild, spontaneous, fun, goofy. She feels her age with Oliver. Oliver is teaching her that sometimes, most of the time, it’s okay to put yourself first.

Maybe it’s because she misses him. Maybe it’s because she’s tired of following the rules. Maybe it’s simply because she wants to, but something has taunted her to agree to disobey her parents. Oliver is on his way to see her and she’s pacing her room waiting for him. She feels excited, there’s something exhilarating about doing what she wants. She feels scared, her parents are in the room next door and they could catch her. She feels giddy, she hasn’t seen Oliver in a while and it almost feels like a first date.

The thought of seeing Oliver calms her a little. She‘s always felt safe with him. She knows that no matter what happens, he‘ll be there for her. It brings a small smile to her face. She settles on her bed and looks at Oliver‘s squished writing in his letter.

“I’ll meet you at 12:00am sharp.” She read before drifting her eyes to her alarm clock next to her bed. The clock ticks from 11:59 to 12:00. There’s a sudden knock that makes her jump. She looks to her door but it doesn’t open. She stands moving closer to the door. Her parents should be asleep by now so she assumes it’s Oliver. Her heart is quickly bumping her rib cage and she feels dizzy with nerves. There’s another knock but she realizes it isn’t coming from the door. The sound is too quiet and muffled to come from the door. She turns to her window and finds the source of the knock. It’s Oliver. Her Oliver.

She quickly walks up to the window, a wide smile on her face. She slides the window open and peaks her head out. Oliver is on a broom, hovering next to her house. He leans over and links his lips to hers. It’s a quick peck but it fills her stomach with butterflies.

“Miss me?” He asks, raising an eyebrow.

“More than you think.” She admits, unable to preserve her delight.

He smiles softly. “I missed you too.” He says, almost in a whisper. Lost in the moment (y/n) had not noticed Oliver was holding a second broom in his hand. Once he sees her looking at it, he puts his arm out for her to take the broom. His smile is mischievous. Maybe this is why people say he’s a bad influence. (Y/n) has a defiant look as she firmly grasps the broom and pulls herself onto her window ledge. She hops onto the broom and hovers alongside Oliver.

Oliver gives her another peck on the lips before flying off, (y/n) quickly following suit. They fly high into the sky, passing through the clouds. Oliver being Oliver makes flying a competition. He zooms through the sky and (y/n) won’t go down without a fight. She leans forward and her broom speeds up. She can hear the wind whooshing past her as she cuts through the air. The feeling of the wind is liberating. She feels invincible. Here in the sky, no one can tell her to come down. No one can tell her what to do.

She catches up to Oliver and smirks at the look of surprise on his face. They are tail to tail for the rest of the trip. One minute (y/n) has the advantage, next it’s Oliver. After many snarky comments and flirtatious tease, Oliver signals to slow down. Together they fly closer to the horizon, they’re out of the clouds and (y/n) can see a small town with little shops and houses scattered between tall trees. Oliver points to a house that she assumes he means to tell is his. They land on the outskirts of town and Oliver drops his broom and runs to pull (y/n) into a hug. He sweeps her up off the ground and twirls her as he exclaims in loud happy cheers. (Y/n) giggles and buries her head into Oliver’s neck. She smiles at the familiar feeling of his arms around her waist, his smell, his laugh. It fills her with delight. She’s convinced it’s the best night of her summer and the night has barely begun.

He links his hand with hers and guides her back to his broom. He bends down and picks it up before starting his trek towards town.

“That was a good fly. You kept me on my toes there.” He laughs happily, always up for a challenge. “I’d take you on my quidditch team any day.” He admits.

“Wow.” She exclaims. “That’s high praise coming from mister quidditch know-it-all.” It’s a playful tease, there’s nothing but adoration in the comment. Oliver bows his head sheepishly. (Y/n) giggles at his reaction, proud she could get him all flustered. He stops suddenly and turns to face (y/n). Her giggles are replaced with a look of confusion.

“What’s wrong? Why are we stopped?” She asks while scanning Oliver’s face for an indication.

“Merlin I’m so happy to see you.” He blurts, shaking his head in disbelief. “I still can’t believe you’ve agreed to see me.”

“Don’t remind me. I’ll get so angsty that I’ll want to go back.” The thought of disobeying her parents fills her with guilt. “Let’s not talk about that. Tonight it’s just you and me.”

Oliver drops his broom and nods sympathetically before taking her broom and discarding it too. He gathers both (y/n)’s hands in his and places a soft kiss on each hand. He drops them and steps forward, cupping her cheek and kissing her lips. It’s a slow kiss. They relax into each other relishing in the feeling they’ve missed so dearly. It feels like coming home after a terrible bus ride. Everything else in the world is forgotten. It’s exactly what she wanted, just her and Oliver.

They kiss for a long time. When they finally pull apart, Oliver places his forehead on hers as he gently rubs her cheek with his thumb. She dips her head into his hand deepening the caress. His eyes are soft as he looks at her admiringly.

“You’re beautiful.” He whisperers. Butterflies flutter in (y/n)’s stomach again. She thinks Oliver should add it to his list of qualities. If he were applying for a job he could write: good at quidditch and giving my girlfriend butterflies and she would most willingly confirm the statement. She smiles and chuckles awkwardly before pulling Oliver into her arms. They hold each other in silence making up for missed time.

“I missed you so much.” It's a pained whisper. She can hear the emotion in his voice as he runs his finger through her hair. She squeezes him tighter into her arms. “I missed you too.” She whispers back. The moment feels so delicate and precious. It feels as though speaking in a normal register would shatter it.

They finally separate and start walking again. Once into town, Oliver points to all the different shops and neighbours’ houses as he provides detailed explanations of each place. It’s a small wizarding town she had never heard of until she met Oliver. He’s told her about it many times but it’s even better than he described. She secretly dreams of spending more time in the town. She hopes to one day walk through it during the day, getting to put a face to all the names Oliver is sharing.

Oliver stops in front of a house and turns to (y/n). “Well, this is me.” He says rocking onto his heels. It’s hard to see the details of the house, with the dim street lights but it has a cottage-like look to it. It’s a dark wooden, three-floor house with a steep roof and navy blue window panels. It looks a little crooked, much like the other buildings in the town. There’s a chimney puffing purple smoke that smells of lavender. It’s simple, small and homey.

“I love it.” She turns her gaze back to Oliver with bright eyes. His eyes widen and he smiles wide. “Wanna see the inside?” He asks, clasping her hand. She nods enthusiastically and he leads her to the front door.

“We have to be quiet, my parents are sleeping.” He explains before stepping in. The door creaks behind them and they both freeze, shoulders tight with worry. The house remains quiet and they take it as an indication to continue. Oliver guides her through the front entrance, into the living room and kitchen area. It’s (y/n)’s first time in a wizard house. She’s slightly disappointed with how “normal” it looks. The decor is rustic and simple. The house looks well lived in, everything has a purpose. It looks like a proper home. She finds it very comforting. Oliver places a hand on her lower back and stretches his other arm in front of him. She follows his arm and sees an open door that leads into darkness. She looks at him hesitantly and he gives her an encouraging nod and a gentle push on her back.

“It’s the basement. We’ll get more privacy there than in my room.” He explains in a whisper. She nods and walks down the stairs after lighting her wand. Once in the room, she looks around as Oliver turns on the candles. It fills the room with a soft glow as she takes note of the futon couch in the middle of the room, the bookshelf in the corner, the coffee table pressed up against the wall, the broom wax kit on the table. Everything about the room screams Oliver so it evidently becomes her new favourite room. She makes herself at home and throws herself onto the couch with a happy sigh.

She pats at the spot next to her on the futon and looks at Oliver expectantly. He chuckles as he settles next to her. “You’re an absolute delight.” He states, pushing a strand of her hair behind her ear.

They start off the night by playing wizards chess. Oliver’s competitive side comes out as he tries to get under (y/n)’s skin. He pouts a little when he loses but she makes up for it in cuddles. They’ve moved the futon so it’s a bed rather than a couch allowing them more space to stretch out. (Y/n) is lying on top of Oliver. She’s running her hands through his hair as he rubs circles on her back. Oliver gives her all the news of the wizarding world. He talks especially about quidditch which she gladly listens to. She loves when his eyes light up and he talks fast and passionately and he occasionally emphasizes his point with hand gestures.

The rest of the night they make out on the futon, occasionally mumbling sweet nothings as they catch their breath. His hands travel all over her body as he pulls her closer to him. They get lost in the feeling of each other’s touch. It’s grounding, warm and she easily forgets everything else.

There are no windows in the room and she has no way to judge the time. She guesses they’ve been up for most of the night and it is now far into the early hours of the morning. At that moment, it’s not important, nothing matters other than him. Oliver’s strong build under her and his big arms wrapped around her make her feel safe and peaceful. She’s hit with a sudden wave of tiredness and soon she’s drifted off to sleep. Oliver continues to rub circles between her shoulder blades as she sleeps until he too, dozes off.

When she finally wakes she feels groggy and confused. They didn’t get much sleep, maybe two hours. Oliver is mumbling something but she can hardly make sense of it. A sudden wave of adrenaline hits her and she shoots up with a terrified look. Oliver props his head up to better look at her. He goes to ask her what’s wrong but she beats him to it.

“Oliver, what time is it?” She's shaking as he fiddles around her looking for his watch that he discarded somewhere. “Oli!” She whines impatiently. He finally grabs a hold of his watch and winces. “What? Oli what time?” There’s panic in her voice.

“7:00.” He states hesitantly. Before he can calm her down she’s up, gathering her shoes and jacket. He’s right behind her, stomping on a shoe after the other. They run out grabbing the brooms in the front entrance. She’s not three steps onto the street before she’s straddling her broom and pushing off the ground. Oliver mimics her, quickly catching up to her in the sky.

“Race ya.” He shouts over the howling wind.

“Oliver.” She scolds. “I am late!”

Oliver shrugs. “Can't change the time but you can make the best of it.” He states simply. (Y/n)’s eyes narrow as she darts forward. “See you there.” She shouts behind her, turning her head just in time to see Oliver’s shocked face.

Once in her neighbourhood, they carefully scan the streets to make sure they can hover down safely. It’s a Sunday morning, most people are still sleeping. They quietly fly to her bedroom window. She crawls back through it and hands Oliver the broom. “Thanks, Oli. That was the most fun I’ve had all summer.” She wonders why she hadn’t accepted to do this sooner. Oliver’s face twists into a mischievous smirk. “I‘ll see you tomorrow? Same time?” He raises a brow as if to say I dare you to say yes. She smiles widely as she pushes her upper body back out the window for one last kiss.

“Don’t be late.” She chirps. She shimmies back into her room blowing a kiss to Oliver as he flies away. She removes her shoes and jacket before curling back into her bed. There's a knock and she looks to the window. There’s no one there. She frowns slightly as her bedroom door opens.

“Everything okay?” Asks her mom. “I thought I heard something.”

(Y/n) mumbles some gibberish pretending to have been woken up by her. Her mother concludes it was just (y/n)’s owl and retreats back to her room. (Y/n) plops her head back onto her pillow as she lets the effects of the night settle. The excitement of sneaking out of her house and into his. The wind in her face as she zoomed through the sky. The feeling of her lips on his. It was all so exhilarating and she couldn’t wait to repeat it again tomorrow.

#oliver wood #oliver wood x reader #oliver wood x y/n #oliver wood x you #oliver wood x fem!reader #oliver wood fluff #oliver wood imagine #oliver wood reader insert

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sjw-publishings · 4 years ago

Text

Retrospective Division

Josh and Henry walked hand in hand down the hallway, directly to the office in which they resided. The young men were in charge of small LGBTQ business in the building...only to be kicked out due to being too ‘liberal’, making room for tenants who were closer to his ‘Retrospective Vision’.

So much so, that the taller one had to voice it out.

“I’m...I’m going to send an email to the higher ups!” Josh spoke.

Josh Ming was the older of the two, only slightly older though at the age of 23. Fresh out of college and directly ready to start business with his newlywed husband.

Dressed in a pair of of white loafers with matching pair of beige khaki shorts, he wore a light blue buttoned polo underneath his pink checkered sweater vest with rainbow flag pin over his right breast...

Was that the final straw for the clearly conservative owner to kick them out after just a few months? If it was...

He scratched the back of his head, left palm messing with his wavy raven locks before briefly adjusting his rectangular half-frame specs. Something was real off...and he really wanted to get to the bottom of it.

This sudden rising passion of energy within him was also different, tightening his grip on his boyfriend, he would usually remain quiet and reserved, ignoring the such attitude towards them...but being kicked out? That really ticked him off.

“Honey, I like that attitude!”

Meanwhile, Henry was quite astonished by drive his husband was showing. Sure they both took turns in the bed and was Jeffery incredible when he was top, but he had never seen this side of him until today...

The 22 year old caucasian smiled, loving every bit of the drive from the other male, considering he was usually the one taking charge vocally.

Placing his right hand on his waist, swishing his hips in those pink bermudas while strutting in his own pair of slip-on, navy blue formal shoes that he recently got.

They had the right to dress liberally and freely, he would never sass directly-he and his boyfriend’s clothing says it all! With a matching light blue buttoned down-minus the sweater and throw in a white cardigan for variety.

Swooshing his blond curly locks, his sky blue eyes narrowed in admiration towards his partner, freckles rising with his cheekbones.

“Heh...must’ve gotten it from you~”

“Awww.”

In a matter of seconds, they reached the entrance to their office. They were told to pack up and go in the middle of the night, and with the full moon shining directly at them from a open window behind.

They immediately released the grip from the other as they walked in without question.

Not even realising that they won’t be holding the other this way when they come out.

————————————————————

As they entered, the room stayed mostly the same for now, with the only major difference, is that their desks are apart, parallel to one another.

Just like their formerly interlocked hands.

“Of course! the owner doesn’t support us working side by side directly!”

Josh noted, rolling his eyes as his tone got snappy. Folding his arms, not realising his lisp fading slightly with the remark.

“No worries hun, that just means I’d get a better look at you~”

He turned to his boyfriend, who looked lovingly at him at the side. At Eye level, re-assuring the other that everything will be alright. He blinked, did Henry just get taller all of a sudden? He definitely did not notice it earlier...must be the new shoes he was wearing.

“Right back at ya love~”

“Ooooh now there’s that attitude I love!”

PINCH!

“Oof!”

With that, Henry gave a tight pinch to his behind, smirking as he walked to his desk. Of course, it was far harder than usual, that tease. His husband liked to do that especially when he was happy, which was great when he was happy despite those remarks from the owner!

But something about the pinch...really set him off.

Playing it off, not noticing his larger steps as he strode to his side of the room. Legs stretching wide apart, feet grounded to the floor as he stood like a 1930s cartoon, except with more realistic proportions.

PLONK!

Landing butt first on his chair, he winced once again, he sat with more force than intended. Probably due to the aggression towards the owner, but wasn’t there supposed to be a cushion he and his husband brought from home on his-

Sleek Office chair, the modern kind without the comfort. Just pure professionalism like the way the owner demanded. Did that arse remove his-

Meanwhile Henry from across looked comfortable in his...’Chairman’s chair’. Like he was a higher up overseeing him, with a smug grin, but it was just cause he found him cute right?

“Sit up straight hun...wouldn’t want the owner to think otherwise.”

“Got it...! Thanks for reminding me!”

“No problem love...”

He responded quickly...though kind of irritated, he knew it was the owner’s policy too, about a ‘straight back leads a straight life’. He often made visits to everyone of his tenants or so he claims...especially them.

How ridiculous of a ‘motivational message’, though Jeff did like to keep his back straight for proper posture and presentation, not cause he was...

Anyways...what is with the fact that his fiancé is on a grand chair while he was stuck lookin’ like a subordinate. Sure Henry was slightly older...and taller than him, but the difference between them was huge.

He shouldn’t let that get to him...but its kind of pissing him off, specially with that smug grin on the older male’s face.

Mustering up all his professionalism, he spoke to the other male about their situation, holding in as much anger as he could.

“Say...how else do you think the owner expects us to behave?”

“Don’t know, probably...like him...”

Older days...yeah that sounds about right. Blinking, Josh watched as numerous LGBTQ posters and photos he framed up on his side taken down in an instant, replaced with framed photographs, mainly black and white of men and women in retro-esque attire.

But the main thing were the fact was there were only happy heterosexual couples in the wedding pictures that he took...where wuz’ all the gay ones huh?

Meanwhile, Henry’s side had the pictures reshaped into various expensive degrees and award certificates apparently. Josh wasn’t sure when his senior was such a stick in the arse and show off his life, but apparently its the reality they live in now.

Mixed with the wood panelling, their office walls split into two. With his fiancé’s side having a more polished grey shine to it...and his having wallpaper of grey rocks right behind him.

He was pissed, all his hard work gone to waste when the boss removed all his...stuff, doing renovations...Sure he kinda liked the new decor, always felt sturdy where he wuz at. But still it was his stuff!

Though then again, he also did help take some of those conference photos for the boss when he had met with several of his big league associates, a proof of skill he could use when advertising his talent to the boomers...

Whatevah! He was still goin’ to be typin’!

As he had started up his trendy PearPC, he blinked as the load in bar showed up. Tapping his fingers impatiently, not realising the shiny light weight frames becoming heavier and grounded as the quality of the pixels dropped tremendously with every second.

“Something is not right! And I’m gettin’ to the bottom of dis!”

“Whatever you say, hun...”

Rolling his eyes at his lover’s statement, the older male was not as passionate as he was when it comes to delivering the truth. Not fighting as hard as he was, whateva’!

He was doin’ it HIMSELF!

Rubbing his palms, as his ‘doorframe’ retro PC lit up, being an older model did not hinder his goal as he opened up the word processor and began typing away!

He was always a fast typer, especially when his grandpapy trained him when he was younger. Though that did not sound right? They didn’t have computers back in the day and age!

As Josh blinked, the digital letters seemed almost printed out the more he starred into them. As he continued typing on his keyboard, he didn’t notice the swiftness of his fingers as he crunched on the keys effortlessly, neither did he mind the metallic clicking sound with every syllable.

Precisely, rubbing his eyes, the glossy flow shifted into simple paper. Grinning to himself, retro it is! Right in front of em’, a policy that the boss really stood firm in his heart.

“Not that I mind, Chief.”

Muttering to himself, Joshon was raised by a highly conservative grandfather who drilled him in the importance of staying true to their values.

Not noticing with that remark, his rainbow flag pin stretched like taffy around his neck, solidifying into a black monotone neck tie as the collar of his Polo tee stiffened.

And folded down.

Sweater vest splitting into two, the sleeves merging with the polo as the vest thinned out. A long row of buttons trailed down the merged too, colour bleaching white into a straight, iron-pressed dress shirt.

Even though he was sorta queer, there was no way he’ll be outrightly pissing his grand-papy off! Folding his arms determinedly, as the pinkness of the remaining vest fabric faded to black, looping into straps with a big criss-cross over on his back.

SNAP! Wearing his suspenders with grey pride.

It didn’t really matter to him in the face of a scoop. Especially when it comes to whatever the owner of the establishment is doing, he was determined to write it like the reporter he was.

You can say, it was going to be the scoop of the century!

“Did you say something?”

Gohen got up from his throne, dressed in a thick black suit, with faint white checkered patterns all over, with the typical office dress shirt and matching tie he always wore.

Sauntering over to the reporter’s side of the room, possessively. The hispanic-caucasian stared at the pan-asian male...though its less so love and more so-

“What are you doing?”

But oh man, does he piss Joshon off.

Yeah they’ve been engaged, but the way he breathes down his neck makes the reporter sick. Arms toughening with strong toned biceps, as a healthy dusting of hair lined his forearms.

The roughness the two exhibited even in bed was less out of love and more so...pent up frustration, especially lately. No matter how the conversation went, its just conflict after conflict.

“I’m just typing away the new article, lovah!”

His lover’s been clinging onto em’ again. Examinin him like a piece of meat, even though they just get engaged recently...though it was more so the lawyer’s idea rather than Joshon’s.

Tied down to another guy like that, even that was too gay for his liking.

“Why don’tcha just-TALK TO ME?”

“I AM TALKIN’ TO YA!”

He was so ANGRY with his lover, getting up, hands pressing against the other...and with a-

PUSH!

The impact left a huge blow to their relationship.

Flinging both men back to their side of the room, onto each of their seats. Rings morphing into simple tie pins as they stuck onto their new ties. Nothing special or out of the ordinary, and definitely nothing to personal with the other male.

They just anger each other.

First came the realisation of the older male, who tugged relentlessly below, surging through age and maturity as his weathered face took on a caramel tan.

Hair styling into natural curls, shortening into a dark brown, embracing his new identity of a conservative single man in his fifties. Letting loose any notion of being attracted to anyone but his future-

“Hermosa!”

The hispanic BOOM-ER’ed his manhood, letting loose all his reservations and kindness as a dark glare rested on the male. Deep eye bags alongside a faint beard.

Dusting himself, the middle aged man made sure he appeared presentable, despite still in a hazy afterglow.

Shaking himself out of his trance, the older man glared at the younger male.

“Get out my office.”

Walls fell down between the two, a complete division of interests as the attorney faded from his sight.

“Well who needs ya?”

Still thirsting for release, his face contorted at any thought of attraction to the older man. What wuz he? Queer? That kind of shit gets ya kicked outta office!

Which was why he liked it ere’!

“PANSY!”

A young handsome guy free to be chasing the ladies! Hair slicked to the side, as his skin embraced that peachy caucasian tan of his new ethnicity.

“QUEER!”

The tense fights he had with his competitor and rival next door. He wouldn’t trade it for the world. Grinning arrogantly at the triumphs he had over the man, especially when he told Gomez about the queer vibe he got from those chicks.

And both ladies turned about to be lesbians!

Imagine how much the owner of the establishment would be proud of him, how his grandpapy would be proud of him.

His arrogant sneer framed by his squared jaw, licking his lips as his signature five o clock shadow lined his masculinity. Narrowing his much larger eyes, blowing a large-

“GOT DA SCOOP RIGHT ERE!”

And so the incredibly heterosexual reporter proclaimed, kicking back as his hard member came and came like the single retro business owner he was.

Slumping back in the afterglow, immersing in his heterosexuality like he always did past midnight as he-

Knock!

Jolted up, zipped his trousers, and crossed his arms as his boomer rival barged in.

“Matt! Will ya keep it down?!”

“Shaddup Diego! As if you and your crusty balls didn’t jerk off for the third time this evenin’!”

Of course, they initiated their famous, tense, stare down at the other. The caucasian reporter remaining in his position as the hispanic lawyer made his way to the seat in front of him.

The two of them fought ever since they met. With Gomez being being really disapproving towards Johnson as a result.

The Chief’s colleague vouched for their grandson Johnson to be a part of the many businesses in the building, claiming he will be a value asset to his ‘conservative vision’.

Of course, Reporter Johnson was a prodigy. Being raised in the art of the press by his Grand-pappy, the ins and outs on the ‘black N white days’ without too much influence from the modern world.

It was no surprise that the chief, the owner of dis ere’ place, gave him an office of his own.

Even bypassing Attorney Gomez’s approval, who, besides being the prime defence lawyer against any allegations towards the property owner, was also the one who made the deciding vote on whether someone was able to rent an office in the Chief’s estate.

Of course, the idea of a man, over a decade younger, having this much influence in the building had ticked the hispanic boomer to his very core. And ever since then, it became a non-stop cycle of one upping the other.

“Listen Matty, you know how it goes as much as I do. We’re men and still single, we need women.”

Though despite their numerous arguments, over the years, they may never admit it...but when it comes to getting partners, they were both unfortunate enough to remain single this long.

In their late thirties and fifties respectively, flirting with ladies and getting rejected like some 50s comedy routine.

“Never understood how did some guys get married immediately after college...bunch of queers.”

“Agreed, especially for a hot rich lawyer such as myself, being single is definitely out of the equation.”

“Hey! Hey! You think the ladies care about an old man in a suit when a hot stud like me is around?”

“Not when you are far from tactical with your words! Besides, you should see how the women look at me when I walk down the hallway.”

“Oh yeah? Well Chicks can’t resist spankin’ my arse with every step!”

And so the argument continues, like almost every time they met. Like a married couple, except they were straight and talking about women women women.

And for some odd reason, because of this fact, despite their glaring differences in almost about everything. They knew they had each other’s back when it comes to this.

“Anyways...the owner said he’s found two ladies working in an office below us...and that they are not only interested in us...but-”

Taking out the photographs from the brown folder, in them were two gorgeous women that these straight men could not peel their eyes off. Like an alluring magnet of compatibility, that kind that they were unable to resist.

The left one definitely screamed the ‘mamacita’ that Diego desired. As he placed his matured palm over that photograph, red tints could be seen over his cheeks as he subconsciously licked his lips.

Of course, Matt’s hard on throbbed at the sight of the right chick. Like a lesbian who turned straight in front of his lens, the kind of Gal he would spend his life with, and for some reason he knew she would too.

“You in?”

Lawyer Diego Gomez folded his arms, but barely hid the incredible pheromones of attraction towards his lady. Sandwiching his manhood and rubbing it, desperately needing her immediately, closing his single case once and for all.

Reporter Matt Johnson mirrored the older male, and not wanting to admit it, is thirsting for that retro babe like the scoop of the century. He really desired for her...but he ain’t gonna show weakness in front of his rival! He was taking charge, hungry eyes blending in with a determined expression.

“You be my wingman this time Gomez, and you’ve got a deal.”

#retrospective division #gay to straight #g2s #mental change #personality change #lib to cons #racial change #retro tf

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thelordofdarkreunion · 3 years ago

Text

Power Dynamics Between Governments of Magnificent Scoundrels

The question is, what governments are better at what, and precisely how powerful is each one. I have decided to list all of their advantages and disadvantages here.

The Galactic Assembly: One of the weaker governments, they will likely not win any major wars, but their strength lies in not getting into such wars in the first place.

Advantages-

Peace and Prosperity- While not quite a utopia, some of the governments that make up the Assembly are. There have also been few wars in this galaxy, largely due to the Assembly’s help.

Advanced Biology and Cybernetics- Scientists of the Assembly (or illegal scientists working outside of its authority) are able to perform experiments making an individual more power. (ex. Steel Eye Soldiers)

Celzex Weaponry- The Celzex have starships and weapons powerful enough to destroy entire solar systems.

Disadvantages-

Eternal Peace- If there are no wars, people forget how to wage them effectively.

Humans are Space Orcs- Humanity is by far the most powerful species here. Considering the aliens in some of the other galaxies, the GA is in for a nasty suprise.

Disunited Armies- There is no large standing GA army or navy, and each of the member races is largely responsible for their protection. Only the humans, Drev, and Celzex have powerful soldiery in any compacity.

The Imperium of Man: The largest and most powerful government in the universe, the Imperium is plagued by powerful enemies, but woe to any that get in their way.

Advantages-

Eternal War- If you fight all the time, you get really, really at it. No one else can compete with the horrors of the ten thousand year Long War between the Imperium and all comers.

Super Soldiers- The Space Marines, Custodes, and Assassins are the most powerful super soldiers in the universe.

Empire of a Million Worlds- The Imperium is by far the biggest government in the universe.

Uncaring- The most expendable resource in the Imperium is human soldiers. In major wars, they will most likely have more Guardsmen than you have ammunition.

Powerful Relics- Among the horrors of their home galaxy lies some of the most powerful and terrifying technology in the universe.

Powerful Navy- Just one of the Segmentum Majoris Battlefleets probably outclasses the navies of any other government in existence.

Exterminatus- The Imperium owns WMD’s on a terrifying scale, and isn’t afraid to destroy entire planets if they want to.

Disadvantages-

Eternal War- The Imperium is besieged from all sides by extremely powerful enemies, and is fighting for its very survival at all times.

Low Quality of Life- Imperial citizens have lowest standards of life compared to every other government in the universe.

Too Big- The Imperium is very hard to govern, and planets come and go with alarming frequency.

Powerful Aliens- The galaxy is home to the most powerful and terrifying of alien races, all hell-bent on ruling the galaxy for themselves. Any one of these races would be considered a galactic level extinction event in any other galaxy.

The Necrons- The Necrons are one of the alien races, and deserve special mention since they are the singularly most powerful race in existence, even more powerful than the Protheans or Forerunners. The only reason they have conquered the galaxy yet is due to the unending wars there and the fact they haven’t fully woken from hibernation.

Chaos- The Dark Gods of Chaos represent the singular largest threat to the universe.

Additional Advantage and Disadvantage-

Pyskers- Pyskers can manipulate reality, and are the most powerful breed of ‘space magician’ in the galaxy. However, they get their powers from the Warp, the realm of unreality ruled by the Chaos Gods, and thus if they give in to Chaos or can’t control their powers, the results are catastrophic.

The Citadel Council: A medium class government in terms of power, the Citadel Council is many things all at once, and shares the problems and prosperities of many different governments.

Advantages-

Utopia- The central Council Races and many of their subjects live in utopias, where the quality of life is extremely high.

Militaristic Race- The Turians provide security and military forces of the Citadel Council, and they are definitely a force to be reckoned with.

Biotics- Biotics are a form of ‘space magicians’ and can manipulate energy to perform powerful feats.

Powerful Navy- While not among the most powerful, the navies of the Citadel races are not to be trifled with.

Disadvantages-

Bureaucratic Red Tape- The Citadel Council and most of the Council races ruling governments are petty and take a long time to get things done.

The Reapers- The Reapers are an ancient race of machine bent on destroying all sentient life in the galaxy.

Mass Relays- Ships in this universe must FTL travel by a system of relays. (Other than the Normandy, which can FTL travel under its own power because otherwise it would be really annoying to write. I’m the author and what I say goes.)

The Interstellar Manufacturing Corporation: The IMC, while among one of the least powerful governments, has many a nasty trick up their sleeve.

Advantages-

Titans- Titans are the most powerful versatile combat mechs in the universe. While not as easily produced as AT-STs or ATLAS mechs, and not nearly as powerful as Imperial Knights, they are the perfect medium, and a force to be reckoned with.

Mechanized Legions- The IMC has the most powerful robotic army in the galaxy, made up of Spectre and Reaper mechs.

Hard to Get To- The IMC is located in a region of space that is very hard for the other governments to travel to.

The Fold Weapon- Capable of folding space and time on a planetary scale, the Weapon was destroyed, but ARES Division still has the specifications.

Disadvantages-

Few Planets- The IMC only has a small string of planets, the Core Worlds around Earth.

Slow FTL Travel- It takes a long time for IMC ships to get anywhere.

Low Combat Standards- IMC infantrymen are not trained well.

The Frontier Militia: The IMC’s rival, the Militia shares many of the traits of its counterpart.

Advantages-

Titans- (See Above)

United We Stand- The Militia recently won its war of independence against the IMC, and so its citizens are very united and patriotic.

Nice Place- While not a utopia, the Militia allows a great deal of individual freedom, and so might appeal to a lot of people.

Disadvantages-

Few Planets- The Militia only owns the Frontier section of space.

Slow FTL Travel- (See above)

Legitimacy in Question- The IMC believes they rightly own the Frontier, and might be able to convince other governments, seeing as they control Earth, humanity’s original homeworld.

The United Federation of Planets: The most utopian, and perhaps most advanced government (from a certain point of view), the Federation is very powerful, but sometimes too quick to negotiate when it should be fighting.

Advantages:

Utopia- Out of all the galaxies, the Federation is the most utopian.

Science is Power- The Federation has powerful technology, and, perhaps most importantly, knows how to create and use it.

Galactic Federation- The Federation stands together against all outside threats.

Powerful Navy- The Starfleet, while not the biggest and most brutally powerful, has a high technological level and is nothing to scoff at.

Time Machines- The Federation is one of the few groups in existence that can manipulate time under their own terms.

Disadvantages-

Peace is a Lie- The views of the Federation are extremely peaceful, so much so that they might get caught unawares by the more militaristic of enemy governments.

Powerful Aliens- From the Romulan Empire to the Borg, their are a great many powerful alien enemies of the Federation.

The United Earth Governments/United Nations Space Command: The UNSC is fighting a losing war against the alien empire know as the Covenant.

Advantages-

Super Soldiers- The Spartans are very powerful super soldiers.

Bred for War- If you’re always fighting, you get really good at it.

Fighting for Survival- The UNSC is on its last legs, which makes it fight all the harder.

The Halo Rings- One of the most powerful weapons in existence, if the UNSC ever manages to control the Rings, it has both serious leverage and firepower.

Disadvantages-

Last Legs- The Covenant knows where Earth is, and should it fall, the UNSC will fall with it.

Powerful Aliens- The Covenant is obviously more powerful than the UNSC, and both sides know it.

The Flood- An ancient race that consumes all sentient life in the galaxy, the Flood is a very powerful and terrifying enemy.

The Galactic Empire:

Advantages-

Streamlined War Machine- The Galactic Empire has the most efficient and powerful war machine in the universe. While not as overwhelmingly powerful as the Imperium of Man, or as streamlined as the Romulans or Turians, the Empire maintains a powerful balance between power and efficiency.

Heavy Armor- AT-class walkers are some of the most powerful in existence.

Powerful Navy- The Imperial Navy is the second most powerful in existence, and is commanded by some of the greatest admirals in the universe.

Disadvantages-

Fractured- Ever since the death of Emperor Palpatine, there is no centralized ruling government.

We Don’t Rule- They only rule fractured chunks of the galaxy, and the New Republic is the centralized ruling government.

Lower Quality of Life- Compared to the utopias and New Republic, Imperial citizens have a lower quality of life.

The New Republic:

Advantages-

Galactic Republic- They are a republic, which looks much better and treats its people much better compared to the Galactic Empire.

The Jedi- A powerful form of ‘space magician’ the Jedi, led by Luke Skywalker, are the keepers of the peace in the New Republic.

Disadvantages-

Peace is a Lie- The Old Republics of the past have been proven to be broken up very easily but powerful outside foes, so the New Republic shouldn’t be that much different.

Sitting There, Doing Nothing- After it won the Galactic Civil War, the New Republic hasn’t done much.

There we have it. Not include (but I might make another one later): the various enemy and lesser governments and factions of the universe.

#sci-fi #sci-fi governments #star wars #halo #star trek #warhammer 40k #titanfall 2 #empyrean iris

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cotton-tails · 4 years ago

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They talk that night, after the celebratory ‘we-survived’ party, after the kids go to bed. They find their old spot up on the roof; where they would sneak up to as children when they needed to get away from it all, and they talk all night, until the sun peeks over the horizon and they can barely keep their eyes open anymore.

It takes some adjusting, but life somewhat settles down after that.

It’s still weird though.

He loves having Della back, but there’s one teeny-tiny thing that bothers him.

The kids.

She’s their mother. Of course she is, and she deserves to be their mother, and do all the things a mother should be able to do for her children.

And he hates himself for the way he’s feeling.

That first night, she’d told him he can step back now. She’s ready to take over, to raise the kids the way she’d been wanting to all these years.

And he knows she should. God knows she’s fought hard enough.

The only thing is, he’d spent the past ten years raising them himself. He’d given up everything for the boys. He’d fought tooth and nail to keep them safe, fed, clothed and happy. Even at the expense of his own wellbeing. There were some particularly rough months were he’d barely eat one meal a day, and some days where he’d lived off caffeine and caffeine alone. But they never went without. Not once.

Even when they’d moved back to the mansion, and he’d entrusted their safety to Scrooge (after some mishaps and a lot of careful negotiating with his uncle), Donald was still the one they looked to, the one they couldn’t wait to tell all their stories of their adventures to.

And he always, always, had the final say in everything they did.

Now that final say falls to Della.

So, the question now is; just who is Donald Duck without all that?

He briefly considers going back to college, getting his masters and actually going into a career he enjoyed rather than one that was convenient. Then considers the cost and what would happen if he asked Scrooge for help. That thought gets a half-fond snort and then gets shut down almost as quickly as it formed. The idea of re-joining the navy goes the same direction. He’s got enough trauma from his first stint.

The answer comes when the kids are off adventuring with Scrooge; Della opting to stay behind for some quality time with her twin. They end up in their old rooms, pulling dust sheets off old furniture and digging through old boxes of belongings that have sat, untouched, for over ten years. They’d opted for their own rooms once they’d gotten a little older, but had never moved further than across the hall.

The morning is spent darting between rooms as they rediscovered photographs, knick-knacks and some shameful fashion choices on both sides. When it goes quiet for a little too long, Della investigates to find Donald kneeling on the floor, staring down into a box. She sits down next to him and peers inside, eyebrows raising almost impossibly high when she sees what had silenced her brother.

“Is that what I think it is?” she whispers, snapping Donald out of his stupor.

He swallows thickly and nods, reaching down and scooping up the neatly folded material. It’s a little musty, and well worn, but even folded, both twins knew exactly what it was.

“The original Duck Avenger suit,” Della says, her voice full of awe as she pulls it from his slack hands and unfolds it. “Wow, I remember seeing this for the first time when you ended up on the news.” She snorts. “I spat my tea all over Uncle Scrooge.”

“Bet he loved that,” Donald smiles. “Still impressed no one figured out that it was me.”

“I did.”

Donald playfully shoves her. “You don’t count.”

“Rude,” Della tries to glare, but her grin wins out and gives her away. “Thank god you’re not running around in this flimsy thing anymore.”

“Hmmm,” Donald hums, not quite agreeing.

Somehow, Della knows exactly what his hum means.

“No,” she says, her smile dimming as she turns to him and sees the speculative expression on his face. “I really hope you’re not thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

Donald obviously hesitates a second too long.

“Are you kidding?!” Della squeaks, grabbing him by the shoulders and pulling him round to face her. “Don, please tell me you’re not considering this?”

“I-” Donald starts, then falters at her hard gaze.

Because he is one hundred percent considering.

“Could be fun,” he murmurs, breaking eye contact.

“You could get hurt,” Della reasons.

Donald just levels her with a dry look. He really wasn’t actually expecting Della; self-proclaimed queen of running headfirst into the most dangerous situations she could find, to be actually arguing against the idea. Maybe her stint in space really had made her a little more sensible.

She opens her mouth to retort, then thinks better of it. “Fair point.” She sighs, sagging. “I just… I just don’t like you running around with no one watching your back again.”

He stays silent, mind running a hundred miles an hour.

It’s a crazy idea. She’s right on that point. It’s absolutely insane to even consider.

But Donald can’t help but think back to the eight years he’d spent leaping around as Duckburg’s only vigilante. And yeah, he got himself a bit hurt. He was sixteen when he started. Sixteen and awkward and with some of the worst luck in the world. But he persisted and eventually became a hero.

“You could?”

Della blinks. “I could what?”

“You could watch my back,” he clarifies.

“I’m not gonna be the sidekick in this little fantasy,” Della retorts with a pout that reminds Donald so much of them as kids that he has to hold back a snort.

“Since when were you against grand adventures and insane ideas?” he asks; cause yeah, Della might have yelled at him when she had first found out, but ultimately, she’d never stopped him.

(Actually, she’d tried once, when he’d ended up sneaking back in through her window, barely seventeen and bleeding out on the floor. She had attempted to ground him. It lasted about three days and she’d threatened to out him to Scrooge when he’d gone back out. She’s all for a bit of risk, but not at the expense of her twin brother’s life.)

(She never told Scrooge. She’s about 98% sure he still doesn’t know.)

“Since that insane idea that got me stuck on the moon?” She shoots back. The awkward silence that blankets them is palpable; they’d talked about it, sure, but it’s still something of a tetchy subject at the best of times. “Look,” she sighs eventually, “you know what’s out there, this family has a whole list of sworn enemies, and that’s just the one’s we know of. You’ll be fighting alone, and… I… That stupid suit isn’t gonna give you any protection.”

Donald takes her hand, shuffling a little closer and holds her gaze with determined eyes. “Look, ever since you came back, I’ve been lost.”

Della looks somewhat defensive, but Donald cuts her off before she can speak her mind.

“You want to be a parent, and I’m not going to deny you that,” he sighs, “but I dropped everything for those kids. My life, my career… my sanity,” he adds with a wry grin, “all I’ve known for the past ten years is making sure they’re safe and happy. It was hard enough letting Scrooge look after them occasionally. I’ve completely lost who I am without them, and… I don’t know, maybe it’s crazy, and maybe it won’t come to anything, but I think I’ll regret it if I don’t try!”

Della is quiet. Too quiet, and for a moment Donald thinks he’s said something completely wrong and she’s just going to yell at him. Then her face changes, a small smile pulling at the corner of her beak and he feels the knots in his stomach loosen just that little bit.

“We gonna need to upgrade that ridiculous costume of yours.”

Donald grins. It’s not a glowing endorsement, but it’s a start.

“I know a guy.”

#Donald Duck #Della Duck #Ducktales 2017 #DT17 #drabble that got away from me a bit #probably a bit OOC #not even remotely beta'd #like #I just typed #and posted #PK #duck avenger #ducktales #This would probably make no sense in the new timeline #just a fun thought #my stuff

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wickedobsessed101 · 3 years ago

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"Sewing It Up" Oneshot #13: "Guiding Light"

3.9K words of more mother-daughter fun fluff with Villy & Nyris ‘cause I was in the mood.

This was supposed to be the final oneshot in the series, but I’m writing one more after this!

~~~

“Nyris, the bus is coming in fifteen minutes, whether we’re at the stop or not,” Villy sighed from the doorway. “Personally, I’d like to be there.”

“Where’s my bag?” the ten-year-old groaned as she ran around her room.

“Wherever you left it. Maybe you’d be able to find something if you cleaned your room.”

“It’s not a mess. It’s organized chaos.”

The blind seamstress rolled her eyes with a huff. “There’s no such thing, especially in this house with me.”

“Found it!” Nyris giggled triumphantly. She made sure she had her allowance (she had been saving for almost three months), slipped her plastic cat ears headband onto her head, and fixed the long strap over her shoulder, matching her stepmother. “Let’s go!”

The two had been looking forward to this special day all week: shopping together at the Sheplin Mall. It was something they didn’t get to do as much, since Nyris was busy with school and ballet, and Villy was busy in the boutique. But the dressmaker had taken the weekend off, leaving Scarly and Maven in charge of the shop, for some much-needed quality time. She remembered teasing her former-employee-now-princess about being a workaholic, and didn’t want to slip into that hypocrite area.

“Put on a sweater. It's getting cooler.”

She went into her closet and grabbed her sky blue, button-up cardigan. “Okay! Let’s go!” She bounced past her stepmother and down the steps with her in tow. “C’mon, Mimsey! We’ve gotta catch the bus!”

The dressmaker reached for her cane on the hook by the door and unfolded it. “I don’t know why you’re rushing me. I’m not the one who spent twenty minutes trying to figure out which skirt to wear.”

“I had to make sure it matched my leggings!” she said like it was obvious.

Villy couldn't blame her, knowing she picked up the fashion tips from her, and locked the door behind them. The two walked down the street to the bus stop hand-in-hand, Nyris excitedly swinging their arms. They made it with five minutes to spare, and Villy got out her wallet for the bus fare, mimicked by Nyris.

“I have my own bus money.”

“I thought you wanted to use your money at the mall.”

“Big girls pay for themselves. I wanna use my own money.”

Villy gave her a light hand squeeze, knowing she wanted to feel grown-up, and nodded. “Okay.”

Once the bus arrived, the young girl proudly paid her fare with a wide grin, then led her stepmother to a two-seater near the middle. “Mimsey?”

“Yeah?”

“No seamstressing.”

Her eyebrow quirked. “What does that mean?”

“You don’t have to talk about fabrics or hemstitches or anything seamstressy. No work talk.”

She nodded. “I promise not to stress over seams.”

“Mimsey.”

Villy had been dreading the day her stepdaughter’s love and interest in her profession would diminish. Now ten, Nyris was starting to develop her own interests, and Villy saw she was starting to lose her “magical dressmaker” persona. But she had to appreciate her honesty. “Okay, Jellybean. This is our special time together, and I’ll make sure my seamstress side doesn’t take over my mother side.”

She snuggled closer. “Thank you.”

Since work-talk was off the table, Villy asked about school and extracurriculars. Nyris indulged her excitedly. The young girl was more than happy to talk about her best friends, how much she liked her music teacher, the boy she liked, and the boy she didn’t.

“I’m ready for my vocabulary test next week, but there’s one word I’m having trouble using in a sentence.”

“What word?”

“Innuendo.”

She thought for a moment. “Okay, here’s one: As long as you’re living under my roof, you better not let me catch any boys sneaking in-ya-window.”

Nyris burst into a fit of giggles. “You’re silly, Mimsey!”

Villy immediately joined her, hugging her close. The driver announced their destination and the bus stopped down the street from the front entrance to the mall. The young girl led her stepmother through the double doors and excitedly looked around at all the stores.

“Let’s get a map. There should be a large board map with little maps inside a pocket near the door.”

“Over here.” Nyris took her hand and lead her towards the large map. She pulled one out and unfolded it. “Got one.”

“Let’s start on the ground floor first, then work our way up. How does that sound?”

“Okay,” Nyris said. She took her hand, this time intertwining their fingers, before she began to walk with her through the mall.

Villy tried to identify a few stores based on smell, or by the context of conversations she overheard. Some stores played music, while others didn’t. She knew when they passed a shoe store and a perfume store by their different, distinct smells. Nyris seemed to sense what she was trying to do and began to describe the stores as they passed them, which made Villy smile.

“This is Tessy’s,” Nyris said, leading her into a store.

“What do they sell here?”

“Mostly dressy clothes, like blouses, dress pants, business suits, skirts, and dresses.”

“Is it a big store?”

“Um… I guess so,” Nyris said, already half-distracted by a rack of pink skirts.

Villy nodded and followed her around the store. The aisles in between the racks of clothes were wide, not creating much of an obstacle. She followed the sounds of her stepdaughter’s giggles and contemplation hums. She knew she wasn’t actively thinking to hold her hand and lead her through the store, so she used the other skills she had to make sure she didn’t get lost or lose her. “What’s the golden rule?”

She looked up from the table of collared sweaters. “Stripes never go with plaids or florals.”

“And who taught you that?”

“You did, Mimsey.”

The seamstress grinned. Those were the only work-related words of wisdom she offered during their trip.

“Look at this!” Nyris smiled, gently pressing a piece of fabric into her hands.

Villy took the fabric and examined it. It was a silky material with sleeves that felt like they would stop at elbow length. She felt the collar and the buttons of the front and realized that it was a blouse. “This is nice,” she commented. “But it’s so light. It feels see-through.” Her stepdaughter hadn’t started wearing a bra yet, and a see-through blouse wouldn’t be ideal.

“I can wear a camisole underneath it,” Nyris said logically.

Villy shook her head and gave it back. “Find something that’s not see-through.”

“Okay,” she said glumly as she put the blouse back.

A few minutes later, the ten-year-old decided on a cotton candy pink, non-see-through blouse, a navy, gathered, mini-skirt (that Villy made sure wasn’t too mini), and baby blue maxi dress with a smocked bodice, ruffled tiered silhouette, and little hearts all over, before they made their way to the checkout counter.

“Your total is twenty-two dollars and fifty cents,” the cashier said.

Nyris pulled out her money and handed it to the cashier. “Thank you!”

“Ready?” Villy asked.

“Uh-huh!”

They made their way to the second floor, where Nyris wanted to go into another clothing store. Villy suspected that it was like the previous store since she recognized some of the fabrics that brushed against her arm. She found her way to a rack of skirts and felt through the items.

“What about this one?” she asked, pulling out a wool skirt and holding it up to where she thought her stepdaughter was standing. “Nyris?” When she didn’t get a response, she called her again. Still nothing. Taking a deep breath, she tried not to panic. She couldn’t have left the store, but then where was she?

“Is everything alright, Miss?” a sales associate to her left asked.

Villy turned towards her. “I seem to have been separated from my daughter.”

“What does she look like?”

“Um… she’s ten, wearing a cat ears headband, and –”

“Mimsey!” Nyris exclaimed, hurrying towards her.

“Found her,” the associate chuckled before excusing herself to help another customer.

“Nyris, where were you?” Villy asked, relief evident in her voice.

“I found this really cute blue dress and wanted to try it on.”

“That’s fine, but you need to let me know where you’re going before you go off like that.”

Nyris quickly realized her mistake. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

Villy sighed, rubbing her face. “It’s okay. Do you like the dress?”

“Yeah. It’s nice,” she said, handing it to her to feel.

After inspecting it, Villy gave her approval and showed Nyris the wool skirt she found. Nyris took a clear interest in it and held it up to her body.

“It looks like it’ll fit.”

“You wanna buy it?”

Nyris hummed in consent, and they went to the register. As they walked out of the store, the young girl continued to chat happily with her stepmother, happily walking side-by-side. They went inside a few more stores, but didn’t buy anything, since Nyris didn’t see anything she was interested in.

Carousel music in the distance caught the dressmaker’s attention and she stopped. “Do you remember riding the carousel?”

“A bit. It was fun, but you weren’t feeling well afterwards.”

The seamstress fought to keep the smile on her face. “Do you wanna go again? You’re ten now. I think that’s old enough to go by yourself.”

“No. I’m okay.”

She swallowed. “I’ll go on with you, if it would make you more comfortable. You used to love carousels.”

“I don’t want to now. Carousels are for little kids.”

She could tell she didn’t believe what she just said, but was led away from the music before she could comment further.

“Can we go into the sweets shop?” Nyris asked, stopping in front of a sweet shop.

Villy turned and smiled at the strong scent of chocolate. “Okay.”

“They’re having a truffle sale. We can fill a gift bag with fifty pieces for fifteen dollars.”

The seamstress had no idea what they were gonna do with fifty truffles, but Nyris led her around, telling her all the chocolate flavors on the wall.

“There’s cappuccino, coconut, red velvet, almond, strawberries and cream, caramel, and white peppermint.”

They worked together to fill their bag (Villy’s selection consisted of mostly red velvet, and Nyris’s got coconut) with the assorted flavors.

“Let’s have some lunch before snacking of truffles,” the dressmaker said as they left and Nyris reached into the bag, sneaking a snack.

After salads in the food court, followed by a few pieces of their treats, they made their way to the top floor. They walked around, mostly window shopping (with descriptions of the window displays), then Nyris found a tween clothing store and picked out a denim jumper and pink plaid overall dress. As they walked out, Nyris gasped loudly, and Villy stopped abruptly.

“What is it?”

“You need new clothes, too!”

The seamstress relaxed. “Alright. Let’s go to Keada’s. It should be down this way.” She turned and led Nyris down the way they came. She recognized the store by the soft music and led her inside.

“What are you looking for?” Nyris asked.

“Um… something for fall, that will be warm without trapping body heat. They should have their fall clothes out.” She found a table and felt through the blazers and skirts, feeling for fabrics and shapes she liked.

“Look at this!” Nyris took her hand and guided her to a nearby mannequin.

Villy examined the dress. It was a polar fleece dress with an elbow-length cloak over the shoulders, short sleeves, and midi length, swing skirt that billowed out. “Okay. What color is it?”

“Magenta. And it has little, light pink roses on the skirt.”

She groped around for the dress rack. “Is it on this one?”

“Yeah. It comes in magenta, red, and dark green.”

“Which one’s the magenta?”

“The ones in the front right side. And they’re in size order.”

She sifted through the dresses, figuring the mediums would be in the middle. She pulled out a dress and held it against her body. “What size is this?”

“Medium.”

“Great. Let’s find the fitting rooms.”

Nyris saw the large fitting room sign on the other side of the store, followed by Villy. She played a game of invisible hopscotch as Villy tried the dress on.

“Nyris?” Villy asked, emerging from the room, smoothing out the skirt, which stopped at her knees in soft pleats.

The young girl turned with a wide grin. “Wow! You look spectaculary, Mimsey!”

“Thank you. I like the way this feels.”

“Buy it! Buy it!”

She smiled and disappeared back into the fitting room, reemerging in her regular clothes and the dress in her free hand. As they left the store, she checked her watch. “We have time for one more store.”

“Why one? I thought we were gonna spend the day together.”

“We are. It’s a surprise, so pick your final store.”

She glanced down at the map in her hands, then grinned and led the way down the path.

“What store is this?”

“Klaire’s!”

The dressmaker braced herself for the over-excitedness of a ten-year-old girl surrounded by sparkly accessories. She knew exactly what to expect, and Nyris didn’t disappoint. She wasn’t surprised when Nyris made her hold the bags as she flitted around the store, looking at all the accessories. The sparkly accessories caught Villy’s attention, and she suggested a glittery, heart-pendant necklace, which Nyris immediately fawned over.

Nyris declared their shopping day a success as she exited the store with her bag of new headbands, silk scrunchies with long ribbons attached, sparkly hair clips, and the heart-pendant necklace. “Where are we going now?” she asked once she and Villy exited the mall.

“The Peach Oasis.”

The little girl gasped. “The fancy spa?”

“I booked the mother-daughter twinning package, complete with facials, massages, and mani-pedis.”

“Really? Thank you, Mimsey!” She threw her arms around her.

Villy eagerly returned the hug. “You’re welcome. Our appointment’s at four. It’s across town, so we have to take the bus, then walk.”

“I like walking with you.”

She chuckled. “I like walking with you, too. Let’s get going. Can you put your bags in mine?” She was given a big bag at Keada’s, despite only buying one dress.

Nyris’s multiple purchases easily fit in the big bag. They made it to the bus stop just in time, taking it a few stops to the other side of the city. Once they got off, Villy took the lead as they headed down the street. With one hand holding the bag and the other maneuvering her cane, it left no free hand for Nyris to hold. Instead, the younger girl looped her arm with her stepmother’s bag arm, falling in step beside her.

Villy chose to think that this was a mother-daughter thing, rather than a guiding thing. Nyris was at the age where she was very eager to help everyone do everything. Whether it was stapling papers for her father, helping Chozon learn his colors and numbers, or leading and handing her stepmother things, she was always in ‘all hands on deck’ mode.

While the seamstress appreciated the help (since she knew it would probably vanish in her teenage years), she had to gently explain to Nyris that she didn’t need help with everything all the time. The little girl was very sweet and caring, with her heart in the right place, and didn’t want to discourage her, so they had to work on finding that balance together.

Now that she was more susceptible to outside influences, that’s where it probably came from. But at the end of the day, she was still a child, albeit a naturally precocious one, and Villy didn’t want to throw the extra responsibility onto her.

“There’s a sign up ahead,” Nyris pointed out.

“What does it say?”

“‘Contortion Ahead’.”

Villy’s eyebrow rose. “Contortion? I don’t think –” Loud banging noises and drilling grew louder, and she abruptly stopped. “Construction ahead,” she corrected.

"Oh. The sidewalk's blocked off."

Villy bit her lip. She hated approaching a surprise construction zone. It made traveling independently more challenging than normal, since she couldn’t hear the traffic flow. “Um…” She paused to think of a solution. It was loud, but sounded a bit far off, towards the end of the block.

“We can cross the street. They’re working on just this side of the sidewalk and street.”

She hated crossing the street outside a crosswalk. Crosswalks were safer, since cars had to slow down and had the chance to see that she couldn’t see them. “Okay. We can go back.”

“There’s a crosswalk in the middle of the street, so we don’t have to go all the way back.”

She wasn’t aware of this mid-street crosswalk, but led the way back, her cane sweeping and searching for the dip in the curb. Her cane hit something metal, and she reached out her hand, feeling the hard octagon. A stop sign signaling the pedestrian crossing, but the curb didn’t dip, nor did she feel the tactile ground marking. She listened for traffic, still a bit harder due to the construction noise, and took Nyris’s hand, looping the bag around her wrist.

Safely across, the seamstress let out a silent breath and turned to go back down the street. She held back a wince at the noise as they approached, but knew they weren’t walking towards the blocked-off path. They rounded the corner and she relaxed, letting go of Nyris’s hand.

“How much farther?”

“We’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“How many minutes is ‘a few’?”

“Seven.” An arbitrary number, but it satisfied her. She just hoped Nyris wasn’t keeping track of the time to a ‘T’ and wouldn’t ask why they weren’t there in seven minutes.

Their walk was quiet, and she heard Nyris jumping beside her, probably playing a game of invisible hopscotch. Suddenly, she stopped and took her arm. “There’s a crack here.”

“Sweetie, you don’t have to warn me about every little obstacle.”

She gently pulled her out of the crack’s path.

“No, Nyris.” She gently pulled her arm away and turned to her. “You’re walking with me. I’m the one leading the way.”

“But you’re –”

“The adult and the protector in charge of making the decisions. I prefer it when we walk together. I…” She took a breath. She knew Nyris knew she was more than capable of doing these types of things. All those times when she was little, and they went to the playground, or when she stayed with her in the boutique, or when they went to the ice cream parlor, Nyris would just hold her hand and follow her without question or hesitation. “I can find where things are and ways around them. I don’t need things handed to me unless I ask. And I don’t like being pulled and dragged. It’s not your responsibility to always guide me because I don't want it to be.”

“Okay,” she agreed softly. She locked her hands behind her back, hanging her head.

The dressmaker missed the subtle body language change and continued walking, feeling her stepdaughter fall in step beside her. She was able to maneuver around a bike in the middle of the sidewalk and a car parked over the curb without her stepdaughter’s assistance. “We’re almost there,” she announced to break the silence. “Has it been seven minutes yet?”

“I don’t know.” A pause and she grabbed her arm.

Villy frowned. Could she not even try to be discreet after what she just said? “Nyris –”

“There are tree branches hanging down.”

She stopped. Low-hanging tree branches were undetectable with her cane, and a danger to her getting scratched in the face. “Okay. Wait,” she quickly added when Nyris started gently pulling her. “No pulling.” If she was so insistent on doing this, she was old enough to learn to do it properly. She placed her hand on her shoulder and stepped behind her. “Let me know when we’re past it.”

Nyris looked up at her, but walked around the sharp, protruding nature. “Okay. We’re good now.”

“Thank you, Jellybean,” Villy said, stepping beside her. She took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.

She hurriedly wrapped her arms around her in a tight hug. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

Once the tension of the moment released, they continued their walk. Villy checked her watch, discovering they had five minutes to get to the spa and check-in before their appointment.

“I see the spa!” Nyris smiled, bouncing as she pointed across the street.

“And we’re right on schedule,” Villy added, about to lead the way across the quiet street, but stopped short.

“We can cross now.”

“Wait, Nyris.”

“But we have the green person.”

“I know, but wait.”

“Why?” Nyris looked down the street. “I don’t see any cars coming.”

Villy squeezed her hand to hush her. Sure enough, a distant siren soon reached Nyris’s ears, and she looked up just as two police cars turned the corner and sped in front of them, bypassing the red light.

“You knew the police cars were coming?” she asked once they safely crossed the street.

“I heard the sirens getting closer, but wasn’t sure if they were turning this way.”

The path leading to the front door was cobblestone, and she felt the terrain change from the concrete. She felt for the door handle and opened the door for her daughter, following her inside.

“Welcome to The Peach Oasis Day Spa. Do you have an appointment?” the receptionist behind the counter asked.

“Yes. Moxx for four o’clock,” Villy said, walking towards the voice and stopping when her cane hit the counter.

She checked them off her list. “Wonderful. Your personal masseuses will be out when your private room’s ready.”

“We’re ready for the Moxx party now, Aysmin,” one of the young masseuses said, coming out with her co-worker.

“Yay!” Nyris clapped, her excitement bubbling over.

The masseuses introduced themselves (Uilia and Eshlin) and instructed them to follow them to the locker room to put their bags away.

“May I take your arm?” Villy asked.

“Of course.” One of the masseuses stepped forward and brushed her arm against Villy’s.

The dressmaker lightly gripped her arm right above her elbow and followed them to the locker room. “You’re Eshlin, right?”

“Yup. I’ll be your personal masseuse, and Uilia’s with your daughter.”

Once their bags were safely away, they were led to the changing room to change into fuzzy robes and soft headbands. Their private room was quiet, save for the soft trickling of water from a small fountain. The full-body massages were first, followed by the facials (Nyris couldn’t stop snacking on the cucumbers), then the mani-pedis. Villy chose lavender polish, while Nyris chose a sparkly dark blue.

After two hours of pampering, the two left feeling super relaxed and rejuvenated. Nyris stayed in step with her stepmother, letting her lead and navigate around obstacles herself. She made sure not to grab or pull, settling for occasional hand squeezes. It took the seamstress a moment to realize the hand squeezes weren’t discreet warnings, but affectionate pulses, and she squeezed back every time.

“Thank you for today, Mimsey,” Nyris smiled, snuggling closer to Villy as the bus approached their home stop. “I had lots of fun.”

“You’re welcome, Jellybean. I had lots of fun with you, too.” She rested her chin atop her head. “And I appreciate your help.”

The young girl’s smile widened and she kissed her cheek. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

#sewing it up #guiding light #stepmother #family fluff #ocs #ocfairygodmother #blind character #shopping spree #ocappreciation

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katehuntington · 4 years ago

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Title: Ride With Me (part twenty one) Fandom: Supernatural Timeline: 2008 Pairing: Dean x Reader Word count: ±5850 words Summary series: Y/N is a talented horse rider who is on her way to become a professional. In order to convince her father that she deserves the loan needed to start her own farm, she goes to Arizona for six months, to intern at a ranch owned by Bobby and Ellen Singer. Her future is set out, but then she meets a handsome horseman, who goes by the name of Dean Winchester. A heartwarming series about a cowboy who falls for the girl, letting go of the past and the importance of family. Summary part twenty one: It’s Dean’s turn to make an entrance in the main arena. The rides lead to an interesting business proposal by a new client, but brings a lot of doubt too. Warnings series: NSFW, 18+ only! Fluff, angst, eventually smut. Swearing, smoking, alcohol intoxication, alcohol abuse. Mutual pining, heartbreak. Crying, nightmares, childhood trauma. Description of animal abuse, domestic violence, mentions of addiction. Financial problems, stress, mental breakdown. Description of blood and injury, hospital scenes, character death, grief. Music: Watching From A Distance - David Ramirez (opening scene) Follow ‘Kate Huntington’s Ride With Me playlist’ on Spotify! Author’s note: Prepare for cuteness and a bit of angst! Thank you @atc74, @manawhaat and @winchest09 for helping me. Also a special thanks to @jules-1999, who has offered me her knowledge about rodeo events like these, and @squirrelnotsam, who knows Arizona like the back of her hand.

Ride With Me Masterlist

Saturday morning has started early for the crew of the Gold Canyon Ranch. Before the crack of dawn Benny has mucked out the stables and fed the horses, making sure they had time to digest their pellets before the show starts. Together with Jo, Y/N has hand-walked the animals who are competing today, letting them stretch their legs and graze a bit. She took extra time for Meadow, who always seems to need a moment to adjust to new surroundings. The mare was fresh today, the brisk air only fueling her feisty temper. Her owner couldn’t help but snigger when she lifted her tail and started jogging next to her instead of just strolling along, showing off to anyone who would look at her.

It’s 8 AM when Dean puts his foot in the stirrup of the saddle, swinging his right leg over the back of the Bon Jovi, the light catching the fringe of his chaps. He pulls his hat a little tighter on his head once he’s seated, while the well-behaved stallion waits patiently for his rider to give him an aid, which he does, after adjusting the length of his reins.

With the sun only just peeking from behind the horizon, rays break through the leaves of the trees next to the warmup area, adding to the still peaceful surroundings. The commentator isn’t blaring through the speakers yet, the ring isn’t full of other riders trying to find a spot to train without running into each other. It’s the calm before the storm, a bit of peace and quiet both horse and human appreciate. No distractions, no sensory overload for the inexperienced stallion. It’s the perfect way to introduce him to the element of competition.

Y/N has just finished filling up the water buckets in the stables and rests her arms on the fence of the small arena. She watches Dean slowly start up the beautiful palomino, its coat seemingly made from gold in the morning light. Her boyfriend is wearing clean dark jeans and a navy button up, a black Stetson to match his show outfit. Never will she get tired of watching that man ride, but dressed like he is now, she can’t take her eyes off him. Y/N sighs deeply, swooning at the sight. She really did land the most handsome cowboy in Arizona, didn’t she?

The head wrangler seems composed as ever, not breaking a sweat over having to ride into the ring in thirty minutes, something that she admires and envies all at the same time. She wishes she could feel relaxed right before a test, instead of being the nervous wreck that she usually is. Meadow will not make her entry until later this evening and already Y/N dodged breakfast, well aware that she won’t be able to swallow a bite, stage fright blocking her throat. Just thinking about the premiere of her freestyle makes it slightly harder to breathe, but Dean takes that away when he rides past, breaking his concentration for a second and shooting her a wink and a soft smile. She chuckles as they keep a hold of each other’s gaze for a few seconds as his horse walks by. God, she wishes she has his confidence.

Other competitors join Dean and Bon Jovi in the warm up area, but the stallion only murmurs at a mare once, its rider gently yet strictly reminding him to keep his head in the game. Before they know it, the same voice that did the commentary on last night’s barrel race competition sounds from the amplifiers.

“Good mornin’, folks! It’s another beautiful day here at the Flagstaff Horsefair. We’re getting ready for the first class of the day, the Standlee Forage Reining Competition for four year olds. Highest overall score wins five bags of high quality horse food.”

The commentator continues to promote the sponsors of the event, Dean giving his horse a little scratch on the shoulder when he tenses slightly as the loud voice sounds from the speakers. Aware that it will soon be their turn, the rider allows himself to enjoy the atmosphere as he casts his gaze over the other competitors. He isn’t too worried about the fixture, confident in his own skills and those of his horse.

“Dean Winchester, two minutes!” A steward announces, looking down at his clipboard to double check the line up. The cowboy nods in acknowledgement, directing his gaze to Y/N as he waits for her to catch up. He watches as she puts down the grooming bag next to her on the sandy arena footing, attending to the bell boots that Bon Jovi is still wearing. She unbuckles the leather clasps, putting the leg protection away. “Would you like some water?” she offers. He shakes his head, casually, taking in the arena. “Nah, I’m good.”

Y/N looks up at him, trying to read what he is feeling. To her, it is strange how he doesn’t seem nervous. He’s relaxed, collected; reminding her of the still waters at Canyon Lake, where they swam together for the first time on the trail that changed everything. It is as if he can’t register the pressure that should be resting on his shoulders. Maybe he truly believed he is that good. “Break a leg,” she speaks, fondly. “Don’t wish that upon me, Yankee,” Dean chuckles. “Kinda need them to do my job.” She laughs and pats him lovingly on his denim clad thigh. “I don’t know how you can be so calm.” “Well, I have my good luck charm with me.” He lays his hand over hers, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. “C’mere.” She steps closer to Bon Jovi, tiptoeing to reach up while Dean leans over to level with her. His lips brush over hers softly, his nose nuzzling hers in a sweet gesture. She smiles into the gentle kiss. “Go get’em, cowboy.”

The wrangler straightens himself in the saddle, while his girlfriend picks up the groom bag and steps back. He guides his horse into the tunnel under the bleachers towards the arena, concentrating on the gates in front of him, waiting for them to open. The reigns feel smooth between his fingers as he drowns out the noise around him. With his free hand, he encouragingly strokes the side of Bon Jovi’s neck, his pearly white manes contrasting beautifully against his flaxen coat. He has grown accustomed to these kinds of events, his nerves not bothering him anymore. He finds solace in his work, seeing it more as fun than as a chore. He enjoys the challenge the youngsters bring him, from the initial moment of putting on a halter, to getting in a saddle, to showing them all for the very first time. In less than a year, the horses go through such growth, and it’s always a pleasure to be a part of their journey.

“First competitor of the day is Dean Winchester, riding Bon Jovi, a stallion by Renegade. This horse is bred by Victor Hendriksen and owned by the Gold Canyon Ranch in Phoenix, Arizona.”

Y/N watches as the palomino calmly comes through the gate, not batting an eye at his new and impressive surroundings. Submissive and willing, the stallion responds to his rider’s aids when he’s asked to halt. To witness how trustful each and every horse is with the trainer, surfaces some kind of gratification inside of her. The way Dean schools the animals isn’t based on authority or rank, but much more about collaboration and respect. It’s something she admires about him from the get go.

Dean leads Bon Jovi through a precise pattern of figures, spins and stops. Reining is all about the athletic abilities of the horse, and the rider controlling every movement. The horse demonstrates attitude and willingness, while the signals given by the rider are nearly imperceptible. The run is evaluated by a panel of three judges, who mark each pattern individually. In this youngster class, speed isn’t key yet, but correctness is. Every stride must look effortless and relaxed, as if the animal and rider have become one. That’s exactly what is on display in the arena right now.

With a smile of adoration across her face, Y/N leans her forearms on the steel fence, watching the head wrangler. A small crowd that got up at the crack of dawn have occupied the first rows on the bleachers and by the fence, encouraging shouts and whistles rallying the first competitor on. The young horse is so fixed on his rider, that he doesn’t even pick up on the sounds. Bon Jovi isn’t fast in the spins yet, but that’s okay, because his footwork is close to perfect. After three well executed sliding stops, Dean gives the palomino the signal to back up, his spur not even touching the horse’s flank. Submissively, he reverses until his rider drops the reins and rewards the stallion, who blows out a purr through his nose, looking up at the stands curiously when they applaud the performance, much like the commentator.

“Well, if that ain’t setting the bar, I don’t know what is. What a solid ride from Dean Winchester and Bon Jovi!”

While Dean exits the arena, he searches the people along the fence and on the bleachers. He’s looking for Bobby, who he finds on the sidelines. His uncle holds his gaze and gives the head wrangler a nod, telling him so much without using actual words. They haven’t spoken about the elephant in the room yet, today’s pace being far too high to squeeze in the awkward conversation, and so both men have decided for themselves to let it rest. Besides, they might have sold a number of horses yesterday, that doesn’t mean they can lean back now.

The cowboy leads his horse back to the warm up ring, meeting his girlfriend half way. “Good run!” she compliments, taking Bon Jovi’s reins after Dean swings his right leg over the saddle and dismounts. She shoves the water bottle in his hand this time, knowing if she had asked, he would have declined anyway. “I had a little wobble in the second roll back, but yeah, the rest was good.” He twists off the cap and takes a swig, thirstier than he likes to admit.

Since Dean is competing two separate horses in the same class, he’s both first and last to enter the main arena. It’s going to be a race against the clock, and he looks around the warm-up area in search for his next four-legged dance partner. “Where’s Jo? Ringo is up in thirty minutes.” “Better get off your high horse, Mister, otherwise this is the last time I’ll tack up for you,” his cousin replies snappily, appearing from behind with a bay gelding named Ringo Starr in tow. Dean is about to counter her, but he bites his tongue, knowing she’s not kidding and will never do him a favor again if he gives her attitude. And so he mutters a ‘thanks’ under his breath when he takes the Quarterhorse from her.

As swiftly as he got down from Bon Jovi, he now mounts Ringo, the next four year old for him to compete. As he does so, his score is announced over the speakers, but he can’t quite make out the numbers. When he glances at the scoreboard, he’s pleasantly surprised. “218.5 points!” Y/N cries out, delighted. “That’s fantastic!” With a content smirk adorning his features, Dean nods satisfied; that is indeed a good score. Good enough to put Bon Jovi on the podium. Good enough to ask a high price when the buyers come calling. He doesn’t have time to settle on a high cloud, though; he needs to ready Ringo for his run.

Y/N hoists the groombag on her shoulder and takes the kind palomino stallion to exit the warm-up arena. This is her job after all, she might be dating her supervisor, she’s still the intern. They made a deal when she arrived at the ranch that Dean would not treat her differently, so she intends to do the work she’s come here to do. Jo, however, seems to have a different idea, and nudges her. “I’ll take Jovi. You go cheer on your John Wayne.” The blonde cowgirl winks at her friend, taking over the load.

She chuckles, handing the petite blonde the horse. Grateful to be able to see more of Dean’s horsemanship in action, she finds a spot by the fence. The sun steadily rises, casting out what was left of the night’s coolness, the light radiating down on her much warmer and brighter. Wishing she had brought a hat, the cowgirl takes off her jacket and puts it away in the groombag. She watches her boyfriend warm up Ringo, who seems a little bit more nervous, now that the ring is more crowded. His rider does a good job reassuring the young animal, though, giving the bay gelding some light exercises to keep his mind of the commotion around him, rewarding the Quarter every time he shows a sign of relaxation.

“Beautiful day to be buying horses, isn’t it, darling?” Y/N startles at the sudden gruff voice, snapping her head to where the sound came from. The supposedly kind words to start conversation are pronounced with a English accent, by a stranger dressed in black. The rather short man who she guesses would be somewhere in his fifties leans on the steel rail, his fingers laced together while he watches riders in the arena.

“Y - yeah, I suppose so,” Y/N stammers, unsure how to respond. “My apologies, where are my manners.” The man turns to her and offers his hand. “The name is Fergus. Fergus MacLeod.” The cowgirl frowns at his introduction. She has heard of him, but has never met the owner of the MacLeod Studfarms in person. “Y/N Y/L/N,” she returns, slightly hesitant. “Oh, I know who you are. I’m an admirer of your work. You’re quite the talent,” the Englishman admits. “That run at the State Championships was spectacular.”

Slightly creeped out, but not trusting her instincts entirely, she stays quiet for a moment. This is a man of great influence in the business, so she does want to hear what he has to say. “You saw me ride?” she replies. He nods, an amused smirk resting on his thin lips. “I did indeed, love. Talking about talent, that horse is something else as well. Meadowsweet, is her name, isn’t it?” “Yeah...” Y/N returns, somewhat suspicious. “Tell me; are you the owner of that lovely mare? Or are there parents and sponsors involved?”

Her stance becomes a bit more defensive, not just because of the rapid questions that are fired at her, no matter how charming this gentleman is trying to be. No, it’s his assumption that she’s too young to own such a horse that gets to her. “I am the owner, as a matter of fact,” she states, a new found strength in her voice. “Good to know I am talking to the proper person then.” Her company chuckles, apparently pleased by her feisty counter. “Because I have a proposition for you.” Before he can make her an offer, Y/N intervenes. “Meadow isn’t changing owners, if that’s where you’re headed, Mr. MacLeod.” Fergus takes her in, narrowing his eyes slightly, but the pleased little smile remains. “I can make it worth your while.” “I believe you can, but no matter your offer; she’s not for sale,” the cowgirl makes herself clear, a sternness in her voice that should tone the horse trader down. It doesn’t. Instead he chuckles dryly and takes a little booklet out of the inner pocket of his black coat; it’s a cheque book. Not taking no for an answer, he pulls out a pen and writes down his signature. “Everything is for sale, love. All one has to do is pay the right price,” he says, wisely.

Fergus MacLeod rips off the sheet of paper, handing her the cheque. Not wanting to be downright rude, she takes it, staring at the empty line; it’s blank. “You may write down whatever number you seem fit. It’s up to you,” the Brit elaborates. “Now that I’ve got your attention, would you happen to know where I can find Bobby Singer? I would like to have a little chat with my old friend.” “He’s by the main arena.” She points in the direction of the entrance. “Wonderful,” he quips. “It was a pleasure meeting you, darling.”

A shiver runs down her spine as MacLeod walks away to find her boss. She’s highly aware that he is a very influential and important person in the industry, but he has got some nerve. Y/N might look like an innocent and timid girl, but there is no way in hell that she would ever give up Meadow, no matter how large the figure.

She stares at the cheque, crumbling it in her hand before she stuffs it in her pocket, angrily. She has never met someone as brazen as Fergus Macleod at a show before, and she has been to enough to know. But she doesn’t want to waste time and think about the confrontation now. The cowgirl would much rather focus on her wrangler boyfriend who is wowing the judges.

Dean’s run with Ringo Starr is another great one, and with him being the last contestant of the class, the rankings are decided the moment the score comes in. With 215.5 points, he secures the third place, behind another rider and Bon Jovi, who has held on to the lead. An impressive result, one that he knows his uncle is going to be very pleased with.

When the Dean exits the arena, he is met by his girlfriend, who is smiling widely. “You nailed it!” she chirps with enthusiasm. “They did good,” Dean says, rustling Ringo’s black mane, more than satisfied with the performance of both young horses, but not taking the compliment upon himself.

The cowboy gets down from the saddle, noticing that the gelding is tired from all the first impressions and new sensories that come with the first show. Ringo’s coat is damp, a shade darker because of the perspiration; he gave it his all. Intending to hand-walk the horse back to the stables to shower the animal and give him his hay, he strolls to exit the warm-up area, but Bobby stops him. “Dean?” his uncle calls out, beckoning him to come over. Y/N glances up, following Mr. Singer’s voice. Noticing that Fergus MacLeod has found who he claims to be his ‘old friend’, her face falls slightly. She wonders what the Englishman would want, and why Dean has been invited into the conversation. Questionly, she looks back at her boyfriend and takes over Ringo from him, reckoning she should leave since it’s none of her business what will be discussed, but the man in black has different ideas. “Y/N, do join us, and bring the horse as well, love.” The hair on the back of Dean’s neck rises; what did he just call her? Unable to prevent his jaw from clenching, he steps towards the two ranch owners, trying to keep his cool. Who the hell is this dickhead? “That’s Fergus MacLeod,” Y/N whispers, as if she just read his mind. “He’s the founder of some of the largest stud farms in the country and even has stables in Europe. Owns at least two dozen licenced stallions.” The wrangler nods in acknowledgement. Great, some snobby bigshot. Very much aware that this new face might have something to offer Bobby, he keeps his mouth shut.

“Ah, the one and only Dean Winchester,” Fergus’ grins mischievously. “Nice work there in the ring. Your uncle here told me it’s the first time those two horses are competing.” “That’s right,” the cowboy confirms. “Macleod is the name. Pleasure to meet ya.” The Brit extends his hand, which Dean shakes a little firmer than normal. He’s not even sure what he’s trying to accomplish with the display of his own physical strength.

“Fergus here is interested in buying the four year olds,” Bobby explains, apparently noticing his head wrangler’s suppressed hostility, shooting it down with a piercing stare, warningly. Dean’s demeanor changes instantly as he raises his eyebrows. If this horse trader is going to bring the big bucks, he knows he needs to keep himself in check for the sake of the ranch. “Mind if I have a peek?” Macleod asks, gesturing at the horse. “Go ahead.” Dean steps back, making room for him to inspect the horse.

Fergus circles the horse, taking the bay gelding in from several angles. He feels the hindlegs for any swelling or abnormalities and does the same with the front legs, after Y/N has removed the bandages Ringo wore in the ring to prevent any injuries. The horse trader then proceeds to look Ringo in the face and check his teeth. After a satisfied nod the man turns around, straightens his impeccable suit. He then takes a tissue from his breast pocket and wipes his hands. “It’s a fine looking animal you’ve got here, Singer,” he compliments. “You may take the horse away, my dear.” Even though she isn’t fond of the degrading way he is talking to her, Y/N obliges. Taking care of the horses when she’s not riding herself is her job after all. “Oh, and Miss Y/L/N…” She halts the horse next to her and turns around. The Englishman has his hands in his pocket now, twinkling hazel-colored eyes looking her up and down. “Bobby here tells me that you’re a well-educated woman. A master degree in Business & Economics? Impressive. Someone as smart as yourself has to acknowledge that it’s a good deal. I assume you will consider my offer on your horse,” he pauses, more intrigued with every detail he learns about the woman before him. “I would like to point out there’s room for six figures on that cheque. What numbers to fill in, is your choice.”

Dean wants to snap his head at his girlfriend, but keeps his posture. Did this man just offer her several hundred thousand dollars for Meadow? Eyes wide in astonishment, he exchanges a look with his uncle, both trying to keep a straight face. “She’s not for sale,” Y/N makes clear one more time, pronouncing the words slow to prove a point. Amused with her stubbornness, the corner of MacLeod’s mouth twitches upward. Cocky, he holds her gaze, but eventually yields. “Very well, then. Let me know if you change your mind. The offer stands.”

Without responding to Fergus’ tenacious reply, she turns away, nudging Ringo to follow her. The three men watch her leave, Dean knows her well enough to be able to tell that MacLeod has her blood boiling. He’s not surprised Y/N didn’t think twice about shooting the bid down. Meadow means the world to her, more than any amount of money could ever buy. But holy shit. Six figures! Realisation hits him; it would be enough money to save the Ranch.

The Brit who made the generous offer pulls him from his thoughts. “Alright, lads. Let’s talk business, shall we?” The three walk away from the few people that are lining around the warm-up area. A little further down, on a crossing of two paths, they stop. The little square is still quiet at this hour. Safe from lurking eyes and eavesdropping ears, they gather around one high table near a drink stand. Even though it’s a non-serve area, the influential man calls the bartender to take their order. The young guy comes back with a coke for the rider - who still has a run later this afternoon - and two bourbons. Dean didn’t even know they served whiskey at this event, let alone this early.

MacLeod cuts right to the chase. “I will offer you thirty grand for the four year old Quarters, and I will take them off your hands right away.” Dean doesn’t flinch, being in these kinds of conversations before. He can maintain his poker face, no matter how amble the offer. It is a negotiation after all. The owner of the two horses thinks about it for a second, but then comes with a counter. “Forty.” “C’mon, Bobby. Is that how you treat an old friend?” Fergus clicks his tongue, shaking his head slightly after which he takes a sip from his drink. “Now, I know times are tough and that you’re experiencing difficulty staying afloat, but do realize I am already doing you a favor here. Thirty thousand dollars is more than fair.”

The head wrangler is taken aback by the Englishman’s comment. How would he know the ranch is struggling? Did people in their close circle spill the beans? Apparently MacLeod spots the unpleasant surprise on the faces of the men opposite of him, because he comments on it without missing a beat. “It’s a small world, lads. People talk. You should know that by now, Singer.” Bobby moves past the comment rather quickly and ponders about the sum. Fergus isn’t wrong; it’s not just a decent offer. It’s a generous one, one he isn’t going to decline. The Englishman across the table knows it too; the owner of the Gold Canyon Ranch is desperate for money. “Cash,” he demands, accepting the original offer. The dark haired man strokes his neatly trimmed beard. “I can arrange that.”

The head wrangler might not like the horse trader, but he did just make this weekend ten times better. He gulps down the last of his coke, crumpling the can before he dunks it in the trash on the side of the crossroads. The cowboy figures the deal will be sealed with a handshake before they go separate ways, but MacLeod has a second matter to settle. “I have another proposition for you.” Having their attention, the middle aged Brit observes their reaction, his eyes full of mischief. The two members of the ranch near Phoenix share a look. “We’re listening.” Bobby says.

Fergus swirls his whiskey, studying the amber liquid in his glass. “I own a stallion,” he starts off, putting the drink to his mouth in the short pause. “I bought him at the Derby Quarterhorse Auction for over a million dollars. He’s licensed, one of the best pedigrees I’ve ever seen, not to mention his conformation and movements. He already covered four hundred mares this year. I expect great things from this horse, he is supposed to bring in the money. There is one slight issue, however.” Dean listens, intently, wondering where he is going with this. “And what would that be?”

“The horse has some… behavioral issues,” the stud farm owner claims, careful in his choice of words. “It has quite the temperament, one his former trainers haven’t been able to use in their advantage, my advantage.” Slowly the head wrangler begins to realize why the price MacLeod is willing to pay for the two Quarters is so steep; he is playing a game of give and take. The way the owner of this stallion is talking about money and business, calling the animal ‘it’, doesn’t sit well with him either. Where is the horse’s well-being in all of this?

“What’s his name?” Dean likes to know. Fergus frowns at that, clearly not understanding why it would matter, but he answers anyway. “You might have heard of this horse; his name is Cain.” Dean has heard of the horse. The whopping 1.2 million that was paid for the talented Quarter made headlines in the industry.

“What are these behavioral issues?” he needs to know, not taking the bait just yet. “Typical stallion behavior; dominance is the main problem. The horse has character, what can I say?” MacLeod laughs it off. “Anyway, I am looking for a capable horseman. Someone who can actually break him in.” The owner of the horse in question shifts his penetrating gaze from Bobby to Dean. The cowboy realizes they are at a verge of a possibly very important business deal, but he cannot stop himself from commenting on the peculiar choice of words. “I don’t ‘break in’ horses. I teach them to trust and to cooperate,” he states firmly. “Potato, potahto,” Fergus dismisses. “Are you up for the job, or not?”

Dean exchanges a glance with his uncle, a silent conversation happening between them, only possible by years and years of working together. When Bobby rights himself, he has a crucial question. “What’s in it for us?” Again that small smile on the Englishman’s face; he knows he’s close to persuading them.

“A thousand dollars each month, paid in advance, and a fifty grand bonus when Cain successfully completes the stallion performance tests in April. Plus, five percent of his earnings in coverage for the coming year. After he passes the exams, we can set up a contract in order for you to remain his permanent rider,” MacLeod sums up.

Bobby analyzes the offer. It’s tempting in many aspects. Fergus just mentioned that the stallion already covered four hundred mares this year. With his stud-fee being at least a thousand dollars, they are looking at twenty grand cut already. Then there’s the regular income, not to mention the bonus. This deal might be the lifeline his family business was frantically fishing for. It’s up to Dean, though. He is the one who is going to work with this horse, and the only one who can make an educated guess if it’s achievable in five months' time.

“We would like to see Cain first,” Bobby decides, wanting to offer his head wrangler a moment to evaluate the animal. “I’m afraid that will not be possible at this time, but I tell you what.” The Brit finishes his bourbon, setting the glass down on the high table. “The horse will be delivered to your property and you will have a week to decide if you want to take on this job. If not, no hard feelings.”

Dean glances aside, spotting the slight nod of his uncle. Seems like they can’t go wrong here; if Cain turns out to be more difficult than Fergus leads on, they can always send him back. “You got yourself a deal,” Bobby concludes, extending his hand to the man in black. “Splendid.” The horse trader smirks, delighted with the arrangement they agreed on, shaking their hands. When he grips Dean’s hand tight, he looks him deep in the eye, as if he recognizes something in the handsome cowboy.

“You’re John’s boy, aren’t ya?” he realizes. “I bought a couple of horses from that Winchester back in the day. How is he?” Tension grips Dean’s body, the sound of his father’s name on Macleod’s tongue sending a shiver down his limbs. He tries to breathe in without it being too obvious, finding it difficult to keep his mask on. “I wouldn’t know,” he answers curtly.

Fergus furrows his brow at that, clearly curious as of why the two aren’t in touch anymore. He allows a silence to linger between them, their handshake holding on to the apprehensiveness. “Hmm,” he responds at the peculiar answer. “Well, you are just like your father. I could’ve sworn it was him when I saw you in the arena earlier; spitting image. You have his ways.”

It’s like MacLeod is deliberately trying to get under his skin, and no matter how hard the young cowboy fights it, the man he’s making a deal with is succeeding. The words spoken with that distinct English accent ring in his head, much louder than they were pronounced, cracking like a whip on his back. You are just like your father. You have his ways.

Dean releases the stallion owner’s hand, quickly slipping his into the back pockets of his jeans, drying his clammy palms on the denim. He hopes neither of the men in his company notice him shaking. He inhales through his nose, squares his shoulders and stands tall, pushing down the anxiousness that is stirring in his stomach. Disappointed in himself, he chews on the inside of his cheek in search for distraction. He can’t let a simple comment get to him like this.

Now that he has shut down the attitude the ranch hand was giving him, the Englishman looks down on Dean with a sinister smile on his lips. He keeps a hold of the Winchester’s gaze, until he averts his green eyes. Only then MacLeod steps away. “We’ll stay in touch. I’ll have my men pick up the two Quarters this afternoon,” Fergus announces, his long, dark overcoat swaying slightly as he turns around once more. “A pleasure doing business with ya.”

With those words, MacLeod walks away and leaves the two men in the middle of the square. The sun is suddenly uncomfortably warm to Dean. He sniffs and takes a few steps from his uncle, as if the two or three strides would actually be enough to walk it off. He places his hands in his side and dips his hat forward when he faces Bobby again, making sure the older man can’t sense how unsettled he is. But Bobby is no fool. He knows his nephew better than the boy’s own father did, and that’s exactly what’s bothering Dean.

“You alright?” he checks. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” Dean returns just a little too rapidly, shrugging it off. “Just…” His uncle is careful not to address the subject directly, yet at the same time he needs to offer the opportunity for the wrangler to vent. “With what he said about John--” “Don’t.”

The simple word comes out harsher than he meant it to leave his lips, the darkness in his eyes when he shoots his father-figure a glare soon replaced by regret. Dean knows Bobby is trying, like he and Ellen have for the past fifteen years. But no matter how much time passes, he can’t bring himself to talk about what happened in the past.

His uncle isn’t mad, nor is he disappointed in his surrogate son. He just nods slowly at the dismissal, before he begins to make his way to the stables. Dean remains in the middle of the crossing, his hands still firm on his hips, closing his eyes for a moment as he breathes out. The deal they just made should bring much needed relief, but the meeting leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

He gathers himself and follows after his Bobby. They have more showings to prepare for, but nothing can cast out the words spoken by Fergus MacLeod. Not the rhythmic thumping of hooves in the dirt, not the chatter and laughs produced by the growing crowd, nor the music that comes from the main arena. All he can register is the painful message, which reopens the deep scars on his heart every time they bounce off the walls inside his head.

I am just like my father.

Thank you for reading. I appreciate every single one of you, but if you do want to give me some extra love, you are free to like or reblog my work, shoot me a message or buy me coffee (Link to Kofi in bio at the top of the page).

Read part twenty two here

#Ride With Me #Cowboy!Dean x Reader #Cowboy!Dean series #Dean Winchester fanfiction #Dean Winchester AU #Supernatural AU #Dean fanfiction #Supernatural fanfiction #SPN fanfiction #Dean angst #Dean fluff #Dean x reader #Dean Winchester x reader #Dean Winchester #Jo Harvelle #Bobby Singer #Ellen Harvelle #Benny Lafitte #Kate Huntington

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lowkeyorloki · 4 years ago

Text

A Study In Suit, Part II

Summary: You’ve worked too damn hard to get into Professor Laufeyson’s advanced course, and you’re not about to let your pesky attraction to him get in the way. Your professor, however, has other plans...

+ Part I +

-> Read it on ao3

Chapter Summary: In which Professor Laufeyson lends you his shirt.

Taglist (taglist is open! message, dm, or reply to this post to be added!): @myraiswack @lucywrites02 @uada-animus @theatrelove3000 @crystal-28 @country-cowgirl-101 @wallywaffle @girls--girls-boys @maze-lt101

A/N: I have decided to update this story every Thursday, because who doesn’t need a middle of the week pick-me-up? Hope you’re all doing well and enjoy this chapter!

There were a lot of things you liked about your university.

The campus was gorgeous, for one. Despite being a fairly prestigious school, living off-campus was affordable in the area. The professors were some of the best in their fields.

But your favorite aspect of college might just be the libraries.

There were three on campus, each with a focus, and you currently had your setup in the one typically frequented by English students. You were on the third floor, which had posters and reminders everywhere you looked that this was the quiet section of the library. Group projects could head back down to the lobby.

Whenever you can’t focus at your apartment- whether you were scrolling endlessly through your phone or keep getting up to grab a (sad, almost expired) snack from your kitchen, there was always something at home to keep you from work. But not the library. Something about being around other students working and rows and rows of books inspired you.

And right now, you needed to be inspired.

Your paper for Professor Laufeyson’s class was getting somewhere, just not fast enough. It wasn’t that you were worried about the due date. You just wanted to give yourself lots of revision time, a good week or two to go through each and every word. Make it perfect. Tailor it to Professor Laufeyson’s taste.

...Not that you were trying to impress him. You just wanted a good grade, and after class earlier this week, he would be paying more attention than he normally would. You were just taking extra care to remain in the class with a good grade. That was all.

Tailoring your paper to Professor Laufeyson’s tastes… Your mind wanders, thinking back to your professor’s tongue tapping his teeth.

“That’s it.” You say out loud. A few heads snap up to glare at you. You shrink down in your seat. Oops.

You check the time on your computer. 12:30. You have about a half hour until your next class starts. You know you won’t get anywhere if you stay here, so you begin to pack up. There’s a Starbucks in the lobby. That should distract you, and give you a much needed energy boost. You have a lab today, that’s why you dressed in an old sweatshirt and beat up converse. No one important would see you, anyway. It was your only class.

You make your way down to the student-run Starbucks, quickly ordering and standing to the side. Because the quality here wasn’t really consistent, your orders weren’t either. You usually tried something new each time, always making sure to get your extra hot. You hated lukewarm coffee.

Your name is called out, and you thank the barista as he slips a sleeve over your drink to hand it to you. As you’re walking out of the building, your phone buzzes. Without thinking, you reach into your back pocket and pull it out. Nat.

Trying 2 focus but Bruce won’t stop grinning at me with a stupid look on his face. He just ate half of my lunch and I LET him. No clue what this means.

You let out a small laugh. You weren’t sure how you felt about your two friends maybe possibly conceivably having a thing either, but Bruce would be better for Natasha than most guys on this campus. You begin to tell her that as you make your way through the door, the crisp air causes you to shiver a bit. You’re just about to hit send when -

Your coffee cup is suddenly knocked from your grasp, and to your horror, it spills directly onto your chest. You let out the stupidest sound you’ve ever heard, something between a whine and gasp of pain as your extra hot latte seeps through your sweatshirt and onto your skin.

“Fuck!” You curse, unable to stop yourself. You clamp a hand over your mouth, bending over and grabbing your shirt to hold it as far away from your skin as possible. It’s too late. The majority of your coffee is now on your torso, running over your chest and stomach in hot drips that feel like fire. It hurt. Bad.

“I’m so sorry.” you hear a voice. You nod, not really able to look up just yet, and keep your hand over your mouth so whoever did this can’t hear your chorus of ohmygodohmygodohmygod. You feel a heavy hand on your shoulder. “I’m terribly sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

Wait a second. You know that voice.

You look up, absolutely horrified to see Professor Laufeyson watching you with a furrowed brow. But not in amusement or annoyance like you’re used to: worry. Not a ton. He’s looking at you like the pain you’re experiencing is nothing more than, like, a hangnail. But still. He’s worried, and you’ve never seen that on him.

That, however, isn’t really on your mind right now.

“It’s fine.” you take your hand away from your mouth. Your voice is strained. You stand up straight, still doing your best to keep your sweatshirt from touching your burning skin. You open your mouth to say more, but shut it, unsure of what to say.

“You…” Professor Laufeyson eyes the now empty coffee cup on the pavement. “Do you need to go to the health center?”

“What? Dude, no.” in your frenzied state, you let the informal word slip out. “I’m sorry. No, professor, I don’t need the health center.” They could give you either a bandaid or a condom, neither of which would serve you particularly well right now.

If your professor is offended by your lack of formality, he doesn’t show it. He clears his throat, and takes his hand off your shoulder. It makes you shudder, the loss of contact.

“Do you have something you can change into?” he asks evenly. You’re still looking anywhere but him, trying desperately not to think about how much your chest hurts and how much of an idiot you must look like in front of one of the best professors here.

“No. Professor, I’m fine. I shouldn’t have,” you grit your teeth. Did you really have to get the coffee extra hot? “Shouldn’t have been on my phone.”

You look at your professor now. He has his own phone in his hand.

“Ah.” you say. Professor Laufeyson slips it into his pocket. You’re both quiet for a minute, until the man lets out a sharp intake of air. “Well, um… I have class in twenty minutes, professor, and I-”

“Come with me.” he turns around, and begins walking back down the steps. You don’t move, unsure of what he could be doing. “Come on.” he says, and you listen. It was a demand, one that honestly had intimidated you a little bit, and you find yourself trailing behind him. You cross your arms over the brown stain on your chest as you walk across campus, trying to wrap your head around what’s going on.

Professor Laufeyson leads you into the English building, nodding at a few passing professors as he does. He stops at an office you’ve never been in, pulling out a key and quickly unlocking the door. He ushers you in.

“What?” you watch as the professor shuts the door behind you both. The blinds on the windows are closed, and you look around. The room has very little in it, no more than a desk and bookcase with some textbooks and plaques.

“This is my office.” Professor Laufeyson tells you. “Perhaps you would know if you ever took advantage of office hours.”

“I’ve never needed to.” you grumble. You turn back to your professor. You can’t tell, but it looks like he may be smiling at your retort. Just a bit.

“Here.” he approaches you, a large cable knit sweater in his hands. It’s navy. You’ve seen him wear it before.

“Professor.” you say. “I can’t-”

“Please.” he interrupts you. “It can’t be good for you to continue wearing that. Just,” he pushes the sweater closer to you. “Take it.”

You can tell this isn't an argument you’re going to win, and tentatively, you accept the gesture. Professor Laufeyson looks relieved, and turns around so he can’t see you. You feel your heart speed up.

“You want me to…?”

“You said you have class, right? Just put it on.”

“Okay.” you say softly. Professor Laufeyson sounds angry. You drop your bookbag, slowly taking your ruined white sweatshirt off.

“What class do you have?”

“Pardon?”

“I,” Professor Laufeyson clears his throat. “I wonder, what class do you have?”

You realize this must be your professor’s attempt to make this less… awkward. You swallow.

“One of Dr. Stark’s labs.” you say. You see Professor Laufeyson’s head cock to the side. His silky hair moves with it. You try not to think about this, about the fact you’re standing shirtless in his office.

This was so inappropriate. Your angry skin prickles, as if to remind you that even if that was the case, you kind of had no other choice. You start to tug Professor Laufeyson’s sweater over your head.

“You wore white to a lab?” he asks incredulously.

“It’s an old sweatshirt.” you finish putting the navy garment on. The sweater is huge, reaching halfway down to your knees. It’s soft, so soft, and actually does something to soothe your skin. Your cheeks heat up at the realization this shirt had been on your professor’s own bare chest. Was it weird to pay attention to that? If it is, you mentally decide to forgive yourself. This whole thing was weird.

“Alright.” you say in a voice barely above a whisper. Professor Laufeyson faces you again. He looks at you, and you think you see his eyes widen. It was probably just a trick of the light.

“Well.” Professor Laufeyson checks his watch. “You have two minutes. Would you like me to email Dr. Stark? Explain why you may be late?”

“Um,” you consider the offer as you stuff your sweatshirt into your bookbag. “I’ll um, see if I need you to do that. I can email you tonight, if you want.”

“Yes.” he nods. “Please do.”

“Okay. I’ll just… Go.”

And you do.

“You look cute!” says your lab partner as you sit down. Dr. Stark glares at you. You mouth ‘sorry’ at him (it was that kind of class. If you had to be uber formal with Professor Laufeyson, Dr. Stark was the opposite. He tried once to get you to call him Tony. You refused) because you did end up being late. You stopped in the bathroom to make yourself seem more normal. Professor Laufeyson’s sweater had three buttons towards the neck, and you unbuttoned all of them. You did a classic french tuck - because you obviously had seen Queer Eye - and pulled your hair back. It wasn’t perfect, but it made the sweater seem more like yours and less like Professor Laufeyson’s.

Professor Laufeysons!

“Thanks.” You say. Wanda beams at you. You’re quickly becoming close, the two of you. Wanda was your age, a transfer student. She was smart, almost painfully so, and didn’t hang around many people. Just you and her brother.

You feel bad for your new friend as you start and proceed to continually mess up the lab. Your sleeves get in the way a few times, but besides that, you’re just distracted. By the time class is over, you’re desperate to just get back home so you can think. Or process. That was a more accurate term.

You expect Dr. Stark to call you over to his desk as you file out the door, but he doesn’t. Oh well. That lets you get to your car all the more faster, making some very questionable driving choices as you speed back to your apartment. You practically throw the door open, quickly locking it behind you and looking at yourself in the mirror.

Unreal. This whole thing, this whole day. You stare at your reflection, at the girl wearing Professor Laufeyson’s perfectly kempt sweater and just shake your head.

You walk over to your couch, not even bothering to kick off your shoes as you collapse on it. You have homework - a lot of it, you always do. But your eyes are getting heavy. You close them, letting yourself relax for the first time the day.

You take a deep breath, and you realize that Professor Laufeyson’s shirt smells like him. You didn’t even know he had a smell - how would you? But now, wrapped up in his clothing and in the safety of your living room, you’ve never been more aware of anything. It’s intoxicating, almost, the musky scent of pine and leather. There was a sweeter smell too, vanilla, you think. It’s like Professor Laufeyson is in the room with you. Even better, like he’s laying on the couch with you. You remember his strong hand on your shoulder, and think about how it must feel to be held by a man like him.

You want to keep imagining, you want to hold onto this, because it’s probably the most exciting thing that’s going to happen to you for awhile. But the exhaustion brought on by shock and pain finally takes its toll, and you slip into sleep before you can even set an alarm.

You get to Professor Laufeyson’s class somewhat early the next day. You had woken up to an email from him, one that explained he emailed Dr. Stark after all. That explained why you hadn’t been scolded in front of the entire class. You were also told to look into buying some aloe vera.

There’s no one in the classroom yet except for Professor Laufeyson at his desk. You take a seat in the one you always sit in, taking note of the coffee cup that sits on the corner.

You eye Professor Laufeyson, but he’s distracted, reading some book with an ornate cover. Or at least pretending to. You snatch the cup, looking at the little check boxes on the side. It’s from Starbucks, and it’s the exact same drink you ordered yesterday, except this time, it’s iced.

You’re about to say something to your professor, but the rest of the students quickly start to appear, Natasha being one of them. She pouts at you as she sees the coffee.

“You didn’t tell me you were going somewhere. I would have texted you my order.” she says. You flash her a grin.

“Sorry.” you apologize. “It was, um, unexpected.” you begin to feel someone’s gaze on you. You turn to Professor Laufeyson, and feels a surge of pride when you see he’s looking back.

Your eye contact falls quickly as he stands up to begin the class. Your professor pays attention to every student but you for the rest of the period. Normally that would bug you.

But today, it doesn’t.

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