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frannyzooey · 3 months

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Short Days, Long Nights: 18

Joel Miller x f!reader

Rating: extremely soft

A/N: An epilogue to end our story, I'll reblog later with all of my thank yous. For now, this final chapter is dedicated to @mrsmando ❤ and her big giant heart, for whom this story wouldn't exist without.

Series Masterlist

FIVE YEARS LATER

“Honey?”

Placing his keys on the table in the entryway, Joel tilts his head to the side and listens. Silence greets him instead, but it’s a warm one. Peaceful.

Sunlight streams through the open windows in the living room, and he walks through the beams of soft light towards the back of the house, passing through a scene of domestic disarray: a blanket tossed over the couch, toys scattered on the living room floor, small shoes that he bartered for last week kicked off and tossed on the stairs. Bending down to scoop them up with a sigh, he carries them into the kitchen. Placing them on the table, he looks around for any sight of you.

The backdoor ajar, he heads into the backyard.

“Honey?”

“Yea?”

Calling to him from the middle of the garden, he spots you with a smile – right as a small body crashes through the bushes with a shriek. Running straight for him, Joel automatically holds his hands out to catch June, but she looks behind her and screams, dodging his reach instead. Another child comes through and then another; a game of tag that’s crossed borders between the houses.

“Hey! Stop runnin’ through! Just go around em’!”

You stand from your place in the garden, picking your way carefully through the sprouting plants. Your face and shoulders come into view first, and then your stomach – the soft swell only just beginning to show. At the sight of it, he visibly softens and comes over to help you, lending you his hand.

“You sound just like a cranky old man,” you tease, brushing the dirt from your knees. Looking up at him with a squint against the sun, you grin and mime shaking a fist. “Stay off my lawn!”

“Well I am an old man,” he says wryly, defending himself. “Besides, all I need is for a kid to get hurt bustin’ through those bushes like that.”

He looks over his shoulder and surveys the damage for a moment; the squall of children slightly muted from the front yard. Bringing his eyes back to you, he steps closer and reaches for your bump, splaying his touch over it.

“How we feelin’ today?”

“Oh god,” you answer with a sigh. “Tired.”

Letting your head drop forward, you rest it on his shoulder. His hands glide smoothly from your stomach to your hips, encouraging you to lean into him and you do, pressing your cheek against his chest. Warmth radiates through the material of his shirt, and you close your eyes and breathe him in. Sunshine, sweat, the faint smell of the stables and the horse he rode today while on patrol lingers in the fabric, and your body relaxes against his.

“How was your day?” you murmur.

“Good. Tommy n’ Maria wanna know if we can come over for dinner this week. Guess she’s been askin’ for that dessert you made last time, wants to know if you can bring it over again. What was it called?”

“Brown sugar pie.” You burrow even closer against him, and his arms slip around your back in an embrace.

“That’s the one.”

“I think I have everything I need for it. I can do that.”

“I told him I would let em’ know tomorrow. Got patrol with him again at dawn.”

You look up at him with a pout. “So early again?”

He says nothing, bending to press his mouth to your forehead.

“I miss you in bed when you leave so early in the morning.”

His kiss drops lower, catching your nose.

“You know I like curling up next to you. You’re like a human furnace.”

The edge of his mouth lifts. “I know, I like it too. But duty calls and all that.”

Presenting your lips for a kiss, he grants a lingering, full press of his mouth to yours and then pulls back.

“You need me to carry anything into the house?”

“I don’t need that kind of help just yet,” you reply.

He puts his hands up in defense with a smirk, taking a step back. “Just askin’”.

You wave him away, turning back towards the garden and he turns to head into the house, calling over his shoulder.

“I’m gonna take a shower. Is he sleepin’ inside?”

“Yes,” you call back. “Try to be quiet when you go in. He kept me up most of the night, so I know he’s tired too.”

Nodding, he catches the screen door before it smacks the frame behind him and quietly heads upstairs.

The bedroom is scattered with the same lived-in mess that downstairs is: the quilt thrown back over rumpled sheets, his sweats on the floor, a scatter of items on the dresser. Reaching over his head, he tugs his shirt off in a smooth motion, and tosses it on the bed before sitting down with a soft groan, bending forward to unlace his boots.

His bare back is littered with long ago healed scars, one of them pulling tight across his flank. Sitting up with a stretch, he rubs at it with his hand, the muscle underneath sore from so much time spent in the saddle. Heading into the bathroom, he tosses the rest of his clothes into the laundry basket and steps into the shower, letting the water beat down on his lower back.

Four years in, and he still lets out a sigh of appreciation every time.

Done and dressed in fresh clothes, he pads around the bedroom in bare feet gathering the rest of the laundry. A mix of his and yours, a threadbare blankie that needs washing, a sleeper on the dresser. Tossing it all into the basket, he goes into June’s room to do the same.

Picking up the small guitar she plays with while he practices on his own, he places it carefully against the corner of the wall and gathers the laundry she’s left at the foot of the bed. The room reflects the girl herself: purple walls, drawings taped up on every surface, a butterfly suncatcher that hangs in her window scattering rainbows over the floor.

Hearing muted babbles from the next room over, Joel grabs a shirt off the floor before heading over to the closed door. Opening it, he’s greeted with a grin.

“Hey big guy," he says lowly, setting the basket on the floor, peering over the side of the crib. Built by Joel shortly after you arrived in Jackson, he thumbs at the mending it needs on the corner, thinking about how it’ll need to be moved into the bedroom in about five months.

Still puffy with sleep, the boy’s face resembles yours so much that Joel’s eyes crinkle with affection. “You ready to get up?”

One hand holding the basket and the other one dangling to let his son grasp it, they slowly navigate the stairs together, entering the kitchen just as June comes through the back door with you right behind her.

“Someone woke up, I see,” you coo, scooping the toddler into your arms.

“You done playin’ tag, June Bug?” Joel asks, squeezing her shoulder.

“Yea. The other kids had to go home for lunch. Can you make me something to eat, Daddy?”

Routine takes over, the afternoon sliding into the evening, twilight descending around the house. The picture window in the front is a beacon of light; figures moving around inside. Dinner, playtime, bathtime. A freshly bathed June and Henry – Hank, for Hank Williams – in Joel’s lap on the couch while he reads them a book, the gentle clink of dishes being washed sounding from the kitchen.

After the kids are tucked in for the night, you find him on the porch. Pulling his flannel tight around your torso, you take a seat next to him and he wordlessly drapes his arm across your shoulders, tucking you close. Handing him a well worn mug with an owl on it, he hums with approval when he discovers the whiskey inside.

“I saw the midwife today,” you say, spreading your fingers over your bump. “She said everything looks good so far, and gave me something for the heartburn.”

“Is it still real bad?” he asks, and you nod.

“She says that it’s a sign it’s gonna be a girl,” you smile at him, shrugging. “I don’t remember having it too bad with June though, so who knows.”

Watching your fingers smooth your shirt over the small bump with a rub, the action moves in time with the slow rocking of the bench. Another sip of whiskey, and Joel thinks about how much has changed between then and now: a fleeting image of your younger face, a picture of a river, a cabin just beyond.

The comfortable silence between the two of you lets his mind continue to roam, the memories coming in flashes: the trek across the country, the simultaneous relief and on-edge anxiety he felt when the walls surrounding Jackson first came into view. A familiar voice calling through the fog, one he thought he’d never hear again. Favoring his left side due to a deep gash still healing from an encounter with raiders, warmth slipped from his eyes as he clutched his brother tight, unwilling to let go.

The same brother he saw just this morning, and who he’ll see again tomorrow.

“You’re so different than the guy I left all those years ago,” his brother said later on, and Joel had said nothing, just lacing his fingers with yours.

He is different.

The years have softened him around the edges, or maybe the kids have. Or maybe it’s you.

Relaxing into him, his cheek comes to rest on the top of your head.

“You tired, honey?”

“Yea.” The word slips out, the edges rounded. “But keep rocking me?”

Fireflies spark and dance in the air, the wisps of a song caught on the wind from the neighbor playing their radio next door. Your profile is highlighted with the softened light from inside, your cheeks plump with health and happiness and enough food, the frown lines from ever present anxiety smoothed away years ago. He gently collects the soft hair at your temple with a soothing stroke and your eyes flutter shut.

His boot pushing off the wooden floorboards of the porch, he rocks and presses a kiss to the crown of your hair, letting the gratefulness pass through him.

The old life feels like a dream, or maybe this is the dream – with a wife sitting safe and sound beside him, on the porch of a home filled with his children.

Everything possible because you imagined it possible. Everything here because of you.

“Come on. Let’s go to bed,” he murmurs, and you nod, not moving.

The edge of his mouth lifting in a smile, he tucks you in closer and rocks.

THE END

#joel miller #joel miller x you #joel miller x reader #joel miller/you #joel miller/reader #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic

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cashthecomposer · 1 year

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you lot you lot you lot

I am amazed at the number of 'you didn't include my option!' messages I've gotten, but I have to say, so many of them- including this one- sound like a grumpy old man shaking his fist at kids on his lawn

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teacherintransition · 1 year

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Been Changing Your Life?

Well damn dude don’t stop now!

Even being “Middle Aged Man” allows for opportunities to expand your perspectives.

Change, changing, changed; now what? Rhetorical question, but there isn’t necessarily a definitive answer…or is there? Ive come across folks during my years teaching and raising children that became a certain person at age twenty one, twenty four and that was it. Nothing would change; not views, not beliefs, not opinions, not behaviors…nothing; they effectively became sixty five and would stay that way forever. One could assume they are still standing in their yard shaking their fists and yelling, “you damn kids get off my lawn!” To each his own …as the saying goes. Objectively, this probably isn’t the most enlightening mindset to have, but what can you do?

It’s a concern of mine that I might come across in these articles, best case scenario, as a dude that’s got it figured out; worst case scenario, is that I’m a dude that is a “know it all.” As a master of self deprecation and struggling self esteem, please be assured that neither are true. I’m certainly proud of the big changes we’ve made; what we’ve seen and done, how differently we experience the world. I sure as hell am not the guy I was at thirty or even forty, but I feel much wiser than younger Brent. Through many questions, self doubts, struggles, heartbreak, tragedy I think…I think my mind and perceptions are very open and aware of the danger of locking into a state of mind and staying there. So, what does the “Teacher in Transition” do? Yes, I begin to think I got it all figured out. What a dumbass.

That might be a little of an exaggeration; I do feel like that I’m in a good place, but even a good place needs to shaken up ever so often. Prepare yourself…the shake up can come from blasts from the past. Beyond The Great Quadrumvirate, my small circle of like minds has expanded a bit here in Georgetown in the form of faces from my younger years. What did I think? Did I think that these guys would be in awe at our enlightened wisdom and adventurous, throw caution to the wind lifestyle? All I could hear being softly spoken was, “here, hold my beer.” As I share stories with these friends, I found myself thinking, “whoa, I never thought I’d hear them say this, overcome that, teach me this and that!”

Personal strengths and wisdom overcoming hard life roads; contentment in unusual situations, and empathy that exceeded where I was. Humility is good to have, but what’s even better is understanding how foolish it was of me to even view retirement remotely as being a situation that earns accolades. That damn American, “mines better than yours!” I cringe when folks think their choices are better than others; the other side of that coin is thinking you got nothing else to learn. Excluding accumulation of material goods, a no win situation, when it comes to admiring the way people look at life, that’s an okay thing to covet…it just makes you a better person. I absolutely want to become rich in experiences and adventures, but if can’t see beyond myself and not need people and new views of this world, then I’m still pretty shallow. I’m changed my life, but I can’t stop here! Thank you new, old friends.

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killemwithkawaii · 3 years

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hello and good morningggg

i hope you have a good day today and i have a little tiny question about your "minors dni" policy.

do you have any exceptions of the rule? for example if the person is seventeen and wants to reblog your sfw content, would that still make you uncomfortable?

So listen- I’m not going to start splitting hairs with this sort of thing. Will a bar let you inside if you’re 20 and promise to only drink soda? Will a movie theatre let a 16-year-old into a rated-R movie if they promise to cover their eyes at the violent and raunchy parts? NO!! I cannot physically stop you from lying about your age and being in adult spaces, but I’m not going to say it’s okay for you to be in those spaces if you promise to be good. It puts the adults in those spaces (me, in this case) in danger and it’s not worth the risk for a few extra notes.

You can view my SFW art on my instagram and my sfw twitter. I bothered to set up those accounts BECAUSE I WANTED YOU TO BE ABLE TO SEE MY SFW ART IN A SFW SETTING. MAKE USE OF THEM. As for fics, there are PLENTY of writers in this fandom that do exclusively SFW content and can cater to an underage audience. I am not and will never be one of those writers, so this hypothetical 17-year old will just have to be patient and wait until they hit their next birthday until they can peruse my fic list. They can consider it a little ‘I’m technically an adult now’ birthday present to themselves and feel very proud that they’ve consumed media responsibly. Until then, DNI.

#K.E.W.K. answers #senpapi is getting ornery #how many times am i gonna have to tell these kids to stay off my lawn #i WILL shake my old man fist at you dont test me slfgjlkfd

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terezis · 2 years

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i reblogged that post about screenshotting instead of doing prev tags but actually if we’re sharing granular social media etiquette i think we should all go back to copy and pasting tags into a reblog and then adding “(via @username)” afterwards. that’s how it was done when i joined tumblr in 2010 and that’s how i think we should do it now. simple. accessible. clear cut. i am an old man shaking my fist about the kids on the lawn

#1k #5k #10k #15k #20k #25k

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needtherapy · 3 years

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The Necromancer’s Apprentice

Xue Yang has seen The Dark House and he’s heard the rumors that a zombie, a witch, and a necromancer live there. It’s stupid, obviously, but...well...maybe he’ll just sneak in one night and find out.

It’s better than doing nothing. It’s better than going back to the group home. It’s better than sleeping on the street.

Aka, three mildly feral twentysomethings are forcibly adopted by one (1) very feral thirteen-year-old Xue Yang.

Read on AO3

Many thanks to @coslyons for co-writing this with me (all the funniest parts belong to them) and @kevinkevinson for beta.

There is a Dark House in Ballard, and people say to avoid it.

It is probably not called the Dark House because evil lurks inside, although there is some debate about that. It is called the Dark House because it is black from threshold to cupola, from shutters to frames, and it looms on a block where whimsical shops of brick and steel are far more common. Unlike the thrift store and the record shop, the hiking outfitter and the vegan patissiere, no ivy reaches toward the roof of the Dark House. Unlike the local yarn store, no dogs sniff the Dark House’s gate, although at least two cats—also black, naturally—are always sitting on the porch.

It may not be fair to judge a house by its color, but the local legends are clear. If you step on the cracks in the sidewalk, the Dark House will steal your soul. The wrought iron gate of twining snakes comes alive under the light of the full moon to snap at unwary joggers. Children who walk alone after dark get eaten, and the yard is full of bones that wail songs of their murders.

Xue Yang sits on a bench, across the street, eating ice cream and admiring the house. He wonders about the sanity of people who mow the lawn and trim the roses, yet painted their pretty little house black, until it occurs to him that he could just go inside and find out.

He waits until dark, not to stay hidden, but because it’s a more terrible idea, and Xue Yang always gives himself permission to do more terrible things whenever he gets the chance. The high iron fence buzzes with a strange kind of energy that crackles in his palms, so Xue Yang wraps his hands tightly in his flannel shirt as he climbs over. His mother always said he was a practical boy, back when she was still around to say things.

Xue Yang lands in the backyard with a quiet thump onto thin and scraggly grass. The center of the yard is dark under the watery moonlight, with the dirt churned up and loose, and for the first time, a tiny twinge of warning pings in the back of his mind.

He ignores it.

With a flick of his wrist, he summons his knife, a long black switchblade that is seven kinds of illegal and which he loves more than anything else he has ever had, not that there is much competition. With nimble and practiced hands, he slides the knife between the door and the frame, twisting just right when he reaches the lock. With a grin of triumph, he turns the handle, shaped like a gaping mouth, and opens the door.

In the center of the room, there is a long sort of table that seems somehow to pull all the darkness of the room toward it. The shadows gather most thickly around a large, human-shaped lump laid out stiffly on top of it. Xue Yang reaches out to poke it and feels something unexpectedly warm give slightly under his finger.

The shadowy lump on the table sits upright with a sudden jerk.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” Xue Yang shrieks.

“AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” the shadowy lump shrieks back.

“Why the fuck is everyone yelling?” a voice says, and the room is suddenly filled with light.

The shadowy lump rips off the sheet and turns into a guy in his early twenties with a scraggly little beard and wicked bedhead. The voice belongs to a grumpy-looking woman wearing a fluffy pink bathrobe. She squints at him in the oppressive brightness, glaring for a long moment before apparently deciding to deal with the man on the table first.

“Wei Wuxian, I’ve told you a thousand times that the workshop is not a place for sleeping.”

“Technically—” the man begins, before being abruptly cut off by the woman.

“If the next words out of your mouth aren’t ‘yes, Wen Qing,’ then I don’t care. Go to bed.” She rounds on Xue Yang and he takes a tiny, involuntary step back. “You. What are you doing here?”

Before Xue Yang can answer, another guy—this one with long hair, killer tats, and a dedication to the goth look Xue Yang has to admire—runs in with a baseball bat held in his hands like a club.

“Jiejie! Is there something wrong?”

The woman—Wen Qing, she’d said—pinches the bridge of her nose and says, “It’s fine, A-Ning. I’m just trying to figure out what this little hooliganthinks he’s doing breaking into my house and tripping all of my wards while I’m trying to fucking sleep .”

Xue Yang is now convinced that what he’s broken into is some kind of madhouse, and he pastes a charming smile on his face, the one he uses when fists are clenched and the smell of alcohol burns in his nose. The smile whispers words like “anger issues” and “prone to destruction,” and it’s usually weapon enough, but he holds his knife a little tighter too, just in case.

The woman snaps around like she’s felt his fingers grip the handle of the blade and holds out her hand. “Give it to me.”

No. He will not. His chin tips dangerously, his smile grows icy spikes.

Her eyes narrow. “I could just take it.”

They face off for a minute, the tension almost palpable. Actually, Xue Yang thinks, it’s not tension after all. There’s something else in the air. It reminds him of the buzzing fence, and he doesn’t like the way it confuses him.

“Ah, Wen-jie, let him keep her. Can’t you tell? The kid is scared, they’re both scared, and it’s not like he can hurt us.”

Xue Yang is offended. He is not scared, but he’s relieved that Wei Wuxian spoke up all the same, because even though Wen Qing purses her lips and looks annoyed, she drops her hand.

“Fine.” She crosses her arms again. “Wei Wuxian, make sure our little guest leaves. I’m resetting the wards in five minutes and going back to sleep.”

“Yeah, sure.” Wei Wuxian grins and shoots finger guns at Wen Qing. “Sleep well and dream of me.”

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “Yes, because I love having nightmares.”

“Oh shoo.” Wei Wuxian flicks his hand at the goth man and Wen Qing. “To bed with you both. I can handle it.”

Their footsteps creak on the wooden floors as they walk further into the house. Xue Yang and Wei Wuxian wait in silence until the footsteps quiet, and then Wei Wuxian turns to Xue Yang. The grin he’d been wearing drops off his face and he looks serious, his eyes shaded and dark.

“Look kid, you should know better than to piss off powerful witches. It tends to be bad for the health.” The side of his mouth just barely tilts upwards, more wry than mirthful, and he looks old now. Old and grey and tired. “So, we’ll just call this a learning experience, and you’ll never come here again, right?”

Xue Yang snorts. “Are you kidding? If you’ve got real magic why the fuck would I leave now?”

“Toddlers shouldn’t swear.”

“I’m almost fourteen, fuck you very much.”

“Ah yes, I am now so convinced you are an adult.” Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “It’s two in the morning. You want to go home and go to bed. There’s nothing here for you to be curious about at all.”

Something sibilant and musical weaves its way through the words, and Xue Yang has his hand on the door knob before he fights off the slithering compulsion.

Holy fuck that was cool.

“Nah, I think I’ll stay,” he says, sauntering back casually, pausing to look at a weird painting of a monster facing off with an axe-wielding guy in front of a lighthouse. He feels a very strong sense of camaraderie with it right now.

Wei Wuxian sighs. “Sure, maybe you’ve got a little gift. But you’re a kid. Don’t you have parents who are going to, you know, notice you’re missing?”

Xue Yang stares him in the eyes, willing himself not to flinch. Something tells him this is a chance he’s never going to have again, a chance that requires honesty.

“No.” Xue Yang lifts his chin stubbornly. “I don’t.”

Wei Wuxian stares back, and Xue Yang gets the feeling that he sees all the years and all the disappointments that fit into that no. He doesn’t care. No one gives you what you want unless you take it.

This standoff lasts forever, or maybe it’s only a few seconds.

“She’s going to kill me,” Wei Wuxian mutters, and a little louder, “You can sleep on the couch tonight, but I’m locking you in the room and if you touch anything, I will turn you into a mannequin.”

He turns to leave, but looks back with a frown. “Wen Qing builds beautiful, elegant wards that you’ll never feel, never even notice if she doesn’t want you to. Mine will hurt. Don’t. Touch. Anything.”

Xue Yang decides, in the principle of magnanimity, to agree. “Whatever.”

Wei Wuxian shakes his head and points a finger at Xue Yang. “Go to sleep, kiddo.”

The words hold Xue Yang’s hand and lead him to the couch, make him lay down, and within minutes, he is asleep.

He opens his eyes to piercing sunlight and a pale face inches from his.

“What the fuck!” he yelps, instinctively grabbing for his knife and snapping it open.

“Mr. Wei, he’s awake and noisy,” the face says, and Xue Yang focuses on its features.

It’s the goth guy. His arms have full-sleeve tattoos, matching patterns of stark black geometric lines and circles, but his neck has weird black veins tattooed on it. His eyes, which are still way too close to Xue Yang’s, are so dark they’re practically black.

“Where’s the witch?” Xue Yang asks, sufficiently recovered to be an asshole.

“Boiling children,” Wei Wuxian retorts. He’s leaning over the table and taking notes in a tattered book, poking something with a tiny screwdriver. “It’s the only reason we let you stay.”

“Really?” Xue Yang can’t decide if that’s cool or terrifying.

“He’s always like that in the morning,” Goth Guy says conspiratorially. “By ten, he’s pretty nice again.”

“I’m never nice,” Wei Wuxian grumbles. “A-Ning, can you take our miscreant home, please? The last thing I need is cops knocking on The House door asking if we’re kidnapping children. Again.” “Okay, Mr. Wei.”

Xue Yang panics. He can’t go back there. Not since they found him alone with the fire. He knows what they’ll do, and he can’t go back. He won’t . He ducks under Goth Guy’s arm and has his knife angled under Wei Wuxian’s chin before he’s even processed the motor function commands “get up” and “don’t let him send you away.”

“No! You have to…” He scrambles though thoughts, desperate ideas, each one crazier than the last before he hits on words that work themselves loose from his mouth. “You said I had a gift, you have to teach me to use it.”

Wei Wuxian frowns, but instead of being afraid or angry, he tips his head and whistles, two notes that almost sound like a name. To his great shock and horror, Xue Yang’s knife vibrates in his hand, and his fingers snap open like a broken trap, dropping the knife onto Wei Wuxian’s waiting palm. He carefully folds the blade back into the handle.

“Jiangzai,” he says, almost affectionately.

It doesn’t mean anything, but then it does , and it hits Xue Yang so hard he collapses to the ground. The knife has a name, and he knows it’s right as soon as Wei Wuxian says it. Xue Yang’s heart pounds, and he hates it. He hates this motherfucker who just took his knife away and he hates the Goth Guy who is helping him back to his feet. He doesn’t want to stay anymore, and he shakes off Goth Guy, wishing he could throw his kindness on the floor and stomp on it.

Wei Wuxian rolls his eyes. “Okay, maybe you have a little bit more than a little bit of a gift. But you still can’t stay, and I’m not teaching you anything.”

Xue Yang snatches his knife— his Jiangzai—out of Wei Wuxian’s hand and stomps to the door. “Fine. Fuck you.”

He gets as far as yanking the door open and slamming it against the wall before he realizes that there is a person in the way, and she doesn’t look inclined to move.

“Here you go, kiddo,” she says, handing him a bag. “I bought you some clean clothes and a toothbrush. A-Ning will show you where the bathroom is. Come back down for breakfast when you’ve changed.”

This is somehow more terrifying than when she was yelling at him. Yelling he understands. Now she’s just being...creepy. He stares at her belligerently, and she sighs.

“Listen, you little shit,” she says, bending over to look him dead in the eye. She doesn’t have to bend very far, he realizes. She’s actually tiny, even though she seems as big as the Fremont troll. “You will either go willingly with A-Ning, who is very nice, or you can test my patience and get buried in the yard with all the rest of the naughty children who break into my house. Your choice.”

Yeah, that’s more solid ground.

“Fine.” He grabs the bag from her and waves at the Goth Guy. “Lead the way, A-Ning .” He means it to be an insult, but Goth Guy just grins.

Xue Yang hears Wei Wuxian ask, “Wen Qing, what the fuck,” before Goth Guy herds him up the wide staircase, and he doesn’t hear any more of her answer than, “A-Xian, I can’t let him leave. You don’t understand, I did a location…”

This close to the Goth Guy, Xue Yang decides to acknowledge that the pale translucence of his skin is probably not makeup.

“I’m Wen Ning, by the way. I doubt Mr. Wei or jiejie introduced me,” Goth Guy—Wen Ning—says in a casual tone.

“So are you actually dead or what?” he asks Wen Ning, and Wen Ning grins.

“Or what,” he answers enigmatically, and gently shoves Xue Yang in a bathroom with pink tiles and a claw-foot tub.

Once he’s bathed and changed, Xue Yang heads back downstairs. Breakfast is bacon, eggs, and toast, and he doesn’t even pretend it isn’t the best food he’s eaten in a week. It is, in fact, the first food he hasn’t stolen in a week, and that alone is a novelty.

He’s halfway done with his food when Wei Wuxian, who hasn’t touched a bit of his and looks as sullen as an orange, says, “I have been informed that there is some arcane rule about teaching a gift you discover, and my...how did you put it, dear Wen Qing? My immortal soul and earthly being will be in danger if I don’t capitulate to the inevitable?”

He glares at Wen Qing, and she smiles sweetly at him.

“Whatever,” Xue Yang says around a mouthful of eggs. “Are you going to eat that?”

Wei Wuxian passes him the plate of food, and Xue Yang closes his eyes in bliss. Food is amazing.

“There are conditions—don’t look at me like that, Wen-jie. I agreed, okay? I get to set conditions. First of all, you do whatever I tell you. If I tell you to sell turnips on the street corner, you better sell some goddamn turnips. Second, you don’t touch anything unless I say it’s okay. A lot of this stuff,” he waves his hand around the white and yellow room, which looks surprisingly cheerful for a kitchen in a black house, “is priceless and dangerous, so…”

Wen Qing clears her throat and glares at Wei Wuxian.

“Uh...don’t touch anything.” Wei Wuxian finishes, snaking a piece of bacon from Xue Yang’s plate and shoving it into his mouth before disappearing back into his workroom.

Wen Qing rolls her eyes. “I promise he’ll actually teach you stuff once he pulls his head—” She visibly checks herself. “Once he stops being an idiot. More bacon?”

The rest is on AO3

#the untamed #cql #mdzs #mo dao zu shi #xue yang #wei wuxian #wen ning #wen qing #Seattle #modern au #modern with magic #found family #the untamed fic #13k words #I just think teenage Xue Yang would have been very different with a family

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gravegroves · 3 years

Note

Can I ask about 2 and 8 for the wip tag game?

I've already talked about 8 (search #tag game in my tags and you'll find it).

But omg thank you for asking about 2!!

2. Like a Bat Out of Hell, Indiana

Oh man, oh man. This. This right here? This is my baby. My precious. The one I wrote so self indulgently that even if no one else likes it, I LIKE IT. And I'm completely okay with that.

El and Hopper fail at closing the gate at the end of s2, Billy appears at the Byers' house just in time and so begins a mad dash across the country, trying to outrun the end of the fucking world.

Tw: death (no one we care about though)

Excerpt:

The sound of a car roaring into the driveway has Steve's heart crashing up into his throat and they all turn to watch as headlights dance across the living room walls, sharp and blinding, like a goddamn beacon of hope.

And Steve doesn't have time to think about why the deep rumbling of the engine sounds so familiar.

He moves the kids now or they die.

"Get to the car, now!" Steve screams, just as the window at the end of the hall explodes inward.

Max gets to the door first and tears out of the house, sprinting toward the high beam lights with the boys hot on her heels.

"Billy!" She screams and goddamnit she can't mean--

She reaches the car, yanks the passenger side door open and pushes the front seat forward, shoving Dustin, Mike and Lucas into the back before diving in herself, righting the front seat in a practised move just in time for Steve to jump in after her.

And yep. There he is.

Hargrove's expression would be hilarious if they weren't seconds away from being overrun by a horde of carnivorous monster dogs.

"What the fuck do you losers think you're doing?!" Billy roars, eyes bugging slightly when he recognises Steve.

"Harrington?!"

Steve grabs him by the collar and screams into his face: "Just fucking drive!"

A loud crash has them both snapping their heads to the side just in time to watch as a hundred Demodogs or more come rushing out from behind the Byers' house, heading straight for them.

Without another word, Billy yanks the car into reverse and accelerates before hitting the breaks. Steve's stomach swoops as their momentum lets the wheels slide over the gravel to land perfectly on the road.

He grabs Billy's arm, yanks on it like it might shake some urgency into him.

"Hargrove, go!"

"Seatbelts! Get the seatbelts" Max yells at the others.

That's what she's worried about? Steve thinks, even as he reaches over his shoulder to strap himself in.

Then Billy puts the car into gear and guns it forward and they go from 0 to 70 mph in ten seconds flat, zooming down old, twisting back roads and Steve honestly can't believe that Hargrove's insane, wannabe NASCAR driving is gonna be what saves their asses tonight.

"What the hell are you doing all the way out here with my sister, huh?" Billy yells, taking his eyes off the road to look over at him and Steve might seriously have a fucking heart attack.

"Eyes on the road!" He exclaims, foot searching the footwell for a break pedal that isn't there, "For real, man? You want to do this now?!"

"Or you can get out and fucking walk, amigo," Billy snarls, swerving around another Demodog leaping for the hood of his car, "What the hell is up with these dogs?"

"Billy, stop it! Can you jus-- look out!" Max shrieks, her arm shooting between them to point straight ahead and the kids all begin yelling as the flower-in-bloom-faced ugly fuck grows larger in the windscreen at an alarming speed.

Smooth as butter, Billy avoids the gaping creature in their path, not taking his foot off the accelerator for even a second. Steve's heart beats a drum solo against his adam's apple. His fingers feel fused to the edges of the seat, holding on for dear life.

"Jesus Christ, what the fuck was that?" Billy turns to look behind him and Steve clenches his teeth so hard his jaw hurts, barely restraining himself from yanking Billy around to face forward again.

"Hargrove, I swear to God--"

"Oh god, look."

Steve turns his head the slightest amount to see Lucas pointing out of the window at the treeline to their right.

Demodogs.

Lots of them.

So many slimy, greyish bodies that the forest floor has all but disappeared and transformed into a churning sea of dark, slick oil.

More worryingly, they're all running in the same direction as the Camaro.

Fuck.

"What the…" Billy falters when he looks out of the window at the treeline, then seems to shake it off, placing his undivided attention back on the road for once.

He speeds up to pass a whole group of the beasts trying to cross to the other side, narrowly misses being cut off entirely by the mass of Demodog bodies. Steve releases a hand from the seat only to clutch at the grab handle on the door. He closes his eyes, swears he can feel his stomach fall out of his ass when the wheels on his side of the car lift into the air for half a beat.

"Shit, we're gonna die!" Dustin wails, voice wobbly as Billy jerks the wheel again to avoid a creature charging straight for them. If the kids weren't already packed in like sardines they'd be sliding around back there, seatbelt or no. "We're definitely gonna die! This psycho is gonna kill us before the monsters do!"

Billy scowls into the rear-view mirror and grits out "Hey kid, you're welcome to get out and walk."

"You literally tried to run us off the road a week ago--"

"Not the time, Dustin!" Max snaps and shushes him.

"We need to get to the gate!" Mike blurts out, leaning forward to speak directly at Steve. Demanding. "We need to help El!"

Steve doesn't even have the faintest idea of how to begin doing any of that.

"Dude, we can't just go back there, are you crazy--" Lucas pulls him back and they continue to argue in harsh whispers.

"If you losers don't shut the fuck up, I'll crash this goddamn car just so I can take you all with me." Billy barks, knuckles white on the wheel.

"Oh my god, see! What did I tell you?" Dustin exclaims, "He's dangerous, Steve!"

Yeah, well, he's all that we've got, Steve doesn’t say. "Shut up, Dustin."

They turn into the first proper residential street and Billy misses a tree by an inch as he tries to avoid colliding with five demodogs hunched over something on the road.

Oh god, was that a body?

"Harrington, where the fuck am I going?"

Steve closes his eyes, overwhelmed and completely out of his depth. They might have been the B team, but there hadn't actually been a plan B--

"Fuck, fuck! I don't know--"

"Billy," Max pleads, voice shaky with terror, silencing them all, "My mom…"

Billy sighs explosively before turning down a side street, barely slowing down.

"Shit."

*****

It's not just Max's mom, but Dustin's mom, too. Lucas's family. Mike's family.

They reach Old Cherry Road first and Billy barely allows the car to come to a full stop, Demodogs further down the street are taking notice of them already, stalking forward, mouths blooming excitedly. Steve eyes them warily until a garbled oh fuck from the back seat draws his attention to the other side of the street and--

It's bad.

The porch light sets the stage for a grizzly scene at the Hargrove residence. A woman lies directly beneath it, like the opening shot to a fucked up play, her head of red hair spilling over the top step.

She's very obviously dead. Steve can see where she must have tripped on the welcome rug -- awkwardly stiff and upturned between her feet -- and he can only hope she got knocked out in the fall and didn't feel a thing that came after. There isn't much left between her head and her knees except for a dark patch of gøre.

The headless body of a man lies slumped against a truck parked in the driveway, one arm stuck through the open car door, half torn off within his jacket. Blood still running down the concrete incline, pooling in the roadside gutter.

"Oh, you Bastard," Billy spits, barely a whisper.

The longer Steve stares, the more horrifying the scene becomes.

He doesn't want Max to see this. Or Billy.

Max doesn't make a sound.

Billy slams his fist against the steering wheel a couple of times, then peels away from the curb before the Demodogs can get too close.

*****

Dustin's house is dark. There's no car in the driveway.

"I told her Mews had been seen in Loch Nora. She must still be out looking..." Dustin trails off quietly. Shellshocked.

It's almost midnight. Steve doubts she's still out looking for a cat. And if she is...

"I wanted to keep her out of the way."

No one says anything.

They drive.

*****

The Sinclair house is dark, too, no lights on except for the motion sensor activated ones over the empty carport.

Billy doesn't bother slowing down. The area is absolutely swarming with creatures already.

"It's so late. Where..." Lucas falters, scanning the houses they pass, like he made a mistake and his home will appear any minute now. "Where did they go?"

"I'm sure they're okay, man," Steve tries, but it feels flat, false, "If they're in a car they could make it out. Your mom too, Dustin."

Billy grimaces, but says nothing.

"What?" Steve demands.

"I was just here looking for Max. They were home."

He keeps a laser focus on the road now, on avoiding the monsters spilling out onto their path, growling when he's forced to change down a gear before aggressively working his way up in speed once more, jaw clenched tight.

"You probably caught them on their way out." Steve insists.

Billy looks doubtful, but he nods anyway. Neither of them enough of an asshole to take a kid's hopes away like that.

They move on.

*****

"Let me out," Mike says, quietly. Trembling. Hands pushing against the back of Steve's seat like he'll be able to bend it out of the way through sheer force of will.

No one moves.

The front door to the Wheeler home is open, door splintered where the deadbolt held, but the wood didn't. The car is parked in the carport. All the lights are on.

Karen Wheeler's corpse lies forgotten and half devoured on the front lawn.

In the driveway, a tiny yellow sock lies next to bloody drag marks disappearing into the grass--

Oh god...

"Let me out."

Steve's lips move, but he can't seem to draw breath enough to produce sound..

Billy seems to shake himself out of a daze, takes a deep breath beside him. "Nah, kid."

And Mike just snaps.

"Fuck you! Fuck you!" He screams, punching and kicking the seat in front of him.

Steve leans forward out of the seat and puts his head in his hands.

"Let me out! LET ME OUT!" Mike shrieks, begs.

"No." Billy says again, evenly.

Mike's voice breaks on a wordless scream.

Steve wants to do his own bit of kicking and screaming, but someone needs to keep their fucking head in the game or they're all going to end up dead.

By some twisted turn of fate that someone is turning out to be Billy fucking Hargrove.

Hysterically, he remembers hearing about Billy abandoning Carla Green to walk home alone from the quarry after she'd scratched the Camaro's dashboard with her fake nails by accident.

Mike kicks the back of the seat again. Billy says nothing.

All the kids are crying, now.

Mike's screams eventually taper off into babbling sobs and Dustin does his best to comfort him through his own half-choked cries. Lucas is whispering to a sobbing Max, his own breaths hitching and heaving uncontrollably, on the edge of breaking.

Steve's eyes sting, hidden behind his hands.

He lifts his head up and glances over at Billy, still tracking the side of the road, the edge of the trees. He looks so normal that it almost throws Steve for a loop. He wants to grab Billy by the collar again. Shake him. Scream: what part of this aren't you getting?

"The fuck is going on?" Billy hisses, almost to himself and oh, right.

"Later," Steve promises, hoarsely, digs the heels of his hands into his eyes hard enough to see stars.

"You know what they are?"

"Yeah." Steve says after a great deal of swallowing past the lump in his throat.

If Hargrove's voice betrays even a hint of emotion Steve knows he's gonna fucking lose it. Luckily, the guy keeps his shit together so Steve can keep a lid on his.

"You know what kills them?" Billy continues.

"Heat," Dustin says, voice thick, "And, like, bullets."

Billy nods, "Alright, how warm are we talking?"

"They don't like warm weather or daylight, but I don't think it kills them. Weakens them, maybe. Sends them underground."

"Fire will." Steve says, pulling at his hair until it hurts, dragging himself out of foggy despair and into the present where he's needed. He accidentally runs his gaze past Karen's body and tries not to dry-heave.

Mike is still crying behind him and god fuck, they should get out of here. The kid shouldn't be seeing this.

"Where do we go?" Max whispers, like she read his mind. She sounds as lost as Steve feels.

Billy revs the engine and turns to Steve, "Any requests?"

Steve thinks about the huge empty house waiting for him, a gaping nightmare at the edge of the woods. He balks at the thought.

Where the fuck do we go?

"Just get us out of Hawkins."

#anon ask #tag game #my precious #gravegroves writes #harringrove

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heavenunderthemoon · 3 years

Text

Growing Pains {Chapter Four}

Warnings: None, I believe.

Prologue, chapter one, chapter two, chapter three

Nevada 1992

"I'm thoroughly spooked, can we go now?"

You rolled your eyes at the ten year old beside you. His whines had risen an octave over the last five minutes, the cause most probably being the increasing proximity to the house before the two of you, all of them had been ignored as you pedaled faster, hoping to reach the dilapidated structure before sunset.

The boy's scrawny arms looped around your waist, tightening to an almost suffocating degree every time you rode over a pothole and almost making you wheeze from discomfort. Spencer's bike was out for repair- 'out for repairs' was just a silly way of saying Spencer had all but begged your older brothers to take a look at the broken chain and then paid them $15 (probably too much, but he was desperate) to fix it. The bike was being looked at now, actually, but that still left the Reid boy without transportation. You had practically had to force him onto yours.

'I hate when you steer, you ride into every puddle you see and I didn't bring my rain boots-'

'Jesus, Sherlock, I'll go around them-'

'But, you don't have a helmet-'

'You can borrow my dad's-'

'Is your bike even registered?'

All of his questions had made you groan, almost pulling out your hair and all but shoving him onto your bike, taking up the front while he stood on the pedestals allocated for passengers in the back. Your bike wasn't anything flashy. In fact, it was a hand-me-down from your brothers, the seat sitting just a bit too high at the moment, though your dad claimed you would grow into it.

You pulled over, your worn tires coming to a halt in the over-grown grass, weeds poking up from every direction and basically engulfing the lawn before you.

"We just got here, Spencer, please, five minutes?" You shot a pleading look to the boy behind you, your father's helmet consuming the entirety of his head. His glasses, cracked from when Peter Thompson had socked him in the lunchroom the other week, slid down his nose and he pushed them back up as he hopped off the bike. His hands went to his shirt, wiping them across the material as he sighed. You liked when he did things like that, kid things.

"Fine, five minutes." He seceded, and you put the kickstand in place before hopping off the bike yourself, leading the way to the sagging building.

1497 Columbia Drive.

The house was practically a local hub for folklore. All ghost stories for the children in your community originated from this house in particular. Your dad said it was all hocus pocus, nothing of substance. It was probably just a bunch of kids trying to get a good laugh out of scaring the little kids, he even lectured you on the history of the house, no murders or strange incidents ever occurring on the property. But still, you had asked Spencer to come with you to check it out.

Your feet crunched the gravel beneath it, poking around the house here and there.

"What do you think you're going to find, Y/N? A ghost hiding under the rock?" His tone was condescending, as it was sometimes. Though, that was something he didn't quite know he was doing. You knew that. You knew that if he knew that he came across like that, like he thought less of you, he would never do that. His attitude was a little bit worse today than usual. His mother wasn't doing too well, her rants becoming longer, her paranoia keeping the boy from hanging out with you on most days. You had taken to climbing into his window to hang out, or sneaking him out when you could. But the tone still stung a bit. "This is stupid." He continued.

A small sigh escaped your lips as you kicked at a rock, shoving your hands into your pockets. "How come everything I want to do is stupid?" It was petty. Petty, and emotional, and a million other things you never were because you liked to keep things in, but your insecurities began pouring out of you like a broken spout. "Why are you even friends with me? I'm too dumb for you, you have to explain things to me a million different times and even then, sometimes I still don't get it. You're gonna go away someday, because you're smart and you're better than...than here. Than this. So, why do you even hang out with me?" The words fell sloppily from your lips, only angering you further because you knew how eloquently Spencer would've been able to express his thoughts.

And this was something that had bothered you for a while. Since you had met him, actually. Because you were different. Spencer Reid was different. And while everyone else in town thought that him being different was a bad thing, you saw it as something good. Good, because he was going to be something. He was going to be something big, something bigger than anything you could ever be, whatever he wanted, whatever he wished for, because he could. Because he was Spencer. And you were just...you. You didn't skip grades or read books super fast or have a photographic memory. You weren't a genius, your brain didn't move a million miles per minute, and how boring it must be for Spencer to have to hang out with you.

Your eyes stung with tears, quickly welling and spilling hotly down your reddened cheeks and you were grateful that your back was still to the boy because he had never seen you cry, not even when you broke your index finger playing baseball two years ago, and you weren't entirely sure that Spencer would know how to comfort you if he saw you crying.

But, he did know. He didn't say anything to acknowledge it aloud, probably because he feared you might turn around and deck him right then and there if he did, but he noticed. He saw the way your shoulders had tightened as you spoke and then began shaking lightly when you finished. He noticed the tremor in your voice, the small sniffles escaping your figure. He noticed your clenching fist, your nails digging into your palm, and the stiffness in your body, as if pleading with yourself to stop. He had never seen you cry. Come to think of it, he had never seen you sad. And it was then that he realized that he had never seen you sad because you tended to turn that sadness into anger. You turned your tears into insults and your wounds into punches because it was easier that way. He realized that you weren't as invincible as he thought. You weren't some fearless, perpetually angry girl who finished every fight she started. You were human, you were vulnerable. And this revelation made him feel better, as much as he hated to say it. Because he had always felt incredibly inferior to you. He felt inferior when he saw you speaking to your other friends at the park or the library. He felt inferior when he saw your family, two brothers and a father (all of which seemed to speak in grunts and were constantly shoving food into their mouths whenever Spencer saw them). No matter how cave-man-like your family was, they were there. They were present. They weren't grabbing your shoulders, screaming about aliens, or the government, or tiny microscopic societies that he couldn't see- something Diana did often. He felt inferior when you stood up for yourself, or for him, when you weren't afraid to tell people to shut up, or ask for help, which was something he could never quite bring himself to do.

And this, these tears, these insecurities, brought you down to his level, gave you a fall from grace that was just enough to make him brave, even if it was for a split second, to grab your shoulder, and pull you into his embrace. His hug was bony. He smelled like cheap laundry detergent, lemon shampoo, and a bit of sweat. He had begun growing, just the tiniest bit, that year and it was enough to put you both at the same height. Two ten year olds standing in front of that allegedly haunted house, a scrawny little boy with a brain far too big for his own good and a girl who had been previously crying but was now just standing there, stunned, unsure of what to do in Spencer's embrace.

"What are you doing?" And for once you weren't loud. You weren't loud, or obnoxious, or confident. Your voice was tiny, small, and confused, because Spencer didn't like touching, and neither did you, really. You didn't hug each other. You gave each other high-fives, or fist bumps, or small nudges to the other in greetings or farewells, but never hugs.

Spencer didn't move, keeping his stance the same, his arms wrapped around your shoulders, his cheek to your shoulder. "Why am I your friend? Why are you mine? Everyone in town thinks I'm weird, and they tease you just for being my friend. Why put up with that? Why be friends with the kid who has to make multiple trips to the library each week and gets upset when he has to return them? Why be friends with the kid who can't even act like a kid. I get along better with adults, and those are the ones who don't talk about me behind my back. Why are you friends with me? Because I'll tell you why I'm friends with you. Because you ask me to explain things to you a million times, because you care so much about what I'm saying that you want to understand it too, even if its boring or complicated. You listen when I talk about nerdy things, and you ask my mom how she's doing- you aren't afraid of her like every other kid in your grade."

Your tears had stopped now, and you weren't entirely sure if it was due to the shock of Spencer hugging you or the shock of Spencer practically yelling as he let go of you, grabbing you by the shoulders and looking you in the eye.

"You're my best friend, and I'm sorry I said this was stupid. I would much rather do a million stupid things with you than be a genius alone."

He was a little breathless at the end of it, eyes still glued onto your face for some kind of sign that you weren't still sad, or angry. But it was blank, and suddenly his mind was rewinding through everything he said. Did he say something wrong? And just as he was going to apologize profusely for hugging you, you were pulling him into your own embrace. You were strong, his body hitting yours with a thud. You smelled like mechanical oil, probably from your dad's garage, and a hint of vanilla. Your hair, collected into a pony tail, though baby hairs clung to your forehead in a pool of sweat, brushed his nose and tickled his nostrils. You squeezed him when you hugged him and he didn't hesitate to wrap his arms around you in reassurance. He had never had a friend apart from you, never had a person to tell about his day, about his dreams, about the weird thing he read that day. He had you, and he didn't now what life would be like without you, but the thought scared him. It terrified him to think about a future without you in it, and so he clung to you tighter.

"Let's go home. Nothin' special about this house, anyways." You pulled away, elbowing him lightly in the ribs, the tiniest of smiles on your face and he beamed, because he did that. He made you smile.

"Eh, I thought it was pretty cool." Spencer said with a shrug, walking back to the bike.

QUANTICO, January 2012

The plane ride back from the case was bumpy, turbulence instantly shaking the large aircraft, causing it to be physically impossible for the team to sleep on the way home- well, unless you were Rossi. You could swear that David Rossi could sleep through just about everything. After grabbing his usual drink from the jet bar, the old man had chosen his usual window seat, only a couple rows back from where you sat with JJ, Derek, and Emily, snoring peacefully within twenty minutes.

You groaned in envy, tilting your head back to rest on the cushion as you did so. The blonde to your left chuckled at your dramatics, having gotten used to your behavior by now, Derek and Emily in tow. The three were the trio you had found yourself most acquainted with on the team, well, them and Penelope. You had a soft spot in your heart for the quirky technical analyst, the woman all but forcing herself into your life by digging through your personal files and inviting herself over for breakfast before long cases. How strange it had been to open the door to your apartment and find Penelope and Derek on the other side.

"Good morning!"

Your hair was sticking up in about twenty different directions, something the two agents found rather astounding, but chose not to comment on. At the office you were...put-together, to say the least. You were professional, a military woman through and through. You showed up to work early, your paperwork was always done, your shirts were always ironed, your laces were always tied. Penelope would argue that she never saw you blink- something that had made Derek laugh and JJ roll her eyes at, but Emily secretly agreed, because, man, did you?

At this point you had only been working for the BAU for a week or so, and still, they knew nothing about you. And so, here she was, gift-basket in hand while Derek carried along three steaming hot lattes that you could smell even from this distance.

Your eyebrows knitted together, head tilting in a manner that was scarily akin to their boy wonder- another thing they chose not to comment on. After that first day, the introduction between the two that had gone very strangely and the obvious avoidance on both of their parts, the team had chosen to skirt around the Reid boy and the Y/L/N girl. Things like that had a way of working themselves out. Besides, it hadn't affected their work and so personal matters were to remain...well, personal.

"Uh, good morning?" You stepped aside, allowing the two agents to enter your apartment. It was a one-bedroom, close to work so the commute wasn't too bad, and extremely empty. Penelope could've guessed it would be that way before entering. Your desk was the same way, only a picture of what she assumed was your dad and your brothers and you in your uniform to adorn your small space. Furniture, a lonely sofa, beige and boring, and a coffee table severely lacking anything other than a newspaper that Derek could see was three days old. The crossword section was flipped open, only three words filled out. Strewn across the floor were boxes, emptied out, mostly, but the few that remained full were labeled 'BOOKS' and 'SUMMER ClOTHES". The latter gave the two agents a headache, the very action of attempting to envision you in anything other than your usual jeans, leather jacket, and boots too difficult for their brains to process.

Your apartment was pristine, another thing that was predictable. It smelled of coffee, and as the three agents ventured further into the apartment, it was apparent as to the source of the smell; a half-empty pot sitting on the marble countertops.

"I'm sorry there isn't breakfast, if I would've known you were coming over I would've made...cereal."

Derek's eyebrows scrunched at the food choice and you let out an awkward chuckle.

"I can't cook. I'm horrible, like, burn down the house horrible." Your hand grabbed the coffee he was extending, giving a grateful nod as you looked to Penelope.

"Sorry for the short notice-"

"No notice, actually." You corrected with a smirk, eyes looking over the rim of the coffee lid as you took a sip.

"Right- no notice. I just, I figured if I gave you notice it would give you a chance to say no, and that's fine! if you want us to leave or anything we can, but we really need more women in the office and you seem like some badass, aviator wearing, leather jacket having, military chick and I really feel like we cold be good friends! I always text back, and I, for one, am I a good cook, so I can help you with that...oh, and I am amazing at remembering birthdays! I brought a gift basket too! I wasn't sure if you liked chocolate, or cheese, or fruit, this has all three-"

"Give her a second, babygirl." The Morgan shook his head, throwing a look to you. It was kind, an understanding look that meant he understood just how overwhelming his blonde counterpart could be but but also pleaded for understanding. Understanding of how Penelope was, of how good of a friend she could be.

But he didn't need to do that.

He didn't need to ask you to understand, or to be patient, or to give someone a chance He didn't need to because she reminded you all too much of a scrawny little kid with his nose in a book, a mouth far too smart for his own good, and a lack of any defense system.

The paper cup landed onto the countertop gently as you placed it down, arms crossing over themselves. Your arms were a bit chilled, nothing but a t-shirt and boxer shorts worn to bed, and a lazy smile quirked at the corner of your lips at the strange, kind, lovely blonde before you.

"I like cheese and chocolate and fruit." Penelope visibly relaxed at the comment. "Stay, I'm in need of some good friends."

"I'm tired." You mumbled grumpily, chin coming to rest on your hand.

JJ snorted, digging further into the small bag of chips she had managed to snag from the vending machine at the airport before the jet had taken off. "You could sleep."

With a click of your tongue, you smiled sarcastically, nodding your head. "Good idea, I didn't think about that." As another snore reached your ears, you tossed a glare back to the sleeping Rossi, rolling your eyes. "Jesus, does he have to rub it in?" You snapped.

Emily tucked a curl behind her ear, cracking a grin. "You can sleep when you get home, the flight's only three hours out."

"No, because when I get home I have to shower first, the plane makes me feel gross." Your shoulders gave way to a shiver that made Derek laugh. "Should I sleep or should I shower? I could sleep in the shower- but I'm also hungry."

A light tap on your forearm alerted you to the chip bag being shoved onto you, an offering by the Jareau woman. Perhaps if you hadn't known her for as long as you had- which, admittedly still wasn't that long, but you digressed- you would have taken one. Yes, JJ was offering, but JJ and her chips was not a love you came between and if you took one now she would tell you that you owed her a chip bag when you next passed a vending machine and the woman, small and kind as she was, was not as forgiving when it came to being owed chips.

With a tired wave of your hand you stood, stretching your arms for a moment, fingertips grazing the jet ceiling, before turning on your heel. "I'm gonna go find some peanuts or something."

You made your way to the back of the jet, toward the coffee machine station and bar set up. Cabinets above and below the both of them had you suspecting that there was a secret stash of peanuts- or, perhaps, a five-course meal that no one else knew about. Day-dreaming of a roasted turkey and baked Mac and cheese you hardly noticed a person exit the bathroom as you searched the cabinets. At the exact moment they had, the jet hit a spot of turbulence.

Your body, too tired to react quickly enough, lurched backward, directly into the body behind you.

Spencer yelped quietly, reacting on instinct and grabbing your body. The momentum of your body in addition to the swing of the jet had him stumbling into the wall, his hands securely around your waist, body pressed tightly against yours.

His touch wasn't foreign, perhaps that was why you stilled the way you did. As if you were frozen in an instant, neither of you moved as the plane shook for a moment, righting itself almost immediately and leaving the two of you staring, eyes entranced in one another.

For you, it was his touch. His touch that made you still, his touch that made you forget the search for food, the whines of exhaustion, the impatience to go home. His touch, one you knew quite well as a child, one you associated with friendship, childhood, and safety. One you associated with trust, and companionship. One that was returned to you in an instant, a feeling that you forgot after all these years- no, not forgot. You hadn't forgotten his touch, or, at least, your body hadn't. No, your body remembered Spencer Reid quite well. Your body remembered climbing into Spencer Reid's window, your hands calloused and hardened from the long climb to the top of the tree beside it. Your body remembered biking around town with him, thighs and calves burning as you pushed yourself harder, the amount of books he had loaded onto your bike because his couldn't fit all of them on his own weighing you down. Your body remembered bloodied knuckles, busted lips, or black eyes, all of them your victory trophies because you were hotheaded, impulsive, and protective when the other children had something to say about him.

And he stilled because of your scent. As strange as it sounded, it hadn't changed after all these years. Unlike you, his mind hadn't tricked him into forgetting it. He didn't think it was possible for him to ever forget it. Mechanical oil and a hint of vanilla. It enveloped him like a warm blanket, a large tidal wave of the familiar scent hanging in the air, threatening to overtake him until the wave broke and it pulled him under with it. The scent consumed him, filling his nostrils, overtaking his senses and for a moment it was too much. It was too much for his brain to process because one moment he was walking out of the bathroom and the next you were in his arms and he was catching you.

You didn't know what to say. What was there to say? You missed him. You saw him at work everyday, you passed by him when you dropped off paperwork to Hotchner, you nodded at him in passing, and you stumbled into him when the jet hit an air pocket. How could you miss him if you did all of that, every single day?

But Spencer Reid was a person to be missed. Spencer Reid was a person you thought about. You thought about him every day, every hour, every minute, because how could you not? How could you just pretend you didn't know him? The boy who read you Sherlock Holmes on hot summer days, or slow danced with you in your father's basement? The boy who gave you pinky promises and made wishes on stars, and taught you the constellations. A boy you had known was extraordinary from the beginning and had turned out to be just that? A boy who was no longer a boy anymore, because the world didn't take well to boys with exceptional minds and sick mothers, the world turned boys like that into men, men who were different, even if just a little bit. That little bit was enough to let all the fears flood back in, the fears of the ordinary, the fears of not being enough. The fears that were solidified in your not-so-welcome welcoming.

The memory coursed through your veins, activating them as if it had been a shot of adrenaline.

Clearing your throat, you moved, standing up properly, pushing yourself out of his embrace and crossing your arms. "Thanks. Turbulence caught me off guard there."

For a moment he had you, just you and him and then you had turned to sand in his hands and once again he was losing you. Your expression had hardened. In another lifetime he had been the one to soften you, a person who had been able to break down those walls you worked so hard to build, but now he was the one locked out.

"What we really need to worry about are microbursts - a sudden downburst of air associated with thunderstorms - but small craft like this one, if we hit one of those at the wrong altitude..." He was rambling at this moment, rambling so badly he wished he could stop but he couldn't. His hands mimicked an explosion, his voice coming out much smaller, more reluctant. "Get pulverized."

Spencer Reid didn't like being vulnerable. And that's what he was around you, vulnerable. And being vulnerable did things to him, made him say things and do things that make him embarrassed, or ashamed, or even feel guilty. Just as he started to simultaneously feel all three of these things, you did something he hadn't quite expected.

You laughed.

"Jeez, Sherlock, ever so morbid, aren't you?" It was a soft chuckle, a tiny little snort, short-lived and gone in an instant, but it was enough to make Spencer grin.

His lips parted to respond. What he was going to say, he didn't know- something, anything- but, he never got to find out.

The pilot bell dinged over the speaker system.

"Passengers, this is your Pilot speaking. There are rough windstorms ahead, I'm receiving advisement to land immediately, please buckle your seatbelts, this will be a rough landing."

TAGLIST: @fangurl215 @lauren2408 @moonstarrnghtsky @uwu-sebastianstan @criminalminds4days @tclaerh

Message me to be added to the taglist! Hope you enjoy:) xx Toby

#spencer reid x reader #Spencer Reid fic #spencer reid #criminal minds x reader #Criminal Minds #growing pains

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lilacandladybugs · 2 years

Note

Hello Lilac o/ I’m also sick b/c my youngest sister gave it to me and now any time my symptoms mildly annoy me I just shake my fist like an old man chasing kids off his lawn and grumble her name. Anyway, get well soon! Being sick is awful! :D -arah fren

MY YOUNGEST SISTERS DIS THIS TOO siblings are a mistake (not really i love them all)

Yeah so i am just sufferin glad to see we're all in it together

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meat--grindr · 3 years

Note

Hey, would you be willing to take some Martin Mathias headcannons with a trans male (ftm) s/o? Sfw and/or nsfw (if you write nsfw) is fine!! Thank youuuu!!!

Hi there! You’re the first person to ask for something, so I’m really excited and nervous about posting this! I’ve never written for Martin before, and I only just watched the movie for the first time a few weeks ago, so I’m sorry if it takes me a bit of time to get into the swing of writing him well. I am totally happy writing both SFW and NSFW, so you get both! Also, from one transman to another, if any term I use in this post makes you uncomfortable at all, please PM me and I will change whatever it is to suit your preferences better. There isn’t enough trans/slasher content out there and I don’t want mine to make anyone feel bad. Okay, with all that preamble out of the way, let’s write some head-canons!

Martin Mathias w/ a Trans-Male S/O.

SFW (These came out so much more like a story or scenario than actual head-canons. I got a little carried away. I tried to keep them more like head-canons in the NSFW section.)

• The first time he sees you, he’s shaking.

• It’s almost that time again, he knows. He knows it by the stinging of his eyes in the sunlight that streams through the shop windows. The wooden floor, polished to a shine, reflects the light, and carries with it a familiar pain which, much to his frustration, reaches him even at his gloomy perch behind the counter.

• He knows it by the way the hinge of his jaw aches with the need to stretch open and clamp down on a throat, a wrist, a thigh, anything. He swallows hard, throat working furiously in a vain attempt to quell the beast that lurks within—the drooling, snarling hunger that surges within his gut, howling for something warm and wet and red.

• The door swings open, bringing with it a rush of thick, muggy heat and the cheerful jingling of the store bell.

• A bolt of pain lances through his head at the noise. He doesn’t look up from the counter. It’s too bright, the bell is too loud; in his current state it’s almost too much to bear.

• His fingers grip the counter hard as whoever had opened the door approaches. The rough wooden edge digs into the flesh of his palms as he finds himself struggling to stay upright. The tapping of sneakers on the floor echoes in his skull, pain blooming behind his eyes, pounding in time with each footfall.

• “Hi,” It’s a man’s voice, young like him. This was odd considering most of the customers he saw were women of middle age or older. “I’m here to pick up an order for uh…” You trail off as you take in his appearance: the sweat on his brow, the tension in his shoulders, how he shakes as though he was cold, despite the sweltering heat. “Hey, are you okay?”

• He squints down at you, eyes narrowed against the light, and the world seemed in that instant to slow; the space between each intake of breath elongating into a tiny eternity.

• Even as he sees you there standing before him, sweating in the sunlight, grass stains on the knees of your jeans, a backpack slung easy over one shoulder, he sees something else: the same handsome young man, dressed in fine silk, a cravat knotted beneath his throat, a single white candle clutched in his hand. The man smiles, head cocked to one side, before turning away and darting into the shadows, leaving only his laughter behind.

• You wave your hand in front of his face and he blinks at you, eyes refocusing.

• “You look like you’re about to keel over.”

• He stares at you for a long moment, saying nothing. At length, he shakes his head.

• “Are you sure? Looks to me like a touch of heat-stroke. It’s hot enough for it.”

• Again, he merely stares at you for a long moment, before shaking his head.

• “Right. Well, drink some water for me a least, okay? It’d be a shame to come back tomorrow and find out you died.”

• His eyes remain fixed upon you as you give him the name on the order you were sent to pick up. “My grandmother,” you explain, “I’ve been coming up to visit her every summer since I was a little kid. No matter how much I change, this place never does. Guess it’s true what they say about small towns, huh?”

• His fingers tremble as he counts out your change with a deliberate care you can’t help but find endearing.

• “Except you…you’re new. Right?”

• He nods only once.

• “Well, new guy, it was nice to meet you. I’ll see you around.” You plucked the package off of the counter, the brown paper wrapping rough against your hands.

• That night as he stalks the streets, it is a different voice that calls to him, a different form he chases through the shadowed halls of his imagination, and a different face he pictures going slack with pleasure as teeth much sharper than those he possesses pierce the delicate flesh of a throat.

---

• You see him around town several times after that—running deliveries for the old man and fixing squeaky doors for lonely housewives. You’re sure to speak to him whenever you get the chance, though he never speaks back. More than once the thought has crossed your mind that perhaps he couldn't speak at all; and the longer you know him, the more you're convinced this must be the case.

• He’s leaning over a porch railing between two blue flower boxes bursting with dahlias, his expression relaxed but fond. An assortment of tools lay scattered about his feet, forgotten in favour of a friendly, if one-sided conversation nearly an hour ago.

• “I shouldn’t keep you from you work. Sometimes I swear I keep talking just to hear the sound of my own voice.”

• He tilts his head, an odd half-smile playing around the corners of his lips, “But I like your voice.”

• Your mouth falls open. You know it’s rude, but you can’t help it.

• His smile slants more toward smug than sociable. “I can speak.”

• “So you can.” You can feel your face flare in embarrassment, even in the blazing heat of the noon-day sun. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

• He gives you a lazy shrug and straightens up. He looks down his nose at you, and for the first time, you sense something sharp about him. Something had shifted in the way he held himself, the way he looked at you—like he could surge forward and swallow you whole without flinching. “Maybe I had nothing to say to you.”

• His tone stung. You set your jaw, “Right. Well, I won’t bother you anymore.” You turned, not sparing so much as a glance over your shoulder. If that’s how it's going to be you’re better off steering clear.

• “Or maybe I just like to listen to you.”

• You stop and look back at him. He’s leaning over the railing again. All traces of that icy figure that had stood there only moments before were gone. In his place was the young man with the earnest, open face you had grown so fond of. It was difficult to disbelieve a face like that.

• “I like that option better.”

• He smiles. “So do I.” He casts a quick glance behind him then, as if he didn’t want to be overheard, though you could see no one else around. “I have to finish up here, but then I’m free. Meet me in the field up behind the church in an hour?"

• Your heart stills in your chest, then kicks to life again, a startled bird flapping against your ribcage. “O-Okay…why?”

• He crooks one slender finger, beckoning you closer.

• When you’re close enough to feel the warmth radiating from his body, he leans down toward you. Though he does not touch you, you can feel his breath puff against your neck as he whispers, “I want to listen to you talk more.”

• And just like that he’s gone, snapping the tools up from the floor and disappearing around the corner of the porch, leaving you alone and breathless on the lawn of a stranger.

---

• In the coming weeks, you find yourself in the field most afternoons, Martin’s head in your lap, your fingers tangled in his hair. The air is so heavy it’s nearly liquid around you and the low drone of the insects buzzing around you has begun to lull you both into a sleepy sort of daze.

• Your nails graze his scalp, and he shivers. You’re sure that if he could purr, he would in that moment.

• It isn’t until you stop petting his hair that his eyes slide open, and he gazes up at you blearily. You can’t imagine what the world must look like through eyes so big and brown. Looking into them, you feel something deep in your chest crack and ache so terribly for a moment you feel as though it might overwhelm you. There’s something so lonely about those eyes.

• Your name leaves his lips, a cracked whisper, though you hear him clear as day.

• “Yes?”

• “Why did you stop?”

• “Touching you?

• “No. Talking.”

• You smile. “I was thinking, I suppose.”

• “About?”

• You fall silent for a long while, thinking about how best to put your wants into words. “About how badly I want to kiss you.”

• The silence stretches on long and heavy, and you’re sure you’ve said the wrong thing. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

• You try to move to dislodge him from your lap, but he sits up before you have the chance.

• “Martin, I’m sorry.”

• He turns to look at you slowly, his eyes never leaving your face for a moment, as he leans in close and brushes his lips against yours.

• It’s soft and chaste, lasting no more than a single beat of your heart, but it was enough to make your head spin.

• He pulls back just far enough to whisper against your lips. “It’s not that I didn’t want to. I’ve always wanted to but I…I’m just too shy to...”

• You laugh, burying your face into the crook of his neck, stamping a single kiss against his collarbone. “Well, shy boy. I’d be glad to be your teacher if you’d like.”

• Though you can’t see his face, you can hear the smile in his voice, “I think I’d like that very much.”

---

• His eyes shine above you in the darkness, pupils blown so wide his eyes seem black. He touches you with shaking hands, tangling his fingers in his hair as he kisses down your neck, his teeth grazing the flesh above your pulse. You whimper, your hand fisted tightly into the soft, green cotton of his t-shirt.

• He pulls back and looks at you, eyes flickering across your face, and his teeth worrying his lower lip the way they did when he was unsure of something.

• “What is it, shy boy?”

• There is a sharp intake of breath, as though he was about to answer you, though he remains silent for another long moment.

• His hands begin to fiddle with the hem of your shirt.

• An unwelcome spike of panic pierces through you in that moment. He’s been so good to you, so patient and understanding. But everyone has their limits. You have yet to find his, but what if this is it? What if this is it and he doesn’t want you after?

• You push his hands away and sit up. “We need to talk.”

• “Agreed.”

• You were taken aback. This statement usually overwhelmed Martin with the terrible fear that he had done something wrong, had upset you in some way. But not this time. There was something so serious in his voice. You might have found it frightening had you not been so consumed by the fear of what you now had to tell him.

• “You first.”

• He shook his head. “No, you.”

• You took a shuddering breath. “We’ll never say it at this rate. At the same time?”

• Martin holds your gaze for a steady moment. “Okay.”

• “Ready?”

• He nods.

• “I’m transgender.” / “I’m a vampire”

• “What?” / “What?”

• Through the reeling of your head, you barely register his reaction. “You’re a what?” Your own voice sounds high and thin to your ears.

• “A vampire.”

• You’re struck nearly dumb with disbelief. “But…but you go outside in the sun. And you sleep in a bed not a coffin. And! And you don’t have…”

• “Fangs?”

• You nod.

• “It’s not like in the movies.”

• “O-Oh. So…does that mean you don’t need to drink…” You couldn’t bring yourself to say the word.

• “Blood? Oh no. Blood is still a necessity, I’m afraid.”

• “Right…right. Um…”

• “Do you believe me?”

• Did you? You hesitated for a moment, but only a moment. “Yes. Yes, I think I do.”

• “Why?”

• “Why not? You’re not a liar, Martin. I don’t think.”

• He hums low in his throat, before fixing you with an intense look. “Your turn. Explain that word to me. I’ve never heard it before.”

• You take a deep shuddering breath and begin to explain. “I’m like you…but different.”

• Martin is quiet to the end, listening intently, as he has so many times before, until you have no words left.

• “This…doesn’t change anything.” His voice barely breaches a whisper.

• “Meaning?”

• He could feel your heart racing beneath your shirt. “Meaning I still want you.”

• ‘I still want you.’ Those words echoed through your mind as you toppled back onto the bed, pulling him down on top of you.

• His eyes bore into yours, “No more secrets.”

• You search his face for a long moment, “There is one more…”

• He quirks an eyebrow at you.

• “I love you, Martin.”

• “You never kept that a secret from me.”

NSFW

• By his own admission, Martin is very inexperienced when it comes to sex, but what he lacks in experience he more than makes up for in enthusiasm and he’s very good at following instructions. (Service top, service top, service top!)

• Have you seen his mouth? It’s good for three things: kissing, oral, and pouting (which is what he’ll do if you won’t let him do at least one of the first two things.)

• He’s a whimperer through and through. Whether you’re sucking a mark onto his neck, swallowing his cock down to the base, or letting him pound you into the mattress, he’ll be a good boy and make plenty of noise for you.

When He Tops:

• He’s so careful with you.

• Practically worshipful as he strips you down layer by layer, marvelling at how beautiful you are. He’ll kiss your scars and whisper to them (and you) that he loves them (and you).

• He’s a little shy on teasing you at first, only because of his lack of experience. In his mind he could hold you down and edge you for hours on end, but in practice, you beg the tiniest bit and he caves, unable to deny his boy anything.

• He wants to call you names that would make you whine for him, but he barely manages to stutter out a broken “d-d-darling,” before he’s practically unravelling on top of you.

• Like I said before, this man can eat out like a champ. He loves it when you grab him by the hair and guide his head. Show him what makes you feel good – use him to get yourself off. He wants nothing more than to make you happy. He’ll pick up on what you like quickly enough, but there’s something about you guiding him that drives him crazy, maybe it’s because he likes it when you take control, or maybe it’s the simple knowledge that you want his mouth on you as much as he wants to give it to you.

• His hands are clumsy, but his fingers are long and thin and perfect for fucking yourself on. Let him practice and he’ll master the art of fingering in no time, I’m sure.

• Very respectful of boundaries. If you don’t like having your chest touched, it never would be. If penetrative sex is painful or overwhelming for you, he’d gladly fuck your hand, or your mouth, or your thighs for the rest of his life. He wants whatever you give him and nothing more.

• He would never ask this of you and would only partake if you yourself brought it up and put in the work to convince him you’d really be okay with it, but giving him the opportunity to feed while fucking you would probably almost kill him. He’d spent so long trying to convince himself he didn’t want/need to feed on you, that you willingly offering him the the chance would almost be too much. Feeling you tense up beneath the slice of the razor or the points of his too-human teeth and the stretch of his cock at the same time would certainly send him over the edge and probably be enough to keep him going for another round.

When He Bottoms:

• Accidental pillow prince – not because he wants to be. in fact, he wants to please you just as much when he bottoms as he does when he tops. It’s just too much for him and there’s little more he can do but lie there and take it.

• He’s been so starved of touch that even the smallest of physical gestures is incredibly powerful for him. This makes it so easy to both edge and overstimulate. A good trick to use on him is to edge him until he’s nearly crying, begging you to let him cum, then let him again, and again, and again, until he’s begging you to stop. Awww, what’s wrong, shy-boy? I thought you wanted to cum?

• He was a little nervous about pegging, but once he was brave enough to actually try it, he regretted not doing it sooner.

• He’s shy, insecure, and lonely, so please do yourselves both a favour and praise him. Call him a good boy and he’ll absolutely melt in your hands.

• Tease him about being shy. Make him tell you how good you make him feel. Make him tell you he’s a good boy. He’ll whimper and whine and struggle, but hearing him say it will be well worth it for both of you.

#martin 1977 #martin #slasher headcanons #slasher imagines #slasher x reader #ripper fics

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vanchlo · 4 years

Text

Magic Moment

Hello! I could NOT resist writing another blurb about boyfriend!harry for my lovely friend, @bfharry‘s BOYFRIENDATHON after I got this idea! I’ve always loved baseball myself and playing lots of catch at work recently inspired this, as well as falling in love with Queen ;) Enjoy some fluff about playing catch with boyfriend!harry at your childhood home c:

Warnings: None

Word Count: 2.4k words

Pairing: Harry x Reader

Music Inspo: This Magic Moment by Ben E. King and The Drifters (click to listen and yes Sandlot *wink*)

“Follow your heart, kid, and you can never go wrong.”

- The Sandlot

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad,” you jest, giggling nervously. The screen door closes with a loud whap! behind the both of you.

“Ya, maybe it wasn’t fer you,” he sighs in a whisper, stuffing his hands into his pockets. His high-top white converses slap! down the wooden stairs quickly. “I think I need anotha beer afta that.”

“Follow me.”

A humid heat hits you in the face when you open the scarlet-colored door to the garage. The familiar smell welcomes you, and so do the sights of your father’s tools hanging up on the walls. The lawn mower still sits in the same spot, his pair of old glasses remain perched on the windowsill, and the tiny mini fridge in the corner awaits your call.

“Thanks,” he mumbles after taking a long pull from the refreshing beer. You opt for a Whiskey-Coke, instead, the carbonation sending shooting stars across your tongue. You watch him wipe away the bead of sweat running down his forehead, and then the subsequent smile that drills the dimples into his cheeks. “Bloody hell, if that isn’t tha cutest thing ‘ve eva seen.”

A questioning ‘what’ barely passes your lips once you spot the miniature lilac colored baseball glove on a shelf. Next, a laugh falls from your lips and he echoes it with his own adorable concoction.

“Hard t’ believe yer hand was eva that tiny, love.”

“I know, it’s funny that my dad kept it around.”

“I would if I were him, ‘s bloody adorable,” he notes, picking up the battered leather mitt with a content smile. “Ah, lookie here. Up fer a game o’ catch, love? Bet I could whoop yer ass.”

“Harry, you can’t beat somebody in catch!” you protest, the cool liquid gracing your lips, providing you a few seconds of relief from the summer heat.

“We’ll just see ‘bout that, now won’t we?” he teases with a wiggle of his eyebrows. A tan, leather baseball glove hits you square in the chest, landing in your arms while he slips on a darker twin of it. “C’mon, I wanna see how girly of a throw ya got.”

“Oh, shut up. You have no idea what’s coming for you. You’re dating a former softball player here.”

“Am I now? Ya don’t seem that intimidatin’ t’ me, miss,” Harry laughs softly, the billowy cotton of his red Hawaiian themed shirt catching the wind once your feet find the grass. “Dunno how anythin’ can be intimidatin’ afta meetin’ yer bleedin’ father, tho’. Bloody hell,” he remarks, shaking his head.

“It really wasn’t that bad, Harry,” you correct him, placing your tall can beside his dark glass bottle.

“It was. Didn’t know he’d be so fookin’ hard on me, askin’ all o’ those questions. He never even smiled at me once, babe,” he scoffs, sliding the glove onto his large hand and messing around with it until it’s comfortable enough.

“Yes, he did.”

“No, he didn’t. Or I didn’t see it. Dunno why he was so cold t’ me. Ya’ve always had such good things t’ say ‘bout growin’ up with him . . ,” he exhales, tossing the ancient brown and red baseball into the mitt. His short curls dance around atop his head as he crosses the large backyard, the very same one you played kickball in, where you hit home run balls into the woods, set cartwheel records in, and still have the pieces of wood set into the ground marking the bases.

“He’s quiet, Harry, that’s all. You just have to find something in common with him, and then you’ll hit it off. I promise you, he liked you.”

“Don’t believe ya there, he was givin' me tha evil eye tha whole time durin’ dinna, even tho’ I was fakin’ likin’ his burgers. They were dry as hell,” he grumbles, soon coming to a stop a good way across the grassy area. Messing with his light-washed denim shorts, he checks his phone before letting it fall back into one of its pockets. “Reckon ‘s cuz yer his li’l girl, loads mo’ protective o’ you cuzz’a that.”

“Keep going, I’m not a sissy.”

“Oh, so I should go long, ‘s that right? Dunno if ya can make it t’ me if I go back any farther,” he winks, the dimples set into his cheeks all the way from here, you notice.

“Would you hush? I pitched all throughout high school, I can make your hand hurt from catching it, if you keep running your mouth,” you argue.

“Oooooo, she’s gettin’ feisty now,” he chuckles, raising his voice to carry across the clipped green grass, tall trees framing the yard. He pats his taut fist into the palm of the glove, the baseball snug in his large hand. Why, of course it is, Mr. Huge Hands.

Seconds later, the ball soars through the air and banks to the left, but with a jump, you catch it just in time.

“What the hell was that?” you laugh, holding up your hands.

“Erm, ‘m warmin’ up? Y’know, gotta get the old righty back in ‘s place,” he insists, stretching his dominant arm this way and that, ever so dramatically.

“Whatever. You’re full of shit, Harry,” you call back, adding extra volume to your voice. His bottom lip escapes to between his teeth while his head goes from side to side. You surprise him with your throw and he misses it, pulling a loud laugh from your lips. “Not so confident, are we now?”

“Shuddup! Ya were a bloody softball player, ya got advantage ova me, ‘s not fair.”

“Don’t you start whining now! You’re the one who wanted to play catch with a five time-.”

“Ya ya, we get tha point, babe. Yer a bloody star when it comes t’ softball. I know, I know. Wish I coulda seen ya play, woulda been fun. Ya should join a summer league, they sound like a hoot,” he comments, locating the ball at last back in the woods and landing it in your glove.

“And I played with my brother all of the time, and he was M.V.P two years in a row on his high school baseball team.”

“Good fer him, maybe he should be out here playin’ with you, instead,” Harry says when your throw to him sails over his head. “God, can ya control that arm o’ yers fer once?”

“Sorry!” you laugh, knowing that he doesn’t believe it for a second.

“Sure ya are.”

The ball arrives in your mitt with a pleasing whap! and your hand settles over it. Brushing your fingers along the coarse stitches, the shocks of green grass stains on the leather welcome you back to your childhood, tossing around this very same ball with your older brother and father. The nostalgia brings your hand to your pocket, and your fingers soon tap the screen of your phone.

“C’mon, slow poke! What’re ya waitin’ fer? ‘Fraid ‘ll beat ya afta all?” Harry quips from across the yard, nearing you to retrieve his beer that he sips from. With a pleased ‘ahhhh,’ he sets it down on the gray cinder blocks of the nearby fire pit after walking back, placing enough space between him and it so he doesn’t run into it.

Sliding your phone back into your pocket, music soon pours from the large bluetooth speaker in between you against the garage.

“‘s this just fantasy? Caught inn’a landslide, no escape from realityyyyyy. Open yer eyes, look up t’ tha skies, and seeeeee,” Harry sings loudly, pumping his arms down at his sides and closing his eyes adamantly. “‘m just a poor boy, I need no sympathy. Because ‘m easy come, easy go, li’l high, li’l low.”

“Any way the wind blows, doesn’t really matter to meeeeee,” you sing back, savoring the large smile painting his face as he catches your throw with ease.

“Toooo meeee,” he sings back. “Mamaaaaaa just killed a man, put a gun against his head. Pulled my trigger, now’s he dead. Mamaaaaa, life had just begunnnn. But now ‘ve gone and thrown it all awayyyyy,” he sings to the baby blue skies dotted with clouds, adamantly strumming an invisible guitar. He echoes your laugh that flies between the two of you, joining the robins and starlings flitting between the trees. “Knew I picked a good one, she’s got a good arm and a bloody good taste in music. Ya betta play Take On Me next, or all bets are off.”

“Oh, you know that I will. It feels like an eighties night, playing catch in the backyard during the summer. It’s just like when I was little,” you note aloud, jogging to the right to catch his next throw until it falls into your glove.

“‘Bout tha same fer me, just with footy, think this ‘s how ‘d like t’ spend my summers still . . I loved it so much, playin’ in tha backyard listenin’ t’ tha radio, and think my kids would too,” he says casually, sparking a blush in your cheeks at the mention of him as a father. Oh, what you would do to be able to see him playing catch with a little dark-haired boy or girl who calls him ‘Daddy.’

Fuck me, you think hastily.

Quickly, your shared favorite part of the song comes and he imitates the guitar shredding while you repeatedly toss the ball into your mitt, watching him.

“But eva since I watched Wayne’s World as a kid, I can’t avoid bangin’ my head when it gets t’ this part,” Harry chuckles, tossing a pop fly towards the overhang of tree branches. “I love tha trees here, ya know, ‘ve neva seen so many.”

“Me too, I love that part in the movie, and I love them too. It’s crazy to think how long they’ve been around to get this big. Some of them were as tall as I am now when I was little.”

“Huh,” he hums curiously, shooting into the air to grab a high one you tried to trick him with. Your eyes can’t help but wander to his dark fern tattoos that peek out when his shirt rises. “Ya think I should keep it still, or get rid o’ it?” Harry poses to you, puckering his lips at you with a mischievous grin.

“You almost remind me of Freddie Mercury with that ‘stache,” you say, the laugh growing from somewhere deep inside of you. He shrugs his shoulders and tosses a fast one back to you, hitting your glove square in the center with a heavy slap!

“Dunno why ya think that’s such a good joke, ‘s a damn compliment, if ya ask me.”

“Uh oh, are we getting a big head over there because you’ve caught my last three throws?” you joke, watching the ball soar high into the air amongst the green covering of the trees.

“Hey, be easy on me,” he pouts, his words disagreeing with his actions that send a hot fastball into your palm.

“Why? You’re never easy on me when we play Mario Kart or Cribbage.”

“Hey! You don’t have a bleedin’ nearly professional career in any o’ those!” he protests and then curses when your curveball nicks the tip of his glove.

“So, and neither do you, and you’re still aggressive as fuck when we play them! Huh, what’s your excuse, Harry?”

“Galileo!” he calls out.

“Galileo!” you echo, and the rest follow suit between the two of you as the song plays.

“‘m just a poor boyyyyy, nobody loves me,” he sings loudly, causing you to cough on your drink that you take a swig from.

“Keep telling yourself that,” you shoot back, setting down the wet can as he approaches you.

“But I am,” he whines, pushing out his bottom lip that you flick with your finger.

“Watch it!”

“Or what?” you counter, savoring the annoyed expression that soon fills his features. There’s just something about pushing his buttons that gets you going, even though you know that you shouldn’t do it.

“Or else I won’t bloody learn tha rest o’ Blackbird on guitar fer you,” he retorts playfully, taking a long pull from his bottle.

Now, it’s your turn to shout ‘hey!’ until he scoops you into his arms, your surprised shriek piercing the sky.

“You better finish learning it! But, I think that I like Freddie better.”

“How? Paul ‘s far betta. ‘ll always love Queen, and The Beatles don’t have anythin’ on Bohemian Rhapsody, but Paul ‘s tha betta musician. Trust me, I should know,” he disagrees, pecking your temple before pulling away and tossing the ball into your waiting glove.

“But, Freddie had a four octave range.”

“And? So does Paul,” Harry shrugs, raising his left arm in the air to snag your fastpitch that he almost loses. “Paul McCartney ‘s tha superior musician, just trust me on this.”

“Paul McCartney has nothing on Freddie Mercury,” a voice pipes up, turning the both of your heads to the right where you find your dad stepping out of the garage with a weathered black baseball glove snug upon his right hand.

You swear that you could hear Harry’s apprehensive gulp from all of the way over here, and when you look, you find his adam’s apple bobbing in his throat.

“But Paul was betta on guitar, bass, and drums,” Harry argues, nervously tossing the ball into his glove repeatedly.

Your dad closes the door behind him softly, and steps out on the grass, adjusting his glasses. Surprise is absent from your range of emotions when your dad shrugs his shoulders, but you’re sure that it coats Harry’s insides in the next few moments.

“You’re right there, I like somebody who can stand up for their argument,” he comments, nodding a head towards Harry who out of the corner of your eye is smiling, just the slightest. “I think I might like this one,” he says to you, holding out his glove towards Harry, with his lips curling into his cheeks.

The smile on your boyfriend’s face almost matches that of your father’s, but he’s got nothing on the grin plastered across Harry’s face because of your next words.

“I think I do, too, Dad.”

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idunnoficsorsumthing · 4 years

Text

Forbidden pt. 2

written 2016-2017

Bash x reader

“Father.” you said quickly, as he had reached you both. You lowered your head, and looked at the ground. Bash made a bow to your father. “Your majesty.” he had mumbled. Your father looked furious at Bash. “Who are you?” my father asked Bash. “Sebastian de Poitiers.” he said, my father signed. My father made a hand gesture to one of his personal guards. “Take my daughter to her chambers.” he said, “She is not allowed to leave till I say otherwise.” You follow the guard; you look back one more time. Your father walked inside of the party.

“If the dauphine comes here you need to let him in.” you said, the guard shook his head. You had known the guard my entire life, he had dragged you to your room often enough. He was Bernard, and he was already fifty at least, you thought he would have retired by now. He was more like an uncle and friend so a kind face wasn’t unwelcome. “Why not, he said, you chuckle. “I am to not leave. He didn’t say anything about letting people in.” you said, the guard faintly laughed. “forgive me if I am rude princess, but maybe you should not be with them both.” he said, you opened your mouth in surprise. “Bernard, I can assure you that I am not with the dauphine. He will deliver a message from Bash.” you said, the guard smiles faintly, and he left your room. After a while you heard a knock was on the door, Leith entered with a tray of tea. “Good evening Princess.” he said, He put the tray on the table. “Thank you Leith.” you said, He shook his head. You sign. “If I may Princess, did Bash kiss you?” he asked, You thought it was a ridiculous but Leith was after all a friend. You simply nod. He smiled. “John owes me money now.” he said, You couldn’t help, but smile. “Thank you for the tea, Leith.” You said annoyed.

You woke up to Eliza my maid, waking you up. “Your father is coming.” she said, You yawn, as Eliza hands you your robe. Francis hadn’t visited. When the door opened without warning. The old man walked in. “Good morning father.” You said, he seemed calm. He smiled at you. “I have good news.” he said, while a grin appeared on his face. “That is why I came here, the Archduke of Austria, Maximillian II, he agreed to wed you.” he said, the blood drained from your face. You shake my head, your father’s smile turned into a frown. “You cannot be serious about the kings bastard,” he said: “I will not allow you to ruin everything.”You sit down on my bed with your hand on your mouth you were paralyzed to whatever he could say. He left the room, leaving you alone. You couldn’t phantom why he could make this decision at the moment. Why now? why couldn’t she just stay here in France for a while longer enjoying her youth?

You were sitting close to the lawn with your ladies drinking tea. You don’t hear anything they say, you were too lost in thought. You feel a tap on your shoulder. It was Francis, “Amaya, I need to talk to you.” he said, you nod, standing up, and walk a little with Francis, he looked a little sad. While staring at the grass. “What is it Francis?” You ask. He looks up. “I just heard Mary is coming. “he said, a mile came on your face. “Mary Stuart, I haven’t seen her in ages.” You said, you tried to suppress my happiness about the returning of the queen. Francis was silent. “You liked playing with her as kids,” You said: “better than some archduke.” his eyes widened. “You are engaged to an archduke?” he asked. You nod, “He is packing as we speak, he is coming here.” you said, he frowned. “My father will leave tomorrow, and our futures arrive in a week.” you said, he signed. “’Where’s Bash?” you asked, he looked away. “I haven’t seen him since this morning, I told him about Mary. He was packing” he said, you sign, “he just left?” you asked, Francis nodded. “leave me be, or my father might think I have another lover.” you said, Francis smirked while he walked away.

A week later: Mary Stuart would arrive today, and my future husband would arrive soon too. Bash, you had no clue, but you got more anxious by the day. More nervous for the day, you would have to leave him, the man who finally had the guts to tell you he loved you. Francis wasn’t much help either, he found himself even more indulged in the company of ladies, making the best of it while he still is a free man.

“Princess.” you heard a voice say from behind. you turn around it was Queen Catherine, “Majesty.” you said, you made a little bow. She was smiling at me. “I didn’t get a chance to congratulate you on your engagement to the Archduke.” she said, she seemed pleased with herself. While for me it was a punch in the gut, a reminder of what was going to happen. “Thank you, Francis and Mary will be wed soon, I suppose? “you ask, she seemed very pleased. We heard the trumpets call for royal visitors. “Have a nice day princess, and I hope to see you at the feast tonight. “she said, she walked off.

That night, you wore a long sleeved light pink dress with flowers made on. But, you didn’t care for a party. You tried not to let boredom take control of your expressions. Where are my ladies you wondered? They just simply vanished. Queen Mary walked up to you. You made a little bow with your head to show respect. “Your majesty.” you said, “Princess Y/n, it’s an honor to see you again.” she said, you faintly smile. “The honor is all mine.” you said, she smiled. “Come here.” she said, and she pulled me into a hug. “It’s good to see you, old friend.” She said, it made you genuinely laugh. “You do need to tell me everything that is going on here.” She said, you hesitated. “I do not care for gossip much myself. But, I know some things. “ She gave me a friendly laugh. A boy came to her with a glass of wine. You noticed she didn’t drink it. Francis walked into the room, Mary’s attention went to him. “Would you excuse me?” You said, you gave her a nod, making your way over to meet Francis. “Have you seen Bash?” He asked me. You shook your head. “I saw him this morning. He seems to have vanished again.” he said, you nod. He was back, but hadn’t come to see you. “Maybe you should ask your future wife to dance?” you said, he didn’t smile. “I would much rather not be dancing right now.” he said, you smiled, “that’s too bad then because I am.” You said, you walked to the dance floor and started to spin rounds. Francis frowned at you, but soon Mary, and her Ladies had joined you, and you were all dancing. You stopped when you saw Bash in the corner of your eyes, he was glancing over to Mary. While she was deeply gazing in his eyes. You breathe air in. But, you cannot breathe. A girl took your arm and took you aside. She had blonde hair, and a sweet face. “Are you alright?” She asked, had he heard, had he been avoiding me because of that. Was he moving on by wanting his brother’s future wife. “Yes thank you so much.” you said, she handed me a glass of water. You drank it slowly. “Are you one of Mary’s ladies?” you ask her, she nodded. “Aylee” she said, “Thank you so much Aylee. Go dance again, I’ll be fine.” you said, she hesitated but went anyway because another lady was calling her name.

You walk out of the hall, and outside of the castle even if it was still within the walls. It isn’t safe being outside of the castle at night that is what was always told you. But, honestly you needed fresh air. You hear a sound of footsteps “Hello stranger.” you said, “Why are outside?” the voice said, you waited, you were standing in the moonlight, the footsteps came closer. “I don’t know Bash, you tell me.” You said, he hesitated, and then stepped into the light. “You have been avoiding me the whole day.” you said, he was silent. You stared into his blue eyes. “You’re getting married.” he said, “and you left without warning. “You said: “I was worried.”

“Can’t you see that we can’t be together,” he said: “your father is right, I can’t give you a life. You deserve everything, and I can’t give that to you.” he said, you make your hand into fists, but hide them behind the lace of your dress. “Is that why you have been away, and you have been avoiding me. Is that why you have been staring at Mary?” you ask, your voice sounds louder in the darkness. “I haven’t been staring at her.” he said, you frown. He smiled, “I never pictured you as the jealous type. The girl that does whatever she wants.” He said, “You are one to talk. You always do what you want. Unless you don’t want me, and then you said you loved me, and that was a lie, and then you left. Hoping I would leave in the time you were gone. But, I didn’t because Maximillian Is coming here.” you said as fast as you possibly could. His smile fainted, he held your head in his hands, and with his thumb he was circling over your cheek. “I didn’t lie. But, I can’t give you a palace, and dresses, and a lot more that I can’t give you. I don’t even have a title, I am a bastard, Y/n.” he said, you shake your head, he didn’t let you say anything he was already walking back to the castle. “Bash no.” you said, he didn’t listen.

#Bash #Reign #cw reign #Bash x reader #bash x you #bash imagine

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roseelise · 4 years

Text

His // JJ Maybank

Reposting all my writings from @r0s3mm, my main blog, it is not stolen or plagiarized. All my works on my masterlist are main unless stated otherwise.

Hello! Welcome to 2-h, the back up account of @r0s3mm, I’ll be posting my works on here too until (hopefully) my blog gets restored and if not this will become my main blog.

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Elizabeth Miller (not canon for SWEET)

Word Count: 3053

Author’s note/warnings: topper being a toxic ass, protective JJ, language, mentions of abuse, implied smut

This was requested over on @r0s3mm, i don’t have the request though.

Masterlist

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

“Ok, so we will walk through the door, Topper will be standing on your left side and your dad and I will be just ahead of you.” My mother said as she tightened the already tight dress on me. “Oh, darling have you gained weight? We had this custom made a few weeks ago.”

“Maybe mom. It still fits pretty well.” I say my hands going over the soft fabric.

“Maybe but Elizabeth you have to appear healthy and you can’t do that if you have fat rolls.”

“Mom! Come on! It fits, that’s all that matters.” I say as I struggle to unzip the flowy material. I check my clock next to my bed and put on my shirts quickly. “I have to go.” Putting on my tank top and my bag I rush to the door.

“Who are you meeting with?”

“Kiara.”

“And those kids from The Cut, I suppose?”

“Yes, mother. Can I go now?” She nods reluctantly and I bounce down the steps. “I’ll be back after dinner- Topper?” I say as I open the door to see the boy that I call my boyfriend.

“Hi baby!” He smiled pulling me to him. “Where are you going?”

“Uhm, with friends. Gonna go surf for a bit then go eat.” I smile at him and fidget as I hear the sound of the old van coming my way. “I’ll text you later!” I kiss his cheek and starts to leave but he grips my wrist tightly and pulls me back to him, forcing our lips together as he harshly pushes me against my front door.

“Stay with me.” He demands his eyes turning a darker color.

“Top, I can’t I made plans with Kiara and Sarah!” I say, the Twinkie coming into view.

“No. I want us to spend the evening together, you see them every day. When do I get to see you?” I lean forward and capture his lips with mine, he grips my hips very tightly and I move us out of view from the outside of the house.

Topper pulls me closer, his hands going to my back side as he grinds against my front, in need of any friction he can find. His lips trail off to my neck, sucking a large mark just under my ear.

“Topper, loosen your grip, it’s starting to hurt.” I say when he moves his hands to my arm, his grip starting to hurt.

“C’mon.” He says tugging me to my room.

“Hey, wait. I can’t ! I made plans.” I insist.

“I don’t care.”

“At least let me tell them.” I move to the door feeling my cell phone buzz in my front pocket. He nods and starts to make his way upstairs.

“I’ll be in your room.” He said, trying to sound sexy but it only makes me roll my eyes.

I walk through the doorway, a pout on my lips. John B’s face lit up as he sees me, slapping JJ’s arm and the blonde turns around to face the driver side.

“Well, hello there, missy.” John B says and I immediately feel bad. I walk to the other side and open the back of the van. Looking up at my room, I see Topper standing in the window, my plan B of just jumping in and leaving him there going out the window.

“Hi guys.” I say. “I’m sorry you came all this way, but I won’t be able to make it.”

“What? Angel, why?” JJ asks worried.

“My mom has me trying on new dresses for the party and I can’t seem to escape her.” I lie.

“But, Midsummers’ tomorrow.” Kie say confused.

“Yeah, I know. Look, I gotta go.” I say and walk back up to my house.

“Angel! Wait!” I turn around seeing the blonde walk up to me with a frown.

He moves his hands to my neck, pushing my chin up slightly revealing the purple marks Topper had made the previous night.

“When did you get those?” He asks looking into my eyes. His blue irises trying to dig into my soul.

“A touron the other night. Yeah, real possessive guy.”

“Yeah sure. Hey, you’d tell me if anything was, huh, wrong, right?” He asks looking up at my house.

“Of course, JJ. The first.”

“Okay.” He moves his hands to cup my face and plants a long kiss on my cheek. “I love you. Have a nice party tomorrow, angel.”

“Love you too, J.” I wave at my friends as they go down the street, turning around I take a deep breath and murmur to myself. “Topper we gotta break up, I am not happy anymore.”

I smiled softly satisfied with myself and join the boy upstairs.

“Hey Topper?” I ask walking into my room. “Top?” I turn my head only to see him in front of me, an angry frown on his face.

“What the fuck was that?”

“What?”

“That dirty ass pogue, kissing you like you were his.”

I’m more his that I will ever be yours.

“Hey, he kissed me on the cheek, it’s not like we were fully making out on the front lawn.”

“Don’t want you to see them anymore.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s over between you and them.” He says walking to the middle of the room.

“You can’t decide that for me.” I say looking in his eyes angrily

“Looks like I just did.”

“Well, it won’t work. I’m sorry Topper but if you act like this, it’s over.”

“Do you want to repeat that?”

“It’s over Topper, can you please leave?”

“Now, there’s a thing you don’t understand. We” He says, his finger moving between us. “are not over. We won’t.”

“Topper, leave now.” I say pointing to the door.

“No.”

“Okay fine then, I’ll leave.” I say and go to grab my surfboard only to be pulled back by my shoulder.

“Ouch! Are you out of your mind?” I say my hand rubbing my shoulder. “That hurt, Topper.”

“I don’t care to be honest. We’re staying here tonight.”

“No, Topper get it inside your head we’re done.” I shout and quickly move to the door only to let out a painful yelp when he shoves me harshly into the wall.

“I said no!”

“What? Are you gonna hit me? Big bad Topper is a women beater now? Huh?” I try to shove him, but he doesn’t budge. “LET GO!” I growl, wondering where the fuck were my parents when I needed them. “Topper I swear to Go— Ow, fucker.” I scream after his fists collides with my stomach.

“YOU STAY HERE!” He shouts close to my face as I slide down the door to the floor.

“Get out.” I say, cries and whimpers leaving my mouth.

“Get up and get to the bed.” He lifts me up, holding my cheek tightly between his thumb and pointer finger.

“You’re hurting me. Stop.”

“Topper, I think it’s time you leave.” I hear from the door and release a shaky relieved sigh when I see my father.

“Whatever. Your dad’s a slut.” He says before my father shoves him against the wall.

“You better not be near her again, Son or you and I will have a long long talk with the police.” Topper mutters something before I hear him going down the stairs.

“Dad...” I whimper as he holds me in his arms.

“I got you princess. It’s okay. He won’t bother you.” I cry into his arms for a few minutes before my mother walks to my room explaining that she had left to do groceries.

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

On the morning of the midsummers, Kie and Sarah walk into my room at 10 in the morning. I’m standing up in front of my mirror, red blotches on my jaw and arms and a fist sized bruise on my ribs.

“Oh my god. Who did that to you?” I open my eyes wide and pull down my shirt before turning around.

“Who did what to who?”

“Ellie, for fuck’s Christ.” Sarah says as she pulls up my shirt.

“What happened?” Kie asks, the girl looking at me with worry.

“I, huh, I broke up with Topper.” The girls look at each other in confusion.

“And you broke up with Topper because?” Sarah asks

“We were dating...?” They send me surprised looks. “Okay, look I know I never said anything, but it was like a thing where we were promised to each other or some shit, I don’t know. I guess they wanted to keep it within kooks, y’know.”

“Why didn’t you tell us?”

“Because you guys hate him, hell I probably hated him more than y’all. I never really had feelings for him, anyway.” I say and walk to my mirror with all my make up products.

“Okay, what happened yesterday? I’m not crazy, I saw him in your window.” Sarah says.

“Yeah, he got here a few minutes before you got here and told me to cancel with y’all and I didn’t want to fight with him, so I just did it.” I avoid their gazes.

“Do the boys know?” Kie asks as she unzips the protective case containing her dress.

“Yeah no.” I say applying concealer to all the red marks and hickies. “Don’t tell them, especially J.”

“Sure. Did you ever..?”

“Sleep with him?” Kie shakes her head, yes. “No. Got out of that, luckily. Told him that I wasn’t ready.” They nod and I change the subject to the party tonight.

****************** “Hi, Mr. Cameron.” I salute the man as my mother and father talk with his wife.

“Good evening, Elizabeth.”

“Oh mom! There’s Pope, can I go?” I ask and she thinks before saying yes. “Thank you!”

I walk as quietly as I can and arrive behind the boy.

“Ok, so, were you hired simply for the food or do I have to fetch some other waiter to get a glass of champagne?” I say in my most posh accent. I hear him sigh and can practically hear him roll his eyes before he turns around.

“Hey!” He said as we join our hands together for the handshake.

“Any different from last year?” I ask as I lean against the wooden structure behind me, looking at all of the people around.

“No, not really.” He shakes his head and I smile when I see Sarah and Kie making their way to us.

“Have either of you seen JJ?” Kie asks her eyes wide with urgency.

“No, what?” They all look at me with sad eyes. “Where’s JJ?” I ask starting to stress out.

“Hum, when we went surfing yesterday, JJ got into his dad’s stash and brought a couple of bottles for us...” Pope starts, and I tense up. “His dad found us a few hours later, last time we saw him it was in the parking lot.”

“He was beating him up?” I ask my lower lip wobbling. They all nod. “Okay, I- I gotta go, gotta find him. What if he’s hurt? I whimper at the thought of him lying somewhere unconscious.

“He’ll be fine.” Kie said pulling me to her and hugging me tightly making me wince. “Oh shit, I’m sorry. I forgot.”

“It’s okay Kie, it’s not every day your friend receives a punch in the stomach.” I smile lightly.

We keep talking for a few minutes, me asking them questions about what they’ve been up to lately as I feel I haven’t been there as much as I used to.

“Yeah, so John B told me that—” Sarah stops and looks at something over my shoulder with a wide and relieved smile.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

“I found him.” Pope adds looking in the same direction.

“Found who, Po—” I turn around, seeing the mop of dirty blonde hair and pair of deep blue eyes. “Oh my god, JJ!” I scream and run to his opened and outstretched arms.

“Hi, my angel.” He breathes in and relaxes as he walks us to our friends, his arms wrapped around my waist making me wince. He pulls me away and sees my expression. “Are you in pain?” I shake my head no. “Why is she in pain?” He asks our friends and Pope looks genuinely worried. “Angel look at me. Where are you hurt?” He asks putting me down and cupping my face.

“I’m okay, J.” I grab his hand. “We’ll be back guys.” I pull him away from the crowd and into the rented house, walking us up the steps and into a bathroom.

JJ watches me from the doorway while I look through the cabinets.

“Sit down.” I point to the toilet seat. He sits down and closes his eyes, knowing what comes next. “Did you get a few good punches in?” I ask.

“Sure, he taught me how.” He chuckles, his eyes avoiding mine.

“Look at me.” I ask moving an antiseptic wipe to his lip. “You’re getting out of there as soon as you turn seventeen, you hear me? Mom doesn’t like you, but she said she’d be ready to make you a room.” I say and his hand go to my hips.

“I love you.” He says when our eyes lock.

“What?” I ask moving the wipe away and putting it on the counter.

“I love you, my angel.” He says, pulling me on his laps, the flowy dress hiking up my tighs as I sit down.

“I love you too, JJ.” I say and grab his face. He looks down at my lips and I don’t wait to connect our lips together.

We both sigh into the kiss, knowing it had been a long time since we both waited for this. His lips go to my face, kissing my forehead, nose, lips, cheeks, chin making me giggle.

“So, fucking beautiful.” He says as he interlaces our fingers together. “Did you want to get out of here?” I nod and get up from his laps, putting everything back to the way it was before following him out the house. “Hey, so we’re going to like get out of here.” He says to our friends.

I gasp when I feel hands snaking around my waist, my hand linked with JJ’s being tugged.

“Hi baby, I wanted to meet your friends properly.” Topper says from behind me, I look at the girls who send me confused and sorry looks, Pope is straight up confused, and JJ is seething.

“”Baby?”” He asks, his eyes full of emotion, Topper tightens his grip around me making me wince.

“Topper, get off. JJ, wait!” I say as the boy leaves in the crowd. “Topper, for fuck’s sake, it’s over!” I shove him away but he moves quickly towards me only to be stopped by a panting Pope.

“Leave.” My friends says.

“You’re a fucking whore, Elizabeth Miller!” He shouts making everyone turn and I keep myself from crying.

“He’s gone.” I whimper watching the direction in which JJ left.

“He’ll be back. Probably gonna sneak into your room tonight.” Kie said with a knowing look.

“Wait, you knew?”

“That JJ’s been sneaking in your room every week for the past year? Yeah, we all did.” I sigh and laugh a little, sniffling.

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

To: J’ 👑

Hey, letting you know that my window in unlocked and if you want, come over. Gotta talk to you x

I put my phone on my night table and turn of the light, the dress, accessories and dirty make up wipes resting on top of the dresser. I shut my eyes and wait. A few minutes later, I hear two taps to my right and then the window being opened. Feeling the hot air come in my room, I shift and move to the side as sounds of shoes hitting the floor and my bed dipping are heard. First thing I smell is the faint smell of weed, making me smile and cuddle into the sides of the person occupying my bed.

“Hi.” I said and look up at the blonde who look at me with an unreadable expression. “Listen, JJ—”

“Are you or are you not fucking Topper?” He asks and his tone makes me flinch a little bit.

“No. Never did.”

“So what happened then?”

“We, hum, we dated for a few months. Something about us being Kooks ...” I scratch my forehead. “And I broke up with him last night, he didn’t take it very well. We fought.” I say and he nods.

“I didn’t know.” He says his jaw tensing up.

“Yeah, no one did. It didn’t feel right. I meant it.”

“What?”

“I love you, JJ.” I sighed and he looks at my face before closing his eyes and pulling me to him.

“I love you too, angel.” He pulls me back onto his laps before crashing his lips to mine, his hands going under my shirt to hold my face, making me suck in a hiss. “Are you good?”

“Yep. Don’t worry.” I say and kiss down his neck, nibbling at the skin with my teeth.

“Let’s get this off.” He says his hands moving to take my shirt off.

“No! JJ, stop.” I say and he raises his hands in the air, away from my body.

“Did I- Did I do something?”

“No, don’t get mad, okay?” I say and his jaw tense up as I lift my shirt over my head, leaving me in a bralette.

“What’s this? Who did that? Is it your dad?” He asks, ready to stand up, but I move further up his laps, wrapping my arms around his neck and kissing him.

“Topper and I date mainly to keep his “status” afloat and because my mom wanted me to get away from you,” I kissed the tip of his nose, rubbing mine with his, “last night I wanted to go with you guys but he didn’t want to hear any of it so I broke up with him and he got butthurt or whatever.” I mumbled as he hugged me to him.

“I’m gonna kill him, how can he hurt his girlfriend?”

“I never really was his to begin with JJ and it’s over anyway. I’m with you.” I said and he almost growled when he flipped us over, grinding his way between my parted legs.

Making me his.

#topper thorton x reader #topper #topper thornton #jj maybank x Elizabeth Miller #beth miller x jj maybank #obx jj #jj maybank #JJ Maybank one shot #SWEET masterlist #smut #angst #fluff #Outer Banks #pogues for life #obx pogues

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colorfullfalls · 4 years

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I will protect you part 1

Embry Call x reader

Grocery shopping was not your least favorite thing to do, but it was needed. You had been on a health kick and tried to eat healthier after you started going to the gym. You noticed a young man around your age had been closely behind you the whole time while shopping, but you ignored it. It was a busy place and there was no need to be weird about it.

You went to grab the same bag of chips at the same time, prompting an awkward laugh out of the both of you.

"My bad, go ahead." The boy said with a charming chuckle as he stepped back.

You paused to take a good look at him. He look oddly familiar. Brown eyes, brown hair, tan skin, tall. He looked like your boyfriend and his pack mates, by you knew he wasn't a wolf. You hadn't seen him prior to this encounter.

"Grocery store daze am I right? I'm y/n by the way."

"Nice to meet you, it's Wiley."

"Nice to meet you too."

After that day you would see Wiley more and more. It got the point that you had to mention it to your boyfriend.

Embry came over to your small apartment to hangout but mostly to fix your old blazer. The check engine light came on and your mechanic boyfriend wanted to check it out as soon as possible.

You sat in the yard in a lawn chair as he laid below the vehicle. Grease ran down his tan toned arm, making your heart swell. Even after years of dating he still make your heart race and he only got more attractive.

Embry talked about how his day went as he worked tentatively. You listened and added in when you thought necessary. Your mind was clouded by the new stranger that seemed everywhere you went. He seemed harmless really, but why was he following you? He was at the stores, the gym, even in your work a few times within the past month.

You were starting to grow paranoid. You wanted to tell Embry but you feared how he would react. The wolves were overprotective over their imprints and this would drive him mad. He would surely hunt down Wiley. At the same time you were scared. This dude showed up out of nowhere and now is seemingly everywhere you go.

If you didn't tell Embry and something happened, he would be really upset with you. What better person to protect you from a potential stalker than the love of your life that conveniently can shift into a intimidating wolf.

"Y/n? Are you even listening to me?"

You snapped out of your thoughts and looked to see Em wiping his hands off on an old red rag, "I fixed it."

"Thanks babe. Im sorry I wasn't paying complete attention. I really appreciate that. I appreciate everything you do for me."

Embry smiled before reaching down to give you a quick kiss, "I'd do anything for you, lovie." He began bending down to collect his tools.

You blushed and stood up, debating internally on whether to tell him or not. He deserved to know. It was a matter that was pressing. You leaned against the Blazer and crossed your arms.

"If I tell you something, promise not to go wolf mode?"

Embry's body tensed up. He knew that whatever you had to say wasn't going to appeal to him. You never really joke about him going all out wolf. Also you were more clingy than usual, which he wasn't complaining, but you kept asking for him to stay over.

"You can't start with that."

"Please"

Embry turned to you and let his eyes take you in. You seem stressed out and worried. He hoped it was from nothing that he had done. He was beginning to feel panicked.

"hun, whatever it is, tell me. You are starting to really freak me out right now."

"About a month ago I saw this random guy around our age. We grabbed at the same thing and we introduced ourselves. His name is Wiley. Anyway I keep seeing him everywhere I go like to the point that it is uncanny. He shows up to stores that I am at, the gym, and he will come into the flower shop when I'm working. I swear I even have seen his car go past here."

Embry began breathing heavily, "He's stalking you?"

"I don't know- i mean maybe. He seems nice so I don't really know what to think. It's just that I'm a paranoid person and its happening so much that it seems planned." You stopped as something dawned on you.

"what? What is it?"

"The other day fresh flowers were picked and were sitting in my porch. Was that you who did it?"

Embry shook his head no and gripped his hands into fists "I'll beat his ass if he even gets near you again. I'll put an end to this."

"This is what I was afraid of! I don't want you to hurt him."

"Baby, he's stalking you! He found your house and picked flowers! That's trespassing! Who knows what he will do? Until we get this figured out, you're staying at my place."

"That I agree with..." You walked closer and wrapped your arms around his torso. You were scared and wanted comfort from the person who gave it to you the best. This issue had been on your mind for weeks.

He snugly held you, his hands rubbing your back affectionately, "why didnt you tell me about this earlier?"

"I didn't want to upset you. I didn't think much of it until his truck slowly went by the other week. That's why I've been spending so many nights with you. You just make me feel safe." Your voice cracked, your eyes refusing to meet the warm brown ones that are your home.

He kissed the top of your head, "I will always keep you safe, babylove."

Together you two packed a few bags to take over to his shared house with Jacob. When arriving Embry had you go take a soothing bath because those always calmed you down.

Embry explained the situation to Jacob, a few growls leaving his throat at the thought of some creep tracking you down. His pure and beautiful imprint was being followed and that pissed him off to the very core. You were his lover to protect. He kept you safe from supernatural creatures and he would be dammed if it was a human that got to you. Jacob was understanding and vowed to help put an end to it all.

Jacob left to go see his imprint, Heather, so it was just you and Embry in the house. You put on embrys large t-shirt and walked into the livingroom to see him laying on the couch. He lazily opened his arms so that you could snuggle in with him.

"I feel utterly relaxed, as if nothing in the world could bother me... I thought maybe it was because I wasn't home alone, but it's not that. It's you. Being around you takes away all my problems and fears." You confessed, fingers tapping against his bare chest.

He blushed, hurrying his face into your neck, "Im glad. You know, it's the imprint bond. You feel it too, just not as strong."

"no, I think it's as strong."

He scoffed, rubbing circles on your hip, "you have no idea how much I love you. My heart literally beats for you, y/n. It has since we were kids."

Now it was your turn to blush. You knew embry before he turned into a wolf, you actually had known him since you were born. Your mom's were life long best friends and that prompted you two being together all of the time.

Embry was your rock growing up, your best friend. Years spent with him made you slowly realize that you loved him. Neither of you would admit it until he imprinted on you. It seemed that Billy Black, your dad, and Harry Clearwater had bet on it happening since you guys were toddlers. It evident that you two were made for one another.

"You're my world, Em."

He hummed in agreement. He nudged your hand and you knew what he was up to. A grin made its way onto his face as you slid your hand under his shirt, letting it run up and down his back.

"You're a spoiled boyfriend." You mumbled, scratching his back lightly.

He sighed in contentment, "I'm aware. And I thank my ancestors for it everyday.... I don't know what my life would be like if something happened to you and I didn't have you anymore."

"Don't even think about that kind of thing."

Embry slightly pulled away. He stood up and walked to the window.

"Em-"

"quiet." He put his finger up to silence you.

Your heart sank for a second at his tone but realized he was trying to watch something out the window. Something that had his full attention because he failed to sense you coming up beside him.

He noticed you and pulled you closer to his side. The light blue truck was parked across the road and there sat Wiley inside it. Your heart stopped.

"Embry, I know what you're thinking, but don't. I fear being left alone." You said, tightly grabbing his hand.

"And what? Continue to let him do this shit? He is right there, babe. I am going to confront him right now before he has the chance to slip away."

As he fumbled around the dimly lit room to put shoes on, you were shaking. You feared the outcome of this situation. Embry was level headed but when it came to your safety and well-being he wasn't. you hoped Wiley would be gone before Embry got outside.

#embry call imagine #embrycallimagine #twilightimagine #twilight imagine

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letsbenditlikebennett · 4 years

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Cheeseburger in Paradise || Ariana & Ricky

TIMING: A couple weeks ago PARTIES: @ricky-corderbro & @letsbenditlikebennett SUMMARY: Ariana responds to Ricky’s online invite for dinner company, but only if its cheeseburgers. Chatting and bonding ensues.

As far as Ariana was concerned, anyone that was good in Winston’s book had to be good people. She’d talked to Ricky briefly in the past and had brought some venison by when he’d been in the hospital, but she was looking forward to actually hanging out with him. It’d only been a few days since they’d left their house behind and Ariana was already desperately missing her full closet. After talking about aesthetics, she kind of wanted to wear her favorite crop top which was still at their now abandoned house. Second favorite crop top would have to do the trick. This one had sunflowers which were her favorite because she could see them true to color and she loved that one Post Malone song. She happened to be humming that very song as she walked into Dell’s. She was quick to spot Ricky standing near one of the benches in place by the front door. “Hey,” she said with a smile, “Glad we’re actually getting to hang out. How are you feeling?”

Ricky was sure he was going to start going insane if he stayed inside his house any longer. He’d done all he could about converting his studio to a bedroom for Rio, and after having reorganized his cookbooks and spice rack for the third time he was sure the walls were starting to talk to him. Which is why he’d been glad when Ariana had taken him up on his plea for some dinner company. Though she was a bit younger than he was, all the interactions he’d had with her so far (including trying her amazing cooking) had convinced him she was anything but a vapid daft teenager. He stood from the bench he’d been perched on, tapping out a text to Winston and Rio about grocery requests, and offered his fist for a pound, “Same shit different day. Everything hurts and I”m dying. But… I will say… everything hurts a little less every day. Thanks for taking pity on a broken old man and having dinner with me. Which is on me… by the way… as a thank you for the venison.” He held the door open and gestured inside, holding up two fingers to the hostess as she gathered up some menus for them, “How are you enjoying having the sun back?”

Ariana welcomed the fist bump with a smile and returned the gesture. Maybe going out to dinner with a friend wasn’t exactly laying low, but if she just spent her time holed up in Ulf’s house she’d probably lose her mind. She was sure Ricky felt the same with having to take it easy to recover from his injuries. She could hardly imagine having to play soccer or run for that long. Dinner was likely a welcome distraction to both of them. She laughed when Ricky called himself an old man. “Old man, right. I think you got a few more years before you can call yourself that. Glad it’s starting to hurt less though. You’ll be fully out and about again before you know it… and thanks. Wasn’t expecting that, but it’s appreciated.” She smiled as she walked through the open door and the hostess brought them over to their table. The fact it was a booth somewhat in the back was comforting. That had to be a little more low profile than up and center right? She focused back on the question at hand. Her head tilted slightly as she nodded and said, “Oh yeah, I’m actually able to sleep at night and don’t think I need a nap at like 10 in the morning anymore. You happy to have it back, too?” While the prospect of a 24-hour full moon had sounded nice, logistically it was probably better to be in wolf form less time. She looked over the different burger options on the menu, pretty sure she was going to go with the classic hangover option. She turned her attention back to Ricky and asked, “So, how did you and Winston meet? Did you guys know each other before you were roommates?”

Following the waitress to the booth that she directed them to Ricky gingerly lowered himself into the seat, grabbing the laminated menu and fiddling with it, “I feel like I can hear my ribs grinding when I laugh or cough too much, I definitely feel like an old man now.” He placed his drink order and set the menu down, taking turns between glancing at it and focusing on what Ariana was saying. “Incredibly. It’s like you said, my whole rhythm and schedule was just…. Off balance. Like when you load the washer wrong and it spins off balance. That’s what it felt like. I’m happy to have the sun around to at least reinforce my schedule. You don’t realize how much you depend on that schedule for a feeling of normalcy until you aren’t able to follow it anymore.” When the waitress came around again he ordered his normal go to; mushroom and swiss burger, extra bacon, no bun, fries with a side of hot sauce, before passing off the menu to her and looking back at his new friend, “Winston?” He laughed a little, regathering curls that had started to escape the confines of his topknot and redoing them, “No. We didn’t. We actually met at a party like… a week and a half before they moved in. I went outside for a smoke and a bit of quiet on the porch and there was this dude there and we just started talking. Hit it off pretty immediately and then they mentioned that they were looking for a place and like hey, I’ve got a decent sized house so I had them over for a tour and we figured out pretty quick that we’d work real well as roommates. That was like five months ago and I’ve never looked back. Like, having Winston in the house has upped my level of general wellbeing and happiness like 300%. I fucking love them. What about you? How did you guys meet?”

It sucked to see that Ricky was still in pain from his injuries. Ariana did her best to offer a sympathetic smile. Hopefully, he’d heal up pretty quickly and could be back to life as normal. “If it helps, you don’t look like an old man,” she said with a laugh. When the waitress came back by, Ariana asked for an iced tea and turned her attention back to Ricky. The never-ending night thing had been confusing. She’d never had any concept of what time it was and then it had to end right before the full moon. “It’s crazy how much a lack of sunshine can change your whole rhythm up. I kept going for runs in the middle of the night because I’d feel weirdly energetic at like midnight. My sister was not a fan of that.” The hangover burger had won out and she ordered it medium rare with fries. Though she’d never had a hangover, she fully supported sunny side eggs and bacon being added to a cheeseburger. She let her elbows rest down on the table and relaxed as Ricky told her about how he met Winston. That was super cool that they hit it off right away like that and living together was going well. From what she was able to gather based on their few conversations, Ricky seemed to balance out Winston nicely. It’s no wonder they worked so well together as roommates. “That’s awesome,” she said with a wide grin on her face, “To meet and just click like that. I know you’re super important to them and it seems like the timing on that was perfect. It’s like you two were meant to be best friends. Which sounds cheesy as hell, but whatever.” She grabbed a sip of her iced tea before answering his question, “Winston originally offered to help me with math, but I’d already found a tutor. I was still new to town though so I was like hey, I could still use friends if you wanna hit up that farmer’s market with me. So we went to the farmer’s market and accidentally bought vampire watermelons. Turns out having to smash carnivorous fruit really brings people together. They even dyed my hair for me when I was having a little bit of a meltdown.” She gave her freshly blonde hair a flip and added, “I think they did a pretty good job, but I’m colorblind, so if it looks awful, just lie to me.”

“I’m an old man on the inside, which is where it matters I think. On the inside it’s just me shaking a cane at children and telling them to stay off my lawn. One advantage to living where I do, I guess. No kids are fucking up my landscaping.” Nodding energetically Ricky chewed on the end of his straw, “I totally feel that. Everything was so out of whack. I’d be like, wide awake and ready to do things at 3 in the morning and then in the middle of the afternoon my body would be begging for bed. It made running errands an absolute shitshow but somehow we all powered through it. By the seat of our pants sure, but we ultimately did.” He couldn’t help but smile when Ariana detailed exactly how she’d gotten entangled in Winston’s life, seemingly as randomly and serendipitously as he had. “I think it’s just something about them. They make it so easy to become friends with them that you feel like you’ve been friends for ages. I never thought I’d invite someone to live with me after only meeting them at a party but I was just so fucking convinced that we’d get along perfectly; and five months later I have absolutely zero regrets about it all.” His eyebrow did raise at the mention of vampiric fruit, “Why am I both surprised and not surprised that there are vampire watermelons. What a fucking disaster of a fruit waiting to happen. I’m glad you both survived though, I would have been so sad if my best friend got turned into a blood sucking fruit.” As their food arrived Ricky chewed thoughtfully on a french fry, “Well it looks fine to me, but I’m also color blind so it could look like a fucking mess and I’d never know.” He briefly wondered if this was indicative of Ariana being something inhuman, but quickly reminded himself that perfectly normal humans were colorblind without it meaning anything. “So you’re a senior, right? Any big plans since high school is coming abruptly to an end?”

The image of Ricky shaking his cane and yelling at children to get out of his yard was pretty amusing. As much made Ariana laugh as he spoke. Somehow, it was hard to imagine him being too grumpy, but she’d only just met him. “Glad to hear the landscape is safe,” she said grinning widely, “Thankfully we made it and things are back to normal… Well, I guess as normal as it gets here anyway. No one can say it’s boring here, that’s for damn sure.” She leaned into the back of the booth and felt happy to know that Winston had people who clearly adored them in their life. They deserved nothing less. In the short time they’d been friends, Winston had been nothing short of supportive and found ways to make her laugh when she was upset. “I think they’re just such a good person. It makes it easy to get along with and trust them. Sometimes when you meet people you just know, huh? Sounds like it worked out perfectly with you, too.” It was easy to laugh over the vampire watermelons now that she replaced her combat boots. She had been a little salty about that part at first. “Probably because it’s White Crest and nothing is too far-fetched. But yeah, I smashed the one that destroyed my fave combat boots and they blew one up. It was a bonding experience. Worth the loss of my shoes because we got to be upfront with each other about things we probably would’ve kept a secret.” Ariana had been picking at her fries when Ricky mentioned being colorblind. She instantly perked up and tried to subtly sniff to pick up on his scent. It definitely wasn’t wolfy, she would have noticed as much right away. He smelled more like the ocean. “Wait…,” she whispered, taking a look around them, “Colorblind? You don’t smell like a wolf. You smell more like the ocean. Are you…” She had trailed off before she realized that was probably way too blunt, “Ah, crap, sorry. I got a little weird there. I’m colorblind, too.” She tried to play it off and nervously tucked her hair behind her ear, shifting back to what he had asked her. “But yeah, senior year. I just started up a carpentry apprenticeship so that’ll be post-graduation life for me. Don’t really feel into the whole college thing. What about you? Do you go to UMWC with Winston?”

Ariana talked a million miles an hour and it was honestly somewhat comforting. Ricky enjoyed listening to the stories about her misadventures with Winston and vampire watermelons and the mishap that led to the destruction of her favorite pair of combat boots. It was something of a twist though, when she mentioned that Winston had blown one of them up and the twist got even twistier when she made a comment about the way he smelled. The first twist could have been, maybe, explained away. Winston was after all an at least tangential member of the Police Department. Blowing things up could have been in reference to some explosives they’d procured and not their innate magical ability. But the comments about his smell, particularly when coupled with her comment about how he didn’t smell wolfy, made him set his fork down and wipe burger off of his face, “Holy shit did I collect another werewolf friend?” His mouth quirked into half a smile as he leaned across the table, “Are there just a million of you around town?” He idly chewed a french fry and looked at the young woman across the table. “It’s funny. All of the rest of you I’ve met have said the same thing. That I smell like the ocean. Which makes sense I guess… it’s where I was born.” He resumed his burger, cutting off a piece and making sure it was properly laden with mushrooms and swiss cheese. “Carpentry apprenticeship though, that’s dope af. I’m a woodworker by trade. Who’re you apprenticing with? Maybe you can do an independent study with me. It’d be boring…. But…. I’d cook you a good lunch as part of it.” The burger disappeared rapidly, and then all Ricky was left with was a small mountain of fries, which he liberally covered in hot sauce. “Me? I’m about two months from graduating with my MFA, which was an entirely unnecessary degree, but then I’ll be done there. And to be perfectly honest with you; a lot of people look down their noses at apprenticeships and trade schools but there’s always going to be a need for skilled manual labor; and a lot of times those jobs pay a lot better than anything a Bachelor’s in Science is going to get you. If you know carpentry is something you’re into I fully support not pouring thousands upon thousands of dollars into a broken educational system and just doing an apprenticeship. People are always going to need carpenters.”

Prior to mentioning it, there had been no doubt in Ariana’s mind that he’d known about the supernatural. After all, Winston had mentioned giant crabs that had a name she couldn’t remember destroying their living room, but it was still a relief that Ricky caught on to her drift quickly, albeit without answering all of her questions, but they’d get there. The fact he had multiple werewolf friends did pique her interest. She knew Ulfric, Lucas, and Simon. Plus, she knew of Miles. Still, it’d be nice to have some friends like her who were closer to her in age range. Her head tilted as she looked at him and said in a hushed tone, “Looks like you did! Wait, you know other werewolves? I’ve only met a few in town so far.” She let out a hushed laugh before shoving a few more fries in her mouth. Her eyes were still kind of wide when she quietly added, “Must be true then. Goes with the whole beach bro aesthetic. You were born on the beach? Do you… I’m sorry if this is kind of blunt, but are you able to shift, too?” How she didn’t pick up on the subtle difference in his scent sooner was driving her crazy. Maybe her manners weren’t entirely intact, but her curiosity often got the better of her. As she polished off her burger, Ricky was talking about how he was a woodworker. It was official, Ricky was fucking awesome. “Wait, seriously? That’s so cool. How long have you been doing that? My apprenticeship is at Trusty Wood, but yeah, an independent study sounds great. I doubt I’d be bored. I find working with my hands to actually be kind of relaxing. Plus, the promise of a good lunch is hard to turn down,” she finished with a smirk. She wasn’t sure if it was a wolf thing or an athlete thing, but she was nearly always hungry. She picked at the rest of her french fries as he spoke about school. It was kind of nice to hear someone validate her choice to skip out on college, even if they went themselves. “That’s awesome. I guess it’s a bit early for a congratulations, but I’m gonna throw it out there anyway. A degree is a good thing to have so more power to you. The money thing is a factor, but honestly, I just really can’t imagine going through more school. I’m dyslexic and colorblind so schoolwork kind of makes my brain feel like it’s a melted pile of goo. I’d just rather dive right into something I know I actually enjoy. I will miss soccer though.”

“You’re now the third one I’ve met. So I guess I don’t know a million of them. But; now more than a couple. Now I’ve got a neat little three of a kind in my social acquaintances.” It was always nice to meet another shifter; particularly as he’d found the werewolves he did know in town to all be excellent friends. “Not on the beach. In the ocean.” He chewed thoughtfully on another french fry as Ariana asked her question, shooting her a smile, “I am. Different than you. I’m an at will shifter, I don’t need the moon. I just need to have my true skin and I can change back into my true form. I’m a selkie. A seal shifter. We’re a little more rare in these parts than you and your kind are; most of the big clans are still over on the British Isles, but, I can shift indeed… and to simplify the every fucking complicated dance of not telling people things they shouldn’t know I”ll let you know right off the bat that Winston knows what I am. There was an awkward moment after we moved in together when he came home unexpectedly, I didn’t have my fake teeth in, and he caught sight of my fangs. Our teeth are always seal teeth even in our human bodies.” The conversation shifted tack yet again to her impending apprenticeship, “Well if you ever wanna hang out in the workshop for a day or two just clear it with your new boss and I’ll be happy to have you tag along and see the kind of work I do. I know at least for me personally as an artist I always love watching people work because I always learn at least one thing that I had no idea about before.” He shrugged broadly, “It’s fine. It’s definitely not something I needed. But I’ve got it now so it’s there to hang on the wall in my studio and look smug about or something. And that’s fair. I was lucky enough to get a whole heap of scholarships; but really I did not excel in college. I’m not that booksmart, as much as Winston likes to lecture me about various types of intelligences, and it was a fucking struggle. I’m certainly not graduating on the dean’s list. But i bet there’s a community soccer team you could be involved in. Or you could start one.”

“Huh, that’s about how many I’ve met so far, too. I can definitely smell that there’s more. Which hopefully doesn’t sound totally creepy,” Ariana responded with a laugh. Navigating the world through smell seemed a lot less weird once someone knew you were a werewolf. After all, that’s how wolves in the wild worked. As Ricky explained what he was, Ariana stared at him completely fascinated. She’d never met a selkie before. She was pretty sure she’d heard them mentioned in one of Celeste’s books, but meeting one in person was totally different. She instinctively leaned forward on her elbows, taking in every word. “Wow,” she said completely in awe, “That’s pretty fucking cool. You’re the first selkie I’ve met. That must be pretty cool to have control of when you shift. I love the full moon. That’s actually where the venison I made came from. Apparently with practice, I can learn to shift outside the full moon, but haven’t really tried as much yet. Probably wouldn’t be the best idea right now anyway. Thanks for skipping that whole dance. Winston also knows what I am. They’re definitely really understanding for still being new to all of this.” She nodded along as Ricky explained about her being able to come watch him in his workshop. Learning new ways of doing things and see how he worked could definitely be helpful for her learning the trade and making it her own. “Totally,” she responded, “I’ll check with Shiloh and see if that’d be okay. I’d definitely love to see your work and how you do it.” It felt a little better to know school was tough for him, too. Everyone around her always seemed to have a much easier time with things, where as she needed an army of math tutors just to pass Algebra. “Even if it was tough, you still did it, so that’s amazing. Glad it’s not just me who struggles with the book learning thing. Winston’s right though, we’ve all got our things. You’re right, I’ll have to look into it more. I may be working a soccer camp for elementary school kids this summer.It’s not a full time thing and I figured it could help me stick with that hobby.”

“I mean I don’t know how much of this is fact and how much of this is me still drooling over the cast of Teen Wolf years later but don’t you guys have packs? Like we have clans? Makes sense that where there’s one there’d be more than a handful unless they’re taking the whole ‘lone wolf’ thing real seriously.” He polished off the last of his french fries and looked forlornly down at the empty plate before ordering another basket of them when the waitress came by the table to refill their drinks. “We’re not super common. But yeah. I’ve got to do it like once a week otherwise I’ll start to get sick, but, I can pretty much pick and choose when I do it. Downsides are I’m every vampire’s favorite treat. Oh! Since we’re no longer pretending to be human! It wasn’t a car accident that fucked me up like this. Winston and I got attacked by an asanbosam. Fugly ass West African tree vampire. Nasty fucking piece of work that one. It’s dead though, so, no worries.” The fries came and he pushed them to the center of the table so they could both snack on them, “Once I’m healed up and graduated I’ll pretty much be in there full time. But yeah. If Shiloh says it’s chill swing by the house and see me. You me and Winston can have lunch and we’ll get you hands on with some carpentry stuff the way I do it.” Listening carefully as she talked he couldn’t help but remember his own high school experience. It sounded remarkably similar to what Ariana had gone through “Maybe it’s a shifter thing” He laughed quietly, “We’re bad at school but good with our hands. But soccer camp sounds amazing. You could even look into like helping coach kids’ teams during the school year. I’m sure they need help year round wrangling a bunch of hopped-up-on-juice-and-sugar kids. There’re definitely a bunch of ways to keep you involved in the soccer after high school, you just gotta search them out a bit.”

“Weirdly enough, I’ve never watched that show so I couldn’t tell you how true to form it is. Wolves do form packs though. I was really young when my parents died so I didn’t grow up around other wolves. Slowly starting to find a pack here so to speak. I think it’s more a matter of us finding each other than anything else. Which the nose helps with that one a lot. That’s cool you guys have clans. Sticking together is always smart,” Ariana responded in a low voice, still being sure to not attract any unwanted attention. Thankfully, the restaurant wasn’t too busy and they were off towards the back. Last thing they needed was to tip some asshole hunter off. When he mentioned they weren’t common, it made sense she’d never met one previously. She had finished off her own plate and pushed it toward the side of the table with all her napkins and silverware stacked on it to make it a little easier for the server. “Well, it’s pretty fucking cool to meet a selkie. That kinda makes sense though, having to shift to avoid feeling sick. Cool to be able to pick and choose when. Oh jeez, that’s not the kind of snack you want to be. I remember Winston mentioning the tree vampire thing. That was how they got hurt, too, right? Hopefully there aren’t more of those roaming around because hard pass on all of that. Glad you survived that though.” The prospect of learning from Ricky was exciting and she hoped Shiloh would be cool with it. She wasn’t sure why she wouldn’t be. It’d only make her better at her job. Plus, Ricky was cool as hell and she really wanted to see him in action. “Yeah, I hope the healing thing happens for you sooner rather than later. I know not being able to get out as much can suck. There’s only so much entertainment streaming services can provide. I’m sure she’ll be cool with it though. That sounds like a great day to me.” She nodded along as he spoke and finished off her iced tea. When Ricky mentioned the shifter thing, she found herself laughing too. “It must be. Makes me feel a little better about the number of tutors I needed to pass Algebra. I’m pretty excited about the soccer camp. I’ve never really done anything like that before, but I love kids and soccer, so I think it’ll be a good time. That’s a really good idea though, I’ll have to look into that. I know you mentioned the Swim Team before, I imagine you have to keep up with swimming all things considered. Where here is actually safe to swim is what I’d like to know.”

“I hope it’s not really true to form because it makes packs seems like a weirdly queerbaity incestuous mess. But. Tyler Posey is hot and so I watched the whole thing. Don’t judge.” He smiled as they finished off the food and leaned back in the booth, crossing his arms carefully over his very sore chest, “I think they killed the only one. We’d be finding literal piles of human skin under trees if there were more lurking around and I haven’t heard anything about that so hopefully they’re gone for good. Because they’re some gross ass bitches.” It was nice to just sit and have a meal with someone without any expectation. They just sat and talked and it was the most relaxed Ricky had honestly felt since the whole asanbosam incident. “Doesn’t matter how many tutors it took. Just matters that you stuck with it long enough to actually pass. That’s the important thing. It was tough and it was hard but you weren’t a little bitch about it. That’s that good good character building shit right there.” It wasn’t any stretch of the imagination to think that Ariana would be a great soccer coach. Between her personable manner and her readily-apparent love of the game she’d probably crush it. “Fuck yeah. Go for it. There’s no reason you have to stop doing what you love because you’re graduating. You just turn it into an adult hobby and start charging people. Bing bang boom you’ve got some income and you’re a civic-minded resident of the town!” He couldn’t help but snort at her question about safe swimming, “An indoor pool. Don’t ever go swimming in Dark Score lake. You will die. Pretty immediately. The ocean is full of borderline upsetting shit too.” He pulled up the side of his shirt to show the very large bite mark on the side of his stomach, “Mermaids. You don’t wanna fuck with those bitches. They are mean.”

“A little less like that. Given all the other wolves I know are men that are a fair deal older than me. I mean, I’m bi, but still don’t think it’s quite like that,” Ariana laughed as she mused on the similarities between some teen show and actual life as a werewolf. Somehow she had the feeling none of the shows were really spot on. It was good to hear that there was likely only one tree vampire in White Crest and it was dead. “Thank god, I’m tough, but I really didn’t want to run into one of those things. They sound vicious af and no thanks,” she leaned back a bit into the booth and added, “But like, totally glad you both live to tell the tale. Still, fuck that thing.” Her smile was wide as she listened to him basically pep her up. Getting to hang out with Ricky was pretty cool, not that she doubted Winston’s taste in friends, but he was just an all around good dude. Just the kind of positivity she needed in her life right about now. “Thanks, definitely wasn’t totally a little bitch about. Doesn’t mean there wasn’t some complaining though,” she said with a laugh, “But I do appreciate the hype.” As the waitress came back by and asked if they wanted dessert, she shook her head no and thanked her as she left the check. Turning back to Ricky, she found she was still as cheerful as ever. Man, he really was a super sweet person. His profile description of being thicc of heart and ass had been spot on. “You right, you right. I can still do something I love as a hobby and make some money off it. Plus, contributing to the community and working with kids is always a good time.” She crossed her arms and pouted slightly at the swimming advisory. White Crest was her kind of place, but she’d rather not become giant monster fish food, so she guessed she’d have to skip the swimming. “Well, damn, okay White Crest. Guess I gotta find a gym with an indoor pool then.” Her mouth dropped at the mark on the side of his stomach, “Jeez, a mermaid did that? So I’m guessing The Little Mermaid really isn’t accurate then.”

Sliding his card across the table onto the bill that the waitress had left Ricky shot her a gleaming smile as she took the card and left, “I’m glad that actual pack dynamics aren’t the same as that show. That’d be….. Highly dysfunctional.” He couldn’t help but laugh a little as she talked about The Little Mermaid, “No. They’re more like….. Horrific nightmare angler fish. They have a lure that looks super convincingly like a human. They then use it to trick people into thinking someone’s drowning and then when they swim out to rescue them… boom. Eaten by a gross ass mermaid. I know the Rec Center out on Birch Lane has a pretty decent pool. If you’re fine with the sound of children screaming and some truly impressive levels of chlorine.” His card was returned and he signed the bottom of the receipt, leaving a large tip and ignoring the phone number scrawled at the bottom next to a smiley face, “If you need someone to sketch you uniform designs for your new kids’ soccer team I’m totally available for that. I can do some adorable fuckin’ cartoon designs that’ll make your team the envy of the surrounding area.” Gingerly sliding himself out of the booth he held an arm out to Ariana, “This was definitely the most fun I’ve had having cheeseburgers in a long time. Plus… I made another shifter friend! Best dinner date ever.”

With a smile, Ariana thanked Ricky for dinner. Making a new friend, especially someone else who was a shifter, had been a great time. Though the description of mermaids was mildly terrifying. Ariel sounded way more fun to hang out with. “Big yikes,” she remarked, “That is definitely not what I imagined at all. I will keep my swimming to the Rec Center or out of White Crest entirely. Thankfully, I’m more of a runner than a swimmer. Not that there’s not things in the woods that would probably want to eat me, but I’m pretty scrappy.” She relaxed in the booth as Ricky signed the receipt and mentioned his drawing skills. “You’re just a man of many talents, huh? I’ll totally let you know if I need to design anything like that. I have a meeting soon with like, the full details on that.” She smiled easily getting up from the booth and taking Ricky’s arm. “Same here,” she said happily as they walked out, “Can’t beat cheeseburgers and new shifter friends. We’re definitely doing this again soon.”

#cheeseburger in paradise #ricky #wickedswriting

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